The Ache I Couldn’t Ignore

My journey with Nonviolent Communication started with a punch in the gut. It was when my grandparents died. Everyone around me was crying, wailing, grieving. And me?
Nothing. Not a single tear. I just stood there, still and hollow, watching everyone else fall apart while I felt…nothing.

Inside I was screaming: “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Growing Up in Chaos

The truth is, this didn’t come out of nowhere. I grew up in a house full of conflict. My parents fought a lot, and as a kid, I wanted nothing more than to stop their pain. But I couldn’t. I felt helpless.

So I did the only thing I knew: I buried the hard stuff. I told myself to stay happy, stay light, stay cheerful. I pushed down sadness. I shoved away anger. I locked grief in a box and threw away the key.

And I got really good at it. I became the guy who cracked a joke when things got heavy. Who changed the subject. Who left the room.

Until one day, I realized - I couldn’t feel at all.

The Cost of Hiding

In my friendships and relationships, I longed for closeness. When things were joyful, I felt connected. But the moment discomfort or sadness appeared, my instinct was to run.

And then I’d be left with this ache - this deep, raw hunger for closeness. I wanted to be held. I wanted someone to really see me. I wanted to cry in someone’s arms, to feel safe enough to let go. But I couldn’t. The tears wouldn’t come. The words wouldn’t come. My chest felt locked, my throat tight.

It was like standing outside a house where love and intimacy were alive - pressing my face against the glass, but never finding the door in. I now see this longing wasn’t mine alone. 

And the more I ran from pain, the lonelier I became. I longed for connection, but my fear of vulnerability kept me from the very thing I was starving for.

I wanted deep relationships, but I didn’t know how to open myself to the vulnerability it required.

A Turning Point

Nonviolent Communication came into my life like rain after a drought. Suddenly, everything inside me began to stir - the feelings I’d buried, the words I’d never had. Honestly, it was like someone switched the lights on in a room I didn’t even know was dark. I discovered that emotions have names. That they’re not random storms, but messengers pointing to real human needs. For the first time, I realized:

I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t heartless. I was just cut off.

NVC gave me a way back to myself. To feel grief, sadness, tenderness, joy. Sometimes it was overwhelming. Sometimes it was beautiful. But for the first time in my life, it was real.

Not Just Me

And I know I’m not alone.

Most of us walk through life disconnected. Some of us go numb, freezing our feelings until nothing seems to reach us. Some of us run, keeping ourselves endlessly busy or distracted so we don’t have to touch the tender places inside. And some of us fight, meeting pain with anger, control, or defensiveness - pushing others away even as we long to be held. Deep down, we crave closeness, but the truth is, we’re terrified of the vulnerability it asks of us.

Why? Because somewhere along the way, we learned it wasn’t safe to feel. Maybe our families couldn’t hold our emotions. Maybe society told us to “be strong” and “keep it together.” Maybe we carry unspoken trauma passed down through generations.

Whatever the reason, the result is the same: the very skills we need to connect are often the ones we were never taught. And yet, beneath all of it, every single one of us longs for the same thing—to be seen, to be heard, to be understood.

Why I Do This

I do this because I know what it feels like to be cut off from myself - and I don’t want to live that way anymore. And I don’t want others to feel alone in it either.

For me, co-creating spaces is about building a kind of refuge. A place where people can take off the masks, stop pretending, and just be real. A place where we can sit with what hurts, celebrate what’s alive, and practice the messy, beautiful work of being human together.

In my life, I’ve been an engineer, a permaculturist, and a social worker. On the surface those worlds look different, but at the core they’re the same: I’m drawn to building systems that support life. Whether it’s in technology, in the soil, or in our communities, I care about what helps us grow and stay connected.

That’s what I bring into NVC spaces - the care, the structure, and the invitation to dive deep. My role is to help co-create the ground where honesty, empathy, and belonging can take root.

My Journey with NVC

Since childhood I’ve been drawn to the idea of nonviolence. I grew up reading about Mahatma Gandhi and was deeply inspired by the dream of social reform through compassion.

In 2015, during my final year of graduation, I came across Nonviolent Communication and it became my compass for life. From then on, I began championing the spread of NVC in India: organizing workshops, sharing the practice, and even translating resources into Hindi so more people could access it.

Since 2021, I’ve been working with Martha Lasley and Anisha Pandya as Operations Manager for the Authentic Communication Group. I am also a Certification Candidate with the Center for Nonviolent Communication (CNVC). Over the years I’ve organized two International Intensive Trainings in India, and in July 2024 I joined the CNVC staff as Programs Coordinator, supporting day-to-day operations for IITs and other educational programs.

Through all these roles, my purpose has stayed the same: to nurture spaces where authenticity, empathy, and belonging can take root.

An Invitation from the Heart

Come join me in Bengaluru.

For the upcoming Intensive Training in Nonviolent Communication.

Let’s co-create a space where we don’t have to pretend. Where we can feel everything-the grief, the joy, the frustration, the tenderness. Where we can laugh until our bellies hurt, cry until we’re empty, share meals, and remember what it means to belong.

Because when we allow ourselves to feel again - really feel - we don’t just heal our own lives. We begin to heal the pain carried in our families, our communities, and perhaps even the world.

Together, let’s rediscover the radical simplicity of belonging.

It happens all the time in heaven,
and someday it will begin to happen again on earth—

That men and women who are married,
and men and men who are lovers,
and women and women who give each other light,

Often will get down on their knees,
and while so tenderly holding their lover’s hand,
with tears in their eyes, will sincerely speak, saying:

“My dear,
how can I be more loving to you?
How can I be more kind?”

— Shams al-Din Mohammad Hafez, The Subject Tonight Is Love