Pictures: http://jengill.smugmug.com/gallery/2430789
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Prateek, the cranky astrologer, asks me when I'll be leaving Rishikesh.
"I'm leaving Saturday. I'm going to Delhi and then Mysore to study yoga."
"You're not going to Mysore."
"What do you mean I'm not going to Mysore? I'm going to Mysore!"
"If you get to Mysore you email me."
Well this makes me feel nice and secure. Should I not get on an airplane? He has freaked me out yet again.
Limor and Yaron remind me that he said Mysore and I'm flying to Bangalore so the flight should be fine. "Maybe you shouldn't take a public bus?
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BANGALORE
I arrive safely in Bangalore and spend a day there being very careful when crossing the street.
As I stroll down bustling MG Road on sidewalks far too narrow for the mass of mid-day pedestrians, the hi-tech feel of this Silicon Valley of India seeps out through cracks in the veneer of traditional India. Only here do book vendors sell illegal copies of "The Google Story". Only here are bookshelves filled with How-To guides for C++, Perl, and Java more than Paulo Cohelo novels. Western businessmen, who are both short-term visitors as well as residents, all sport laptops and wear long-sleeve dress shirts and leather shoes in the gentle heat of a south India winter. A smartly-dressed Chinese-American woman in slacks and cornflower blue button down confers with a smartly-dressed Indian woman in an expensive sari over lattes at the bright and clean Cafe Coffee Day, PDAs at hand.
A young, melancholy girl sits in tattered sari on the sidewalk selling posters that read, "Smile A Lot. It's Free!"
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Near Du Parc Trinity circle I hunt for Apple Inc.
My $450 iPod's hard drive has crashed after 20 months. I've been without my music for 2 months now and I am miffed: such an expensive toy and it can't even last 2 years. Even if they can fix it, my music is tucked away in a closet at my mother's house.
Calling from my cell phone on the street, the company's helpful receptionist guides me to the front door. The outside of this building looks as if it's condemned. The darkened windows are dirty with year-old dust and the ground floor is a wall-less area looking as if it's in the midst of demolition: cement debris litter the cement floor and cement stairs lead up to nowhere.
Exiting the elevator on the 5th floor, however, you enter a modern, crisp, air-conditioned world where "Apple Computer" is expertly etched in the glass doors.
I patiently sit in the reception area waiting for my Apple expert to save me from music purgatory.
"How much would it cost to fix?" I ask.
"It's not under warranty."
"Yes, I know. That's not the question. The question is 'How much would it cost to fix?'"
Unfortunately, there's no saving the hard drive. They offer to do a "battery trade-in" for $75. This leaves me with a working, but empty, iPod. One issue at a time. I hand over my 3500 rupees. When he gives me the receipt I ask him his name but for some reason he doesn't want to tell me.
"You can just call the number there and talk to anybody."
"But you know me. What's your name?"
"There's only 2 of us that deal with this."
"Please. Just tell me your name. I want to know the name of the person I'm handing money to. Please. What's your name?"
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In the afternoon I head to the bus station after walking away from many a rickshaw driver who refuse to use the meter.
I haven't made it to Mysore yet, so I opt for the expensive ($4), air/con bus - the kind that isn't packed above capacity and probably has regular maintenance on its brakes.
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MYSORE
Okay, that's it. I made it. Prateek was wrong. The world is born anew with hope and possibility.
Downtown Mysore is as I remember it: dirty, crowded, old. However, the history stands out proud against street vendors who harass and begging women who follow you and jab you in the arm. The city hall, the clock tower, Mysore Palace all give this smallish city a feel of longevity and importance.
I'm staying at the same guesthouse as five years ago - the one Limor had seen and said, "Oh, you have a sink." It's dark but adequately clean and the people are nice.
I spend a few days here, not really doing much of anything. One evening I walk into a restaurant at 7pm. There are 50 men inside and not one woman. I turn around and leave. The males of downtown Mysore are bothersome. One puny little man saw me coming from the opposite direction and curves in so that he brushes my shoulder in passing. It's harmless, for sure, but entirely creepy. I see him turn his head slightly to see my reaction.
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YOGA YOGA YOGA
I've come back to India to study yoga. Since the beginning of my trip, this has been the plan: find a nice place to live and do yoga for a few months before coming home.
