Written by: Ramala Sarma
Ever since the United Nations declared 21 June as the International Day of Yoga in 2014, millions of people across the globe have gathered to practice yoga on this day. Images of basic asanas, limb-twisting creative postures, breathing exercises, and meditation sessions flood newspapers and social media. Yet amid this celebration, an important question often remains unasked: What is yoga ultimately meant to unite?
The Bhagavad Gita provides an answer that is both simple and profound. Yoga—which literally means union—is often understood as the union of body and mind. Yet the idea of union points to something deeper: it is a gradual reconciliation of an inner split within us, the space between what we desire and what we already are.
This may be why Lord Krishna says that the self alone is the friend of the self, and the self alone is the enemy of the self (Gita 6.5).
Nowhere do we feel our inner restlessness more keenly than in love. Most of us know what it feels like to wait for love and affection: we wait for messages, for attention, for reassurance, for commitment, and for the slightest signs that we are cherished.
In such cases, we lean outward, looking for what we have not yet discovered within ourselves. We wait for another person’s love and affection to make us feel whole, forgetting that we are already whole in ourselves. The result is a subtle restlessness; we chase what we think is missing.
Indeed, we mistake the longing for wholeness for a longing for a particular person.
Let us reflect on the idea of chasing love in a striking way: if we are constantly pursuing love, it suggests a sense of lack within ourselves. By contrast, when we become givers and cultivate gratitude, it reflects a sense of abundance. Whether or not one accepts the metaphysical significance behind such claims, this insight resonates deeply with the yogic vision of the Gita.
Yoga begins when the mind ceases to live entirely from a sense of lack. The Gita describes the yogin as one who has discovered inner steadiness (sthitaprajna) that is not dependent upon external conditions. While such a person is not without relationships or emotions, these no longer determine the value of one’s existence.
This is where the ideas of santosa (contentment), prasada (serenity), atma-rati (self-delight), and bhakti (devotion)—enshrined in the Gita and yogic scriptures—become relevant.
Often translated as contentment, santosa does not mean settling for less. It does not mean that life is perfect or complete, nor does it guarantee exactly what we wish for. Rather, it is the discovery that life already contains more than we often recognize.
The Gita (12.19) says, santu??o yena kenacit—content with whatever comes. When the mind rests in the self and finds satisfaction therein, it realizes that life is not defined by what is lacking.
This is the first yogic shift embodied in the practice of santosa (Yoga Sutra 2.32), one of the niyamas of Astanga Yoga, which requires the practitioner to remove the burden of dependence and attachment. Here, the seeker stops living exclusively from a sense of lack, moving from the struggle of “Why don’t I have enough?” to the realization of “What have I failed to appreciate?”
A contented heart can still love, aspire, and dream, but it does not exist as a perpetual beggar before the other—or the beloved—with feelings of loneliness, insecurity, and emptiness waiting to be filled. It is the realization of inner freedom through the discovery of the sufficiency of the self.
Lord Krishna does not ask Arjuna to suppress affection or withdraw from human bonds. Instead, he teaches a way of acting without becoming enslaved by attachment to those bonds. The yogic discipline is not a rejection of life but a transformation of one’s relationship with it.
This shift gives rise to the inner clarity and serenity that the Gita calls prasada. Unlike anxiety or excitement, which arise from circumstances—whether a message arrives or does not arrive, whether someone stays or leaves—serenity develops when the mind is no longer tossed about by every union and separation, every gain and loss. Prasade sarva-du?kh?n?m h?nir asyopaj?yate (Gita 2.65): in serenity of spirit, all sorrows come to an end.
In an age of emotional exhaustion, this may be one reason why yoga remains so relevant. We have become skilled at seeking connection but less skilled at receiving and expressing it wisely. Yoga teaches us how to navigate these situations by cultivating inner stillness.
This cultivation leads to what the Gita calls atma-rati (3.17)—delight in the self. This does not, however, imply isolation or narcissism. In yogic practice, it refers to a seeker who has discovered a source of joy in the realization of inner fullness and in the transcendence of the self-other divide. Where there is no “other” beyond the self, the need for external validation disappears.
When love arises from inner fullness rather than deficiency, it is expressed not as neediness but as generosity, infused with compassion, friendliness, and self-mastery—maitrah karuna eva ca (Gita 12.13). This fullness naturally leads to bhakti (devotion), as the seeker learns to appreciate and be grateful rather than to possess and control. Love is transformed once again.
At its highest level, yogic practice culminates in devotion. The devotee loves not because something is lacking, but because the heart has discovered the source from which all love arises. Love no longer remains a plea for completion or something to be chased. Rather, it becomes an expression of fullness; it becomes what we are.
In this sense, yogic practice is not merely about postures and breathing exercises. It is a journey from seeking love outside oneself to becoming capable of love itself.
Ramala Sarma is an Associate Professor in the Department of Philosophy in Nagaon University.