I did not write this page to memorialise Prasad. I wrote it because his presence is still active in this work, and leaving that unsaid would make everything else on this site incomplete. We met in 1990. He passed in 2021. But our story didn’t end there — it changed shape, and it continues.
He is not a chapter I closed. He is not a story I tell to explain where I started.
He is present in how I hear people, how I sense what they are not saying. That did not come from a course or a certification. It came from everything we lived through together. And it hasn’t stopped there — his presence still moves with me, in everything I do.
Prasad was 15 when I first encountered him — living five minutes from my home in Pune, with his mother and their dog.
He had lost his father young, just as I had. That loss had shaped him early — made him serious about life, responsible in a way that most of his peers were not yet. He was handsome, confident, and the kind of person others naturally gravitated toward. A leader without having to announce it. His presence had its own gravity.
He had a distinct authoritative voice. A particular way of walking, of sitting, of listening. And a small dimple that appeared when he smiled — which I noticed, even when he was angry at me. Especially then.
[*The images of Prasad shared here are clicked by me or received from him, and are used with love, gratitude, and deep respect for who he was to me — not to claim, define, or speak on behalf of anyone else’s relationship with him. This page exists simply to honor a connection that shaped my path.]
Beneath all of that was music. We could each pick up an instrument and play — some of it taught, but much of it just there, an ease that went beyond what either of us had actually learned. It was one of the many things we had in common, long before we were ready to acknowledge what else we shared.
Music was not a hobby for him. It was part of his soul. He played violin, harmonium, mandolin, and tabla. He sang bhajans — devotional songs — with a depth that came from genuine faith, not performance. His father had been deeply spiritual, and that thread ran through Prasad too. He was born, his mother shared, through the blessings of a revered saint.
We both wanted to tell stories. He through music. Me through film. What we ended up creating together is something far greater than either of us could have imagined — and it did not stop when he left the physical.
He was creative, entrepreneurial, a networker in the truest sense — someone who built genuine connection wherever he went. In his adult years he became professionally accomplished, respected in his field, and continued to be the person people turned to.
He was a free spirit. He loved to travel and was drawn to the ocean — the kind of person who needed open horizons.
“I can go on praising him forever in many ways. He had a different aura.”
As we progressed — separately, and eventually together — he shared his side with me. Piece by piece, over years, I came to understand not just my own experience of this connection, but his. What it felt like from where he stood. What it cost him. What it took for him to arrive where he eventually did.
He walked his own path — his own choices, his own chapters, his own life unfolding in ways that had nothing to do with me. None of it erased the beautiful bond between us. To someone who has not lived this, that probably sounds like a contradiction. It is not. Both were true at the same time.
“He ran. He hated me. He bullied me. He blocked me. He built his own life, with the people he chose. And through all of it — he loved me. I know this because he eventually told me so. And because I always knew.”
His journey followed a pattern I have since recognised in thousands of others — the masculine twin flame experience. The soul recognition that arrives as shock rather than welcome. The instinct to repel what is too intense to immediately hold. Avoidance, not indifference. Silence, while he made sense of what he could not yet name. And eventually — slowly, at his own pace, in his own way — the arrival at truth.
There were dark years for him too. Career struggles. Relationship challenges that tested him deeply. The absence of the emotional support he had expected from those closest to him. He went through his own dark night — withdrawn from everyone, including his dearest friends. But he was a fighter. He loved his mother deeply and she was his anchor. He found his way back, rebuilt his life, moved forward. That period, as difficult as it was, prepared him for a far deeper journey than he had yet imagined.
When we reconnected in 2010, something shifted permanently. He began to understand — in his own way, at his own pace — what this connection actually was. The feeling itself was never his struggle. He knew what he felt. His struggle was reconciling it with everything he had been taught about right and wrong, about what a life was supposed to look like. He did not navigate it the way I did. But he navigated it. And he arrived.
“We are one soul in two bodies and our connection is like Radha and Krishna.”
— Prasad, January 2016
We had always had deep conversations. But February 2021 was different. The world was in the middle of a global lockdown — we could not have met in person even if we had tried. So we spoke online, for weeks, more openly than we ever had.
What I did not know then was that Prasad had a heart condition. He knew. And he made a choice — not to tell me, not to put me into panic, but to spend whatever time he had simply giving me the most beautiful version of our connection. He let me cherish it, fully, without the weight of knowing what was coming.
