This Guru Purnima, I want to share something very personal—something straight from the depths of my heart. A story about how my Guru, Sai Baba, transformed my life. How I went from praying out of fear to loving with complete surrender. How I found a friend in God. And how even in my most painful moments, he never let go of my hand.
Childhood and the First Glimpse of Baba
It was my dad who first introduced me to Baba. He has immense faith in Baba. Baba’s idol with a kind, steady gaze was there in our little temple at home, decorated neatly, with a garland that kept changing every now and then. Every morning, he would light a diya, offer some flowers, and chant “Om Sai Ram” with quiet devotion.
As a child, I didn’t fully understand what that meant. Baba was part of the routine — like brushing your teeth or doing homework. You prayed so that nothing bad would happen. I was a god-fearing person back then — doing rituals not because I loved doing them, but because I was afraid not to.
Our visits to Shirdi became a family ritual. Once every six months, we would pack our bags, take a bus, and head to Baba’s land. I still remember the smell of incense, the long lines, the sound of bhajans echoing in the air. I would stand in the crowd, look at Baba’s murti, and wonder:
“Why doesn’t my heart feel anything? Why am I not crying like that aunty over there?”
I believed in Baba. But I hadn’t yet felt him.
Running to Temples During Trouble
As I grew up, life threw its fair share of challenges my way. Whenever I hit a rough patch—whether heartbreak, health scares, or emotional chaos—I would instinctively run to the nearest Sai Baba temple.
It became my pattern: Trouble → Temple → Hope → Wait for things to get better.
Still, the connection wasn’t deep. I would go, light a diya, chant a few mantras, fold my hands, and leave. There was always a lingering sense of “I’m doing this so God doesn’t punish me.” The devotion was… cautious.
But life has its own ways of shaking us up.
The Day Everything Changed
There are moments in life that divide everything into “before” and “after.”
For me, that moment came the day I lost my son
Even writing this brings tears to my eyes. Nothing prepares you for such a loss. One day, you’re a mother. The next day, your world is silent. The toys are untouched. The laughter is gone. No words can ever explain what that kind of pain feels like. There was a silence in my home that screamed. Eventually, the house was empty. And I… I was emptier. People visit for a few days, offering their “I’m so sorry, and then… they move on.
But I couldn’t move on.
My house became a cave of memories. I stopped doing puja. I stopped lighting the diya. I stopped chanting. The flowers wilted in the mandir. The incense box stayed shut.
The diyas gathered dust. The incense sticks remained in their box. I didn’t chant. I didn’t sing bhajans. But every day, I didn’t stop talking to him. I sat in front of Baba’s murti. No rituals, no offerings, no aarti, no mantras. Just tears and words.
Some days I yelled at him—“Why me?” Some days I cried quietly. Some days I just stared. I told him everything—how I was feeling, how lost I was, how broken.
Some days I said nothing at all.
And somewhere in those silent conversations, something shifted.
From Idol to Aadhar
“I don’t know how to survive this.”
“I miss him so much.”
“I cooked his favourite food today.”
“I’m breaking, Baba. Please help.”
It wasn’t spiritual. It was raw. I wasn’t trying to be “devotional” — I was just trying to survive. And somehow, Baba met me there. In that rawness. In that pain.
One evening, I was sitting in front of Baba, and out of nowhere, I whispered, “I don’t know what you’re doing with my life, but please don’t leave me.”
That was the first time I felt… heard.
It wasn’t some dramatic miracle. No light flickered. No voice came from the skies. But I felt a hand on my back—not literally, but emotionally. As if he was saying, “I’m here. Just hang on.”
Baba was no longer a distant deity. He became my friend, guide, therapist, and safest space. I would talk to him throughout the day. In the kitchen. While folding laundry. During walks. I’d even crack jokes with him. The deeper our conversations grew, the clearer my mind became. I started getting answers—not from the sky, but from within me. His silence began to speak. His eyes in that murti—those same eyes I had seen since childhood—suddenly felt alive. They were kind. Loving. Understanding.
He would always answer. Not in words, but in signs. In his mysterious ways.
A sudden phone call with comforting words.
A line in a book that felt like it was meant just for me.
A dream that soothed my heart.
Sai Baba once said:
“Why fear when I am here?”
I had read that line a hundred times before. However, I have now understood it. Felt it. He was here. With me. For me.
And just when I needed more light, Baba guided me toward it.
A Return to Rituals — With Bhav
After months of simply talking to Baba, something beautiful happened. One morning, I felt like lighting the diya again.
Not out of fear.
Not out of habit.
But out of love.
I began doing my old rituals again — offering flowers, lighting incense, chanting Baba’s name. But this time, there was bhav. There were tears of love, not fear. I wasn’t “performing” devotion — I was living it.
Now, when I do puja, I don’t worry about whether I’m doing it perfectly. I care about whether I’m doing it genuinely.
That’s the biggest gift Baba gave me — he turned my rituals into a dialogue of the heart.
A Sacred Return
I went back to Baba’s temple after this transformation. And this time, when I stood in front of his murti, I cried. Not from pain. But from gratitude.
The energy felt different. The same space, the same crowd, the same chants — but now, I felt him with me, inside me. And I whispered,
“Thank you for not leaving me when I didn’t know how to pray.”
From God-Fearing to God-Loving
I look back now and realise something important. All those years, I was doing pooja mechanically, hoping God would reward me for being a “good girl”. But real devotion, I learnt, is not about performance. It’s about presence.
When I stopped doing rituals and started having real conversations, my bond with Baba deepened. I didn’t need fancy offerings. I just needed honesty.
Baba didn’t ask for rituals. He asked for my heart. And once I gave it to him, he filled it with strength I didn’t know I had.
Today, I’m no longer a God-fearing person. I’m a God-loving one. My faith isn’t perfect, but it’s personal. And on this Guru Purnima, I bow my head—not out of fear, but out of love and gratitude.
Final Thoughts
On this Guru Purnima, I don’t have a grand offering. Just one simple truth to share:
Don’t worry if you don’t feel spiritual enough. Don’t feel guilty if you’ve stopped rituals. Just talk to him. Honestly. That’s enough.
Because when no one else listens — he does.
And when your hands are trembling and heart is breaking, he will quietly hold your hand and lead you back to light.
Rituals matter. But more than the how, what matters is the bhav behind it.
Sai Baba once said:
“If you look to me, I look to you.”
That’s it. That’s the relationship.
A Poem for Baba – My Eternal Guide
When the world was loud, you sat in silence,
But your silence spoke louder than any noise.
When I cried alone, thinking no one could hear,
You listened — without judgment, without fear.
I lit diyas with shaky hands,
Not for ritual, but to feel your warmth again.
You didn’t need my perfection, only my truth —
And in return, you gave me peace, gentle and uncouth.
Today, I sing not to impress,
But because my soul knows your address.
You live in my tears, my smiles, my story —
You, Baba, are my pain, my strength, my glory.
Om Sai Ram.
With love,
Your devotee who finally found her way home.
📚 If you’d like to deepen your connection with Sai Baba, I highly recommend reading the Sai Satcharitra — a sacred book filled with his leelas, teachings, and grace. It’s not just a book, it’s an experience.
✨ And if you wish to read about how Gurudev Sri Sri Ravi Shankar ji came into my life, click here for that part of my journey.
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