In an era where wellness often moves at the speed of the scroll, the quiet rigor of Ashtanga Yoga feels almost radical. Rooted in lineage and rhythm, it asks for something unfashionable yet essential — discipline, humility, and daily devotion.
For Sonakshi, who began her journey under the guidance of Shri Sharath Jois, the practice has never been about perfecting form but about cultivating steadiness — breath by breath, posture by posture, day after day.

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After years of practice in Mysore, she has brought this spirit home through The Shala Delhi,  a space dedicated to teaching Ashtanga in its pure, grounded essence. A field of remembrance — of the teachers who came before, of the intelligence of the body, of what happens when repetition becomes prayer.

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As more young people turn to wellness for balance and belonging, Sonakshi believes Ashtanga offers a language of integrity: one that strengthens the body while softening the ego, one that teaches presence in movement and surrender in stillness.
In this conversation, she reflects on the evolving relevance of the practice — its timeless values, its adaptability in a changing world, and the quiet transformations that unfold when yoga becomes a way of living rather than something we do.

Q Can you share your first memories of stepping into the Shala in Mysore?

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A The first time I practiced Ashtanga Yoga was in Mysore. Before arriving in December 2015, I had only learned part of the Primary Series through YouTube, so stepping into the actual Yoga Shala was unlike anything.

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My earliest memories actually begin outside—waiting with curious practitioners from all over the world. This was my first ever experience of a yoga community. It was fascinating to see many people had travelled from all over the world with the same dedication.

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When I finally entered the Shala, I remember feeling nervous and alert—trying to place my mat correctly, not to miss a single instruction, wanting above all to be a good student. What struck me immediately was how different this experience was from practicing alone at home. Being in a room full of people breathing, moving, and showing up with the same intention had created an energy I had never experienced before. It was infectious, grounding, and deeply inspiring. No matter where you were mentally or physically that day, you showed up and gave your best—and the satisfaction you left with was unmatched.

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My first time in Mysore was not an easy trip but exactly what I needed. I left knowing I’d be back again soon.  

Q What does lineage mean to you — especially learning directly under Shri Sharath Jois, the torchbearer of this tradition?

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A Lineage holds immense importance for me, especially in a world where it’s becoming increasingly overlooked. The traditional Guru–Shishya Parampara transfers wisdom in a way that can’t be replicated via modern day education and learning. In this lineage, teachings are shared with a depth honed by lived experience. It’s not the same for everyone — each student receives what they need in their own way.

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I feel profoundly grateful to have found a true teacher in Sharathji and to have been guided by him over many years. What I’ve learned from him isn’t just about the practice—it’s intertwined with my own life stages, challenges, and growth.

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The foundation that lineage creates is steadying. It cultivates a sense of faith, humility, and surrender within us as students, and that trust becomes the ground from which the entire practice grows.

Q How does this sense of continuity shape the way you teach and live the practice today?

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A The way I teach is an ongoing attempt to stay as close as possible to what I was taught. Holding tradition and lineage feels incredibly rewarding, though it can be challenging in a world that constantly asks for novelty and reinvention.

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What inspires me is the timelessness of these teachings — practices that have been refined over hundreds of years and still hold so much value today. In a fast-moving, constantly shifting world, where grounding can feel hard to hold onto, a traditional practice offers steadiness, familiarity, and a quiet sense of belonging. It becomes an anchor.

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For me, Ashtanga is something you can return to at any time. Instead of searching for the next new method, the practice itself becomes your support system. And as teachers and students, we’re always learning. Even the simplest basics reveal something new depending on where you are in your own journey. That continuity — doing what our teachers did, and what their teachers did — shapes not just how I teach, but how I live the practice day to day.

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Q For many younger people today, yoga is often seen as merely flexibility. How can Ashtanga be reintroduced as a discipline that extends beyond the mat?

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A For any practice to go beyond the mat, you need to stay with it long enough for that shift to happen. What begins as something physical slowly starts to work on the mind, the breath, and your way of moving through daily life.

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Having a teacher helps — someone who keeps you accountable and reminds you that yoga is more than asanas. With Ashtanga especially, its depth reveals itself through guidance, repetition, and simply showing up.