In Rishikesh I had been asking people to explain the difference between all the types of yoga: hatha, Shivinanda, Iyengar, Ashtanga. Besides Bikram (the same 26 postures in a sauna), I had only done what I consider regular ol' yoga.
This is as I understand it at the moment:
Hatha - Classic yoga postures. What most people think of when they think of yoga. Holding the postures, short rests in between.
Shivananda - Classic postures but lots of time resting to feel the effects on the body. They say that in a 2 hour class you can lay in savasana (corpse pose) for 45 minutes. Named after Swami Shivananda.
Iyengar - Postures that use props to aide in staying in the position and/or help create more of a stretch. Very exact. Some even say militaristic.
Ashtanga - A set series of classic postures done without stopping. Most postures are held for 5 breaths. A lot of heat is worked up. You sweat. This is the style that Madonna does, or so I've been told. I've also been told that Ashtanga people have lots of ego, walking around with their well-toned arms and feeling very pleased with themselves.
Bikram - The same 26 postures done in a heated room. There is no Bikram yoga in India. Isn't that funny. Bikram's main headquarters is in Los Angeles. This is the guy who is suing people who use his style/series without his permission or paying royalties. He is trying to copy write his series.
A synopsis: All yoga, or more accurately, all asanas (postures) is Hatha yoga. Different people take postures and do different things with them (in a sauna, never resting, lots of resting, using props) and slap their name on it and make it a different style.
I decide that I want to learn Ashtanga. I want to sweat. I want strong arms. I want a big ego.
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FINDING MY GURU
So here I am in the suburbs of Mysore, the Ashtanga capital of the world and home to the Ashtanga guru himself, Pattahbi Jois. (Upon arriving I thought that his name was pronounced like the French " joie de vive". But it's like the American name, "Joyce". The Astanga-heads think this faux pas to be quite amusing.)
However, I'm not going to Pattahbi Jois. This guy charges around $550 for the first month and $400 for every month after that and gives one class a day. They do self-practice - something I have never heard of before - meaning they go through the series at their own pace and the teacher provides corrections when needed. Furthermore, there are 50+ people in a class and it's possible that the teacher will never say or do anything to help you improve your practice.
Ashtanga-heads come back every year to study at "The Shala" and feed off the energy of the other students as well as the Master. My cynical side thinks that they pay all this cash so that they can say that they were here, that they studied with Pattahbi himself. More ego.
I find another teacher in the area that does 2 classes a day as well as an hour of meditation, chanting and pranayama.
I meet Jaya Kumar at his house and yoga shala (school) in the cute and affluent neighborhood of Vijay Nagar, Stage 1. His yoga studio is on the first floor of his home and it's clean and spacious, with lime green hospital walls and an OM that lights up when plugged in, similar to the Sierra Nevada Pale Ale sign I had during university.
He shows me around his house and offers me chai and tells me of his time in Russia as I look at a photograph of him with his students. "I had over 1000 students. I was very well respected."
Of course, we know that power and respect are of the utmost importance for many people, but it's strange to hear someone say it aloud. It doesn't sound like my new yogi has completely let go of the ego.
J. Kumar asks me about my health and specific problems. His accent is hard to understand, but he says I'll get used to it. (I won't.) He seems nice and knowledgeable. I am looking forward to having a relationship with my yoga teacher, someone who takes an interest in my progress, someone who will push me.
He then drives me a couple blocks away to look at a room for rent. It's a new, bright room with built-in closets, a large bathroom and a western toilet. I notice that there is no shower and no hot water heater.
The owners give me the Indian hand twist and assure me that, "Yes, yes. We put in. No problem." Can you see where this one is heading?
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So, here we go. I tell J. Kumar that I will stay for one or two months. I don't know yet. We'll see how things go. For 3.5 hours a day, I am paying $530 a month. This is like a year's gym membership at home. But he's certified with the USA Yoga Alliance and maybe this is the start of a lifetime of yoga education.
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On Sunday, J. Kumar asks me to come to his house before 11am and he'll bring me to my new home. When I arrive he tells me that the room isn't ready. There's no bed. There's no hot water. And all I'm thinking is "why didn't you find this out before I packed up all my things and came out here." But I don't say anything. India (head-tilt). Now it seems I'm coming down with a fever and I need to lay down. I wish I were in my own hotel room. Instead, I'm napping in his daughters bed, a narrow cot, with a hard mattress and pillow. They don't think to ask if I would like a blanket.
