Śiva Unfolding: My Journey from Childhood Vachanas to Lingayat Exploration

Why This Journey?

From My Childhood Vachana Learnings to Lingayat Philosophy – Exploring My Roots

I was fortunate to be born into a middle-class, educated Lingayat family during the Generation X period. I had access to a good education, which shaped my thinking and broadened horizons that had been less available to my elders. Books and libraries were within reach, and I developed a love for reading from a young age. My mother nurtured that small seed of curiosity, helping it grow steadily over time.

Another profound influence came from my grandmother. She, along with a few like-minded women from our neighbourhood—Malleswaram, a quiet suburb in those days—would gather at our house a couple of times a week. I especially remember my ajji's close friend, Kanakamma. Despite her hearing loss, she would read, analyse, and explain all the spiritual books that she read. She had dedicated her life to the service of a great swamiji of that time. If she is not in the matha, she would be in our home. Most of my ajji's friends belonged to the Lingayat tradition. As plates of chaklis, kodubales, nippattus, rave undes, and steaming cups of coffee circulated, conversations would gently shift to Lord Basavanna, Akkamahadevi, other Shiva Sharanas, and the vachanas.

Although I was busy with play, homework, or preparing for endless monthly tests and exams, one part of my attention was always focused on those discussions. Unknowingly, my mind was being shaped—slowly and quietly.

A quiet morning in old Malleswaram during the 1970s—
where childhood memories and ancient wisdom first met

Grandmothers sharing stories, a little girl lost in play, but with all ears — the everyday circle of love and tradition

Filter coffee in brass tumblers, and small tasty snacks — the simple rituals that made home feel sacred

As I grew older, I started reading more deeply, focusing on the Shiva Sharanas, vachanas, and Lingayat thought, but also exploring other religious traditions and the wider socio-cultural landscape of our country. 

Then, life moved into its next chapter: marriage, adapting to a new environment, raising a family, and working in the demanding MNC sector.

The pandemic years of 2019–20 marked a turning point. I started questioning the direction of my life. I had been dedicating nearly 14–15 hours a day to work, dealing with traffic, office politics, uncertain meetings, frequent layoffs, and retrenchments. Gradually, these experiences pushed me back toward a path I had strayed from: spirituality and reflection.

With gratitude for the lessons, friendships, and financial independence that nearly eighteen years in the IT sector had given me, I slowly found the courage to step away. What began as a faint inner call grew stronger the more I resisted it. I returned to books—this time not just for reading. 

I was 52 by then, and while others settled into their comfort zones, I went back to college. I pursued my postgraduate studies in yogic sciences from SVYASA University. I not only learnt about yoga asanas, pranayama, and meditation techniques but also about the theory behind them – the Vedas, Upanishads, Patanjali's Yoga Sutras, Narada's Bhakti Sutras, and the Bhagavad Gita – as part of the curriculum. Those two years brought about a profound change in me. I started reading in depth and taking notes for exams, but I didn't know where they would lead in the future. Writing, which had been my strength as a technical writer, became my companion again. Gradually, those notes began to take shape as essays, and a quiet idea emerged: why not turn them into a series of reflections?

Recent public debates and tensions surrounding Veerashaivas and Lingayats have deeply troubled me. I began to ask myself, are we truly so different? At a time when society is already strained by violence, division, and uncertainty, shouldn't we rise above narrow identities? Religion, caste, and creed are meant to offer inner freedom — not become new shackles. When religious institutions drift toward superstition, political entanglement, or material gain, they lose sight of their true purpose: nurturing balanced, ethical, and compassionate human beings.

This blog series is my effort to reconnect with my roots. It aims to trace the development of spirituality and philosophy from early Vedic thought through the rise of Shaivism to the later developments of Veerashaivism and Lingayatism. It examines their continuities, overlaps, and differences—traditions that are closely linked rather than easily separated. If the narrative favours Lingayat philosophy, it is only because of my personal connection to it and its lifelong impact on me.

This work is an offering, shaped by my reading, learning, and conversations with thoughtful individuals. I remain receptive to correction and improvement. Constructive feedback is especially welcome, as it will benefit not only me but also others on a similar journey.

Before we start, a small clarification is needed. There are ongoing academic debates about the origins of early Vedic culture. While scholars may disagree on specific details, it is widely accepted that the Vedas developed and thrived on the Indian subcontinent over many centuries. This series does not try to settle those debates. Instead, it examines how Vedic ideas interacted with indigenous Shaiva traditions, gradually influencing Veerashaiva and Lingayat thought.

If you're someone who is searching, questioning, or just curious—I’m glad you’re here.

Let’s walk this journey together.

To understand where this journey leads, we must first return to where it began. In the next part, we examine the world of the Vedas and the Upanishads, where the earliest questions of Indian philosophy were first raised.