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In today’s world of constant information and misinformation, a traditional, grounded practice becomes even more valuable. And I believe that anyone who needs Ashtanga eventually finds their way to it — whether they come for flexibility, strength, or something entirely different.

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There’s nothing wrong with starting for physical reasons. What matters is how the practice grows with you, becoming a discipline that steadies and shapes you over time.

Q What inspired you to create The Shala? What does the space represent to you — physically and philosophically?

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A Creating The Shala felt like the most natural and traditional next step for me. After going to Mysore year after year since 2015, the desire to share even a fraction of what I experienced there kept getting stronger. I often wondered how so many people in Delhi still hadn’t encountered this beautiful practice of Ashtanga Yoga. I wanted to share the revelation it had been for me — the joy, the silence, the discipline, and the inner steadiness it offers.

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The vision was simple: to teach the practice exactly as I had been taught, without dilution or distraction. That’s why the name is straightforward — The Shala Delhi. It says what it is. It doesn’t decorate or disguise anything; it invites you to experience the practice directly, without unnecessary embellishment.

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For me, the space represents the essence of Ashtanga itself. Some things can only be understood through experience. No amount of conversation can replace what happens when you step onto the mat, breathe, and allow the practice to reveal itself. The Shala is simply a place for that to happen.

Q How do you approach teaching beginners who are new to Ashtanga?

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A I approach beginners slowly and patiently — qualities that Ashtanga requires from both the teacher and the student. Trust is another important part of the process, but it’s something that develops over time. You don’t need to arrive with it. What you do need is openness and curiosity: the willingness to ask questions and a genuine interest in why the practice is the way it is.

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I’ve always felt that practice mirrors life. The qualities we cultivate on the mat — patience, consistency, humility — are the same ones we rely on in daily living. That’s why Ashtanga has been such a transformative practice for me.

Q If you could share three lessons that Ashtanga has taught you about life, what would they be?

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A 1. Everything changes.
One of the biggest lessons Ashtanga has taught me is that change is the only constant. Nothing stays fixed — not the body, not the mind, not life. Learning to stay curious and open in the middle of that change has been incredibly grounding.

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2. A little every day matters more than a lot once in a while.
It’s rarely about giving 100% in a single moment — it’s about showing up consistently. This practice has taught me the value of moderation, steadiness, and doing what you can with honesty. There will always be someone who can do more, whether in asana or in life, and that realization has helped me focus on doing my best and being content with it.

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3. Trust yourself — look inward.
Ashtanga has helped me turn inward and trust my own experience. It’s taught me to look within for answers, to take ownership of my situation, and to work with what I have — whether that’s physical strength on the mat or resilience in daily life.

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Q How do you maintain discipline while staying gentle with yourself?

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A Contrary to what many people believe, I’ve learned that discipline actually creates space for gentleness. We often imagine discipline as something harsh — like a bootcamp or a military routine — but in practice, it’s much softer than that. True discipline simply asks you to show up and offer your best on that particular day.

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Some days that “best” might be only 25% of your usual capacity, and discipline says: that’s enough. That understanding has helped me stay gentle with myself. I can be human, have those 25% days, and still feel aligned with my practice.

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I didn’t start here — it took years of effort, sweat, frustration, and learning. I still struggle at times. But these principles remind me, especially on difficult days, that discipline isn’t rigidity, it’s consistency with compassion. That balance is what keeps me grounded.

Q What does “progress” mean to you now, after years of practice?

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A It’s taken me years to understand that progress happens as much off the mat as it does on it. In the physical practice, progress has meant learning to walk that delicate line between being kind to myself and not slipping into laziness. It’s about understanding what my body truly needs — whether that’s getting on the mat, going for a walk, meeting a friend for something active instead of a late dinner, or even giving myself two rest days instead of one.

In life, progress has meant allowing myself to receive things I once believed I didn’t deserve. It has meant being more open, letting things unfold instead of trying to control every outcome out of fear of the unknown.

So for me, progress now feels like ease — the ability to move through both practice and life with a little more softness, trust, and space.

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