I spend two days in bed at J. Kumar's house waiting for my fever to subside and for a bed to be installed in my new home.
In the meantime, I meet Anita, a Canadian born Indian, who has come to study with J. Kumar for 3.5 months.
I'm full of questions: Where do you eat? Where are the restaurants? How's the asana class? How's the theory class? What do you do with the rest of your day?
With resignation she tells me that J. Kumar does NOT teach Ashtanga Vinyasa.
(ASHTANGA VINYASA? What's Ashtanga Vinyasa? I was asking about all the types of yoga and no one mentioned Ashtanga Vinyasa.)
"But J. Kumar's website says he teaches Classical Ashtanga!"
"Well, from J. Kumar's traditional perspectice, Classical Ashtanga means that he teaches the 8 limbs of yoga. Ashtanga literally means 8 limbs. The asana class is hatha. Ashtanga Vinyasa is what Pattahbi Jois teaches."
Well fuck! I came all the way down here to learn Ashtanga, which turns out to be the shortened western label and should more accurately be called Ashtanga Vinyasa, and now I've unknowingly signed up with a teacher that does hatha. I'm learning so much already.
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GOKULAM UNDERGROUND
Gokulam is the most bizarre place I've been in all of India. In fact, it's not quite India at all. It's not a travel destination. The only reason people come here is for yoga. There are no guest houses. Visitors rent rooms or apartments long term - a month usually being the minimum. There is no information about this area in my guide book. A map does not exist. It's clean and calm with huge trees forming natural canopies over peaceful, well-paved roads.
Many of the businesses that cater to the wealthy, western, yoga population are clandestine efforts. Unless given specific directions involving landmarks - never street names - by someone who's been there, or personally taken there, you will never find these places.
FOOD AND STUFF
After my first yoga class, I am taken to breakfast at Tina's. It's a light green house with no sign, no address. The only way you can tell that there may be customers inside is the line of parked scooters.
Tina, like many other entrepreneurs of Mysore, runs an illegal yet thriving business out of her home. She and husband, Sangeev, have transformed their carport into a breakfast cafe, with low tables and mats, prayer flags, wall decorations and a small library where folks can trade in books, one for one.
Tina makes her own bread, peanut butter and jam. She is the reason that I am not loosing weight, even though I do yoga twice a day. But I will forgive her because she is one of the most down-to-earth, warm-hearted, no-bullshit people I've ever met. And I don't toss about compliments hither-thither. Tina deserves every kind word she receives.
She miraculously remembers the names of everyone after the initial introduction. She claims it's because she has nothing else to do. But Tina is a humble person. She runs her business, raises her kids and provides cooking classes 3 times a week for all those Pattahbi Jois students who are looking for something to do after their once a day 5:30am class.
Other extra-yoga activities include sitar and tabla lessons, massage courses, Thai or Ayurvedic massage, and Bollywood dancing.
The Shakti House is another breakfast treasure, hidden behind a brown wall. The lush backyard creates shade for 4 large tables. The foreign females who run the place also have a shop in the garage where they sell overpriced yoga mats and clothes. They aren't about to tell you that if you walk down the street and take a right, you can find the exact same yoga mat for half the price.
Okay, I'll say something nice about them. They serve tasty scrambled eggs and banana-cinnamon pancakes, and serve real coffee in a french press.
Rishi's Cafe has 4 computers and the owner, Rajini, serves an authentic Indian lunch and dinner for 60 rupees. You dine in the family's dining room at a table that seats 4. I feel like I've intruded on their lives, sitting in this dark room and listening to the family watch TV. I've been encouraging Rajini to convert their small balcony into a seating area with low tables and mats. It could easily fit 8 people and it would be a much nicer place to spend some time. She is apprehensive about making any changes and yet she wonders why she's not getting more business. However, many people enjoy this peep into the family home and Rajini is a good cook. You can watch TV with them or chase Rishi, Rajini's 4 year-old, around the house.
Rajini spent some time in the hospital because of kidney stones. Her long-time customers visited her in the hospital and brought the regular get-well-soon fare. As I was buying flowers for her, I wondered if bringing flowers to a sick person was an Indian custom. I still don't know. She smiled when she saw the flowers so I assumed I hadn't cursed her or her offspring.
Rajini's mother, who helps run the business, tells me that her husband died many years ago of "stomach problems" which is how she describes Rajini's current medical problem. I'm sure she doesn't have the English words for the specific ailment, but I also I imagine she's scared out of her mind. You can see the worry on her face.
