My first Ashtanga class was at Zoga in Downtown Dubai. The room was full. The flow was structured. Everyone seemed to know what came next—and I didn’t.
And yet, I was completely mesmerized.
It was hard. Like, seriously hard. I left that class feeling like I had just survived something. But I was hooked. There was a rhythm, a discipline, a heartbeat to the practice. The sound of everyone’s breath in sync felt like sacred music.
That was the moment I knew: this was my practice.
I threw myself into Ashtanga. I became devoted to the structure, the daily routine, the progression. And as my confidence grew, so did a bigger dream—I wanted to teach.
So one day after work, I did what many daughters dream of and fear: I told my parents I wanted to leave my job.
To their credit (and a little “delulu” optimism), they supported me wholeheartedly.
That decision led me to Hyderabad, India, where I stayed with my aunt—a senior Iyengar teacher—and practiced daily under her guidance. It was beautiful, humbling, and foundational. From there, I traveled to Mysore to practice under Saraswathi Jois, deepening my connection with the tradition at its source.