It takes extraordinary strength to live with that knowledge silently. To hold space for someone you love, to reassure them that you will always be there — while quietly preparing them, in your own way, for the moment you will not be there at all. He did that for me. Without ever once making it a goodbye.
“I will be here tomorrow or not, but I am always with you and your family.”
— Prasad, February 2021
At the time, I heard it as a beautiful thing to say. It was only after April that I understood — he was not being poetic. He was preparing me. That single sentence became the thing that held me together in the months that followed, and it has never stopped holding me since.
In mid-April 2021, he passed away from a sudden cardiac arrest.
I read the WhatsApp message and could not take it in. Disbelief first, then a numbness that lasted almost half an hour, my mind refusing to process what I had just read. When the shock finally broke through, it came with an agony I had never known. And underneath all of it, an anger I am not proud of but will not hide: I was furious with my own spirit guides. I had walked this path inch by inch for years, finally seeing a silver lining — and this is what I had to face.
I fell into a depression. My throat chakra closed so completely I struggled to swallow food. The chaser energy I thought I had outgrown came roaring back — I went searching for mediums, healers, anyone who could connect me to him, desperate in a way I had not been in years.
It took about eight days before anything shifted. I began noticing sensations on my body — taps, nudges, as if something were poking me from beneath the skin. My right knee, most consistently. I have never been a medium having the ability to receive messages from the spirits. But with him, the connection was most natural. I started paying attention.
I stopped chasing him through mediums and healers. And that is exactly when he found his own way back to me — through my knee, of all places.
What has unfolded since is something I could not have anticipated. His presence shows up — to console me, to heal me, to pull me out of grief, again and again, in ways too specific and too consistent to be coincidence. I do not call this union in the conventional sense. My guides use a different word: integration. I am, in every way that matters, integrated with him — and it is that integration that allows me to do the work I do today.
I have spoken about this more fully — and more honestly than I can write here — in two videos.
If his spiritual presence had not been there, I do not believe I would have come through this intact. I would not be here, sharing any of this with you, if his energy were not still around me.
I am eternally grateful for that — not as a comforting story I tell myself, but as something that has held true, consistently, for five years.
Where the Idea came from:
From the years we fought, I kept journals — written to him, for him, even when he would not speak to me. I always meant to hand them to him one day. On 4th January 2016, I finally told him they existed.
Me: I have kept all my journals from our ‘fighting’ days. I always kept them thinking you would read them someday.
Prasad: I would love to read them.
Me: There is so much there I could make a book out of it. All my emotions, realisations, learning, poems… and some insanity. It is all about our connection and the love I feel for you.
Prasad: Then make one.
Me: And who will read it?
Prasad: Everyone will.
Me: How do you know?
Prasad: I know.
He Read It the Way Only He Could:
I never got to give him the actual journals before he passed. In 2023, while compiling them into this book, I had a session with Carla — a medium gifted with the ability to sense and communicate with higher beings. She had no idea I had ever wanted to give Prasad these journals, or that I never had the chance to.
Mid-conversation, she stopped. “Wait — Prasad is here. I can sense him.”
“I can see Prasad standing near a waist-high table, holding your journal in his hand. He has a smile on his face, with a lot of mixed feelings. He wants me to tell you he is savouring your journals — taking his time, reading them by putting himself in your shoes. He wants to feel everything you went through, in his heart.”
— Carla, channeling Prasad, May 2023
He never read them in this lifetime. But he read them from the spirit — slowly, fully, in the way I always hoped he eventually would.
If your twin flame has transitioned — or if you live with the fear that they might — I want to say this plainly:
their death, their transition into spirit, is not the end of your journey together.
I will not pretend it is simple. I went through anger, depression, a desperation I had thought I had outgrown. I searched for mediums and healers, looking for any way back to him. None of that is something to be ashamed of. It is part of how this kind of loss actually moves through a person.
There is so much more happening in your journey than you realise. It is, in many ways, more magical than having them here in the physical. If there is any half-finished feeling in your heart — about what you didn’t get to say, or do, or become together — you can release that. The setup your soul chose is far more magical than you think.
I am not a medium. I never claimed any special psychic gift. But the connection I have with Prasad has continued to teach me — and continues to teach others — that the bond does not end where the physical does. If you are carrying this kind of loss, you are not alone in it, and you are not imagining what you feel.
A recorded group session on “connecting with your twin flame’s higher self” — whether they are here in the physical or have transitioned — is coming soon in the learning centre section.
If anything here resonates, I offer private sessions for exactly this. Reach out when it feels right.