Mero Nam Kamal

Mero Nam Kamal – How a German Received a Nepali Name During Mahashivaratri. There are moments in life when you feel like you’ve stepped into another world – not as a tourist, but as a part of something much greater than yourself. The night of Mahashivaratri at Pashupatinath Temple in Kathmandu was one of those moments for me. I arrived on February 24th, ready to lend a helping hand. What I didn’t know was that this night would give me more than I could ever give back – a name, a sense of belonging, and a glimpse into the devotion that unites millions of people under the gaze of Lord Shiva. My name is Kamal, a name I received during Mahashivaratri – and this is the story of how I became part of something far bigger than myself.
The Arrival – A Warm Welcome by the Fire
Stepping out of the vehicle at Pashupatinath, I was immediately enveloped by the atmosphere of Mahashivaratri. The air was thick with the scent of incense, the distant hum of mantras, and the chatter of thousands of pilgrims. As I made my way through the crowd, I was welcomed by a group of Nepali people who had set up a fire near our food stand. Without hesitation, they offered me a seat and handed me a cup of cold, salty milk. The taste immediately reminded me of Ayran, which I absolutely love, and when I asked for a refill, the old lady serving me beamed with joy. An elderly man, whose name I regrettably forgot, sat beside me. He barely spoke English, yet somehow, our conversation flowed effortlessly. He explained, with a warm smile and a gentle shake of my hand, that words were never necessary when intentions were pure. “We are people-one big family,” he said, his grip reminding me of my own grandfather’s embrace. Later, I learned his story-he had once been a famous boxer, a heavy drinker, until a doctor warned him 13 years ago that one more drink would be his last. That day, he quit alcohol and turned to cannabis instead. “Everyone has something that helps them,” he told me. “For some, it’s coffee, for others, it’s sugar, alcohol, or weed. Each of us carries our own poison.” I listened intently, trying to absorb every bit of wisdom I was given, knowing this was the kind of knowledge that no book could ever teach me.
The Sea of Flames – A Ceremony of Energy
As night fell, I climbed up to Guru Goranath to witness one of the most surreal ceremonies of my life. Hundreds of tiny flames flickered in the darkness-small clay pots filled with oil and a rope wick, set ablaze by the hands of devoted pilgrims. It looked like a sea of fire stretching endlessly into the night. The energy in the air was almost tangible, vibrating around me in a way that was impossible to ignore. I had always been skeptical when people spoke of “feeling energy” in sacred places, but in that moment, surrounded by fire and devotion, I understood. There was something here-something beyond words, beyond reason. Two of those flames, I had the honor of lighting myself. It was a simple act, but as I watched the tiny fires dance in the breeze, I felt an unspoken connection
to the moment, to the people, to the divine. Becoming Kamal – A New Name, A New Identity Later that evening, in a rare moment of stillness amidst the chaos, my friend Prateek turned to me and asked, “Do you really want a Nepali name?” He had been observing me throughout the day, and he believed he had found the perfect one. When I agreed, he smiled knowingly.
“From now on, you are Kamal,” he said. “It means lotus flower-symbolizing enlightenment, growth through struggle, and the journey of a seeker. It suits you.” And I had to admit-he was right.
As I sat by the fire, letting the weight of my new name settle in, a Guru approached. He spoke with an intense, powerful voice, addressing my friends in Nepali while occasionally gesturing toward me. At first, I thought I had done something wrong-perhaps unknowingly disrespected a tradition. But when he finally walked away and I turned to my friends for an explanation, their faces lit up. “He said you have the looks and the aura of a god,” they told me. “That you are radiating.” I was stunned. It was the greatest compliment I had ever received. And as if the universe wanted to reinforce that moment, later in the day, while taking a short break from serving food, a woman approached me and told me, without hesitation, “You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.”
These were strangers-people who owed me nothing-yet they saw something in me that I had never truly seen in myself. Maybe this was the magic of Mahashivaratri. Maybe this was what it meant to be Kamal. As the flames of the last campfires flickered into the night and the chants of Om Namah Shivaya
echoed through the temple grounds, I sat quietly with a cup of chai in my hands. The exhaustion of peeling countless potatoes, the scent of burning incense, and the sound of mantras all blended into one timeless moment. In those hours, I had become Kamal-not just by name, but by spirit. Mahashivaratri had shown me
the beauty of surrender, the power of selfless service, and the warmth of a community built on devotion.
Would I return again? Without a doubt. Because once you’ve walked among the sea of flames,
shared food with strangers, and felt the presence of Shiva, something inside you is forever changed.