Parenting as Karma Yoga
In the stillness of feeding my daughter, I remembered what the Gita teaches: true spiritual practice can be found in quiet acts of presence, love, and duty.
The day was long. Both my wife, Alicia, and I were tired. She desperately needed rest. After I showered, Autumn was full of energy, and we were both drained of it. A common sentiment among parents, I’m sure.
Some days, Alicia taps me in to catch a breather—maybe a nap. I do the same for her. But today, it was my turn to return the favor. And in truth, when you're operating from the refuge of love, the things we do for those we love begin to feel weightless. We lose memory. We no longer keep score. What once felt like labor transforms into a dharmic rhythm of destined responsibility.
The TV was on, and Ms. Rachel was singing a song I’ve heard way too many times for comfort. I turned the screen off. I warmed some food for us.
Autumn is a child after my own heart. When I was younger, my uncles used to call me Tufan in Hindi, which means “tornado”—for my wild hair and my innate inability to sit still. She’s the same: a ball of movement and chaos.
I sat her on my lap. She squirmed like a fish, trying to escape with every muscle and motion she could muster. I looked at her gently but firmly and said, “No. We’re going to eat.”
Slowly, she settled. I made her bite-sized pieces of food and fed them to her, one at a time.
“How’s that, Baba?” I asked, smiling and kissing her forehead.
She nodded in approval.
Then something shifted. She began picking up food and eating on her own—chewing what she liked, spitting out what she didn’t, and scurrying to put the chewed bits in my mouth. We smiled and sat there, eating quietly.
No music. No TV. No distractions.
Just two spirits. A father and his daughter, fulfilling our worldly roles and sharing a delicious meal.
And in that stillness, I was taken back to silent meditation retreats, to the familiar teachings that have become the scriptures of my heart, and to the majestic serenity of hikes through nature. That familiar peace returned—the kind you find when you're only doing one thing at a time.
For those who grew up without screens, this may not sound profound. But for our generation that’s been raised and entangled with devices, peace has become a lost commodity.
As I looked at my child, this radiant soul who chose to grace our lives, I was reminded:
My dharma is to be her protector, her guide, her model of what love and manhood should look like—until she is ready to walk her path.
Children are cut from our cloth, but their garments belong to the Divine.
They come dressed in desires, dreams, and destinies not of our making, but of their choosing, shaped in realms beyond our knowing.
Our dharma. Our sacred duty is to be a steady pillar in their lives, offering support and presence as they navigate a world that feels familiar to us yet entirely new to them.
As we continued sharing that quiet meal, I realized: this is Karma Yoga.
The Gita doesn’t only speak of war, saints, or renunciation—it speaks to these ordinary moments too.
When we serve without needing anything in return.
When we give love fully, without measuring it.
When our every action becomes an offering to the sacred, we find a nourishing type of fulfillment that transcends the material.
Feeding my daughter wasn’t just parenting—it was a spiritual act.
No applause.
No badge.
Just presence. Just devotion. Just love.
As Krishna says:
“Be steadfast in yoga, O Arjuna. Perform your duty and abandon all attachment to success or failure.” (Bhagavad Gita)
Yoga means union. In Karma Yoga, that union is found through selfless action, where we act with full presence, yet remain untouched by the desire for results.
As I grow older and hopefully a little wiser, my roles as a friend, father, husband, brother, son and every other identity I carry melt into the same underpinning stream of service. I no longer seek recognition or applause… well, maybe just a little from my wife. :)
But I do know that placing full-hearted action into whatever is in front of me, without clinging to the outcome, is birthing a better and more peaceful version of myself.
I believe this is Karma Yoga in its purest form.
With love,
Anand