The Day I Stood in Front of Shiva and Cried Without Knowing Why

I never set out to follow Lord Shiva. There was no moment of thunder, no declaration of devotion. For most of my life, I offered prayers the way many of us do quietly, respectfully, to all deities. It was more of a habit than a search. More comfort than clarity. But something changed last year. It didn’t feel dramatic. In fact, it was so quiet, I almost missed it. It started with small things a reel I didn’t scroll past. A quote I couldn’t forget. An image of Shiva’s face that stayed in my mind longer than it should’ve. I kept seeing him. Again and again.

One post stood out. It had the words:

“Kaal Har, Kaash Har, Dukh Har, Dharidhar Har, Ram Parvati Pate, Har Har Mahadev…”

I saw it once. Then again. Then everywhere. And every time I read it, something stirred. I’d tear up. Not out of sadness. Not joy either. It was something deeper. Like being moved by a presence I couldn’t name.

Eventually, I read somewhere, “When Shiva enters your life, the first thing he does is cleanse you.”

I didn’t fully understand it then. But now… I do.

The Quiet Detachment

Without trying, I began stepping away from things that once felt normal — the late-night hangouts, the endless chatter, the distractions. I didn’t announce it. I just drifted. Not out of isolation, but peace.

There was no emptiness in the silence. In fact, it felt like space was being cleared inside me.

Then, during a trip back to India, my wife asked: “Why don’t you go to Mahakaal?”

I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. But as soon as she said it, something in me answered: Yes.

And so, I went.

I believed in gods.

All of them.

But I kept a distance—

A respectful nod, not surrender.

I walked my own path,

Earned my scars, built my name.

They called it success.

I called it survival.

For years, I believed strength was in control—

In knowing, building, conquering.

And I did.

I climbed higher than most.

Turned dreams into empires.

Made the impossible kneel.

There were right turns.

There were wrong ones.

But I never stopped moving.

Always forward. Always more.

And still—

Somewhere between the applause and the silence after,

Something felt missing.

A space I couldn’t fill.

I thought all of this was mine.

My vision. My will. My doing.

But now I know—

It was never just me.

It was Him.

Always Him. Everything I am

Is just what He shaped through me.

None of it belongs to me—

Not the name,

Not the wealth,

Not even the strength.

It’s all His.

He revealed Himself

When I was ready to see.

Everything I’d carried

Melted in His presence.

The guilt.

The pretending.

The indulgences I wore like armor—

They slid off like dead skin.

Since then, I’ve changed.

Not for the world—

But for myself.

I left the glass behind.

The flesh I once consumed.

The circles I no longer fit.

I don’t feel like I’ve become someone new.

I’ve simply removed what I’m not.

I feel lighter,

Yet more rooted than ever.

Now, I feel Him.

Everywhere.

In my breath.

In the mountain air.

In the silence between two heartbeats.

I was never lost.

I was just waiting

To remember

I was always His.

The Temple That Broke Me Open

I stood in front of the Shivling during the aarti. I didn’t chant. I didn’t pray. I just stood there… and cried.

Tears came without warning. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. But I didn’t want to stop it either. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t joy.

It was… surrender.

After the Rudrabhishek, I left. But something in me was different.

For days, I barely spoke. I didn’t want to. The stillness had taken over. And in that quiet, a knowing began to rise.

Everything Was Always Pointing Here

One morning, it all connected.

My father had been a devotee of Shiva. The house I built for him in the mountains faces the Trishul peak. My daughter was born on Maha Shivratri.

None of these were coincidences.

That’s when I realised, this wasn’t just devotion. This was identity. A remembering. A return.

I wanted Shiva close. Not just in thought, but on my skin. As a part of me. A visible mark of everything I now understood.

The Tattoo That Wasn’t Just a Tattoo

Living in Singapore, I searched for studios.

But I wasn’t looking for a design, I was looking for understanding.

And then I found Sunny Bhanushali.

I told him everything, the quote, the silence, the aarti, the surrender.

He didn’t rush to design. He said, “Before I ink anything, I need to feel it.” So he wrote a poem, a narrative of my story My story, woven in words, line by line, emotion by emotion. When I read it, I couldn’t speak.

It was if he had reached into my heart and given language to what I couldn’t explain. Even my family was silent overwhelmed by how deeply it resonated. That’s when I knew, this wasn’t only Sunny, it's Shiva through him doing it.

And then came the design.

Not just art, darshan captured in skin.

At the center is Lord Shiva, calm and vast, with half open eyes, not fully in this world, not entirely beyond it. From his gaze, a divine light descends, a quiet, powerful beam that falls onto the Shankara Pindi (Shivling), which emerges from the towering peaks of Mount Kailasa.

This light, it doesn’t stop there.

It flows down further, illuminating the head of the devotee seated below eyes closed, hands folded, in deep meditation.

That devotee is me.

From the divine, to the sacred symbol, to the seeker.

A full circle moment of surrender.

This isn’t just mythology. It’s my experience, made visible. It’s the moment I felt seen by Mahadev. The moment I remembered who I’ve always been.

Sunny brought this vision to life in a realism style, but it carries more than detail.

It carries energy, power, stillness.

I feel that it is more than a tattoo, it is a spiritual portal, sealed into skin.

A reminder, every time I look down, of the path I now walk, of who is walking it with me.

Marked by Mahadev

I got it inked and it is a reminder to stay grounded. To stay grateful.

As the tattoo came alive, it didn’t feel like ink. It felt like initiation.

Like I was being marked, chosen, witnessed. And today, when I look at it, I don’t see art. I see a promise. I see my Mahadev, always watching. Always guiding.

People say tattoos are about self-expression.

For me, this one was self-surrender. Because truthfully, I didn’t choose this path. He chose me.

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