Ramana's life · The ashram
Daily life with Ramana: how the ashram grew
For most of his life Ramana lived an outwardly ordinary, humble life ~ cutting vegetables before dawn, refusing all special treatment, sitting on a couch available to all ~ and it was exactly this unspectacular ordinariness that transformed those who came.
The short version
- How it grew
- Sri Ramanasramam was never planned ~ it gathered around Ramana's presence at his mother's samadhi.
- His days
- He rose early, cut vegetables in the kitchen, refused special treatment, sat available to all.
- The Old Hall
- People brought questions and grief and found them dissolving, often without a word.
- The West arrives
- From the 1930s, Brunton's book drew Western seekers; some stayed for life.
← Part of the life of Ramana Maharshi
There is a temptation, with a figure like Ramana, to imagine his days were all soaring absorption and luminous silence. The truth is quieter and, in its way, more beautiful. For most of his life at the foot of the hill, Ramana lived an outwardly ordinary, humble, almost domestic life ~ cutting vegetables before dawn, reading the newspaper, watching the cooking, laughing at a joke, refusing any special treatment ~ and it was precisely this ordinariness, this complete lack of display, that struck people most. The extraordinary thing about being with Ramana was how utterly unspectacular it was, and how transforming.
How the ashram grew
Sri Ramanasramam was never planned. It gathered. After his mother's death in 1922, Ramana settled at the foot of the hill beside her samadhi, and a small community formed around his presence, as it always had ~ a hall, a kitchen, huts, and over the years more solid buildings, growing outward from that shrine like rings from a stone dropped in water. He owned nothing and directed little; he simply was there, and the ashram accreted around the fact of him. In time it drew visitors from across India and, increasingly, from the West ~ scholars, seekers, the curious and the desperate ~ and yet, remarkably, it never lost the plain, unhurried, family quality that its silent centre gave it.
A day with Bhagavan
The rhythm of the ashram was simple and unchanging, and Ramana kept it with everyone else. He rose early and was often found in the kitchen in the small hours, sitting with the workers, cutting vegetables with his own hands, grinding, correcting the cooking with a connoisseur's exactness ~ for he cared that the food be good and fairly shared. He would not be served before others or given a larger portion; he watched the serving to see that the poorest visitor and the grandest were treated alike, and was quietly displeased by any favouritism. Much of the day he sat on his couch in the hall, available to whoever came ~ answering questions, or not; reading; sometimes simply gazing at the hill. Devotional chanting marked the hours. And through it all he was easy, often humorous, entirely without airs ~ a presence, one devotee said, less like a god on a throne than like the most restful person you had ever sat beside.
The hall, and the silence in it
Yet everyone who came knew that the ordinariness was the surface of something immense. In the Old Hall where Ramana sat for years, people brought their questions, their griefs, their long-carried knots of the heart ~ and again and again found that in his presence the questions answered themselves, the grief loosened, the knot came undone, often without a word passing. Some came determined to argue philosophy and forgot their arguments. Some wept and could not say why. Some just sat, for hours, days, years, in a stillness they had never known they were starving for. This was the paradox of daily life with Ramana: the most homely, unremarkable setting imaginable ~ a man on a couch, a cat asleep, vegetables being cut ~ and within it, quietly blazing, the very thing all those people had crossed oceans to find.
The most homely setting imaginable ~ a man on a couch, vegetables being cut ~ and within it, quietly blazing, the thing they had crossed oceans to find.
The world finds him
From the 1930s especially, the West began to arrive. Paul Brunton's famous book carried word of the silent sage to English readers and brought a stream of Western seekers to the hall; some, like the Englishman Major Chadwick and the writer Arthur Osborne, stayed for the rest of their lives. They sat in the same hall as the Tamil villagers and the visiting pandits, and received the same wordless teaching, and wrote it down for the world in a way that would, after his death, carry Ramana's one question ~ who am I? ~ far beyond India. The ashram at the foot of the hill had become, without ever intending to, a doorway through which the whole world could pass. And its master went on cutting the vegetables.
The unbroken ordinariness of these years is itself the teaching ~ the deathless Self of sixteen, lived out not in trance but in the plainest daily kindness. To be in that hall now, see visiting Sri Ramanasramam; for the whole arc, the life of Ramana Maharshi.
Frequently asked questions
How did Sri Ramanasramam come into being?
It was never formally planned. After his mother's death in 1922, Ramana settled at the foot of Arunachala beside her samadhi, and a community gathered around his presence ~ first a hall and huts, then more buildings ~ growing outward from her shrine over the years. Ramana owned nothing and directed little; the ashram simply formed around the fact of him.
What was daily life with Ramana Maharshi like?
Simple and humble. He rose early and often worked in the kitchen in the small hours, cutting vegetables with his own hands, and insisted that food be good and shared equally, refusing any special treatment for himself. Much of the day he sat on his couch in the hall, available to all, easy and often humorous, entirely without airs.
What happened in the Old Hall?
The Old Hall was where Ramana sat with devotees for years. People brought their questions, griefs and long-held troubles and found, in his presence, that the questions answered themselves and the grief loosened, frequently without a word being spoken ~ the wordless transmission that was the heart of his teaching.
How did Ramana become known in the West?
From the 1930s, Paul Brunton's book about his meeting with Ramana carried word to English readers and brought many Western seekers to the ashram. Some, such as Major Chadwick and Arthur Osborne, stayed for the rest of their lives and recorded the teaching, helping carry Ramana's question 'Who am I?' far beyond India after his death.
Last updated 8 October 2026. Following the documented record preserved by Sri Ramanasramam and his devotees; where an account is traditional, it is told as such.