Rajini makes a full recovery and continues to complain about why she's not getting more business.
Across the street from Rishi's is The Coconut Corner. Yoga people congregate here after a hard workout to reinfuse themselves with electrolytes. (All directions are given in relation to The Coconut Corner.)
Anu's Cafe actually has a sign. They serve a buffet style lunch and dinner for a set 80 rupees. Anu makes the healthiest food in town, but as it's buffet, I usually leave there feeling like a big chapati. They also make a scruptious banana/chocolate/peanut butter smoothie and have an Internet Cafe with large monitors and headphone capability as well as wi-fi access for laptop users.
Ganesh, Anu's husband, provides various tourist services: scooter rentals, realator, taxi to airport. He's like the concierge of Gokolum, arranging tickets for a sold-out show. He charges a lot for his services, but as most of the westerners have never been to other parts of India, they don't know the difference.
Shiva is the other concierge. He wears the orange longyi of a baba, has a long beard and a sweet smile. Better to get him on a good day. This one is moody. Shiva rents out scooters (50 rupee a day), can point you in the direction of open rooms and apartments and is a good sourse for random issues.
"Hey Shiva. Where can I get a foam mattress to make my bed softer?"
"Take a right at the end of this street and then turn left at the coconut corner and it's on the right. It's a furniture store."
See that? No street names. No address. No business name.
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DO YOU PRACTICE WITH GURU JI?
I'm feeling rather pleased that on my first day of yoga class, I've been introduced to both Tina's and Anu's. I am the new girl, asking everyone about their "practice", their teachers, their likes and dislikes about their shalas. These are THE yoga questions, similar to the travel questions: "Where have you been?" "How long have you been out?" "Where are you going?" And soon enough I will tire of talking about "practice" just as I have long been weary of listening to someone's 6 month itinerary, my own included. But for now, I'm not sure if I'm going to stay with J. Kumar and I need input.
At Anu's I meet an Ashtanga teacher from Los Angeles. I am explaining my misunderstanding to her. "I didn't know there was a different between Ashtanga and Ashtanga Vinyasa."
She looks at me and in classic valley-girl, gag-me-with-a-spoon, I-drive-an-SUV-but-have-never-been-off-road, I-voted-for-Shwarzenegger, yoga-is-my-life, stick-up-my-ass, LA stereotypical inflection says, "Uh! NO! AshtTANga's AshTANga!"
If I had had a few more days in town, a little more knowledge about the history of yoga, I would have been able to tell her with confidence that Ashtanga is defined in the Yoga Sutras as: yama (moral restraints), niyama (personal observances), asana (postures), pranayama (conscious breathing), pratyahara (withdrawl of senses), dharana (concentration), dhyana (effortless meditation), samadhi (enlightenment). There is no mention of a specifc style created by this guy named Pattahbi Jois. There isn't a mention of hatha. There isn't even a mention of one specific posture. It says that one should do asana as part of the path to enlightenment so that sitting meditation is more comfortable. Yes, it is true that in the west Ashtanga Vinyasa, or Mysore Style, has become known simply as Ashtanga, but it's the same type of adulteration as thinking that Yoga is only a form of physical exersice. Once you know, it's not the same thing at all.
While I came to Mysore for both a well-rounded yogic education and to learn Ashtanga Vinyasa, my inquiries soon reveal that this is not entirely possible. Ashtanga Vinyasa teachers are not teaching pranayama and meditation as part of their program. There are other places in town where you can find these things, at an additional cost, but it's not a package deal.
In the end, I decide that maybe I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. Maybe I'm not supposed to study Ashtanga Vinyasa just yet. I tell J. Kumar that I will stay for the full 4 months. The suburbs of Mysore are charming. This is definitely a good place to hang out.
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MY PRACTICE
When I was at the Shaolin Kung Fu school everyone walked around talking about their "training". Well, with yoga it's "practice". I must have known this before but it never really stuck out as a thing. Every conversation here involves one of the following lines: "How's your practice coming?" "My practice was so great this morning." "What time do you practice?"
So, I have started my new practice with J. Kumar.
6:00 to 7:15am - asana class
4:30 to 5:45pm - theory, meditation, pranayama, chanting
5:45 to 7:00pm - asana class
Yes, yes. I am getting up at 5:30am and paying for the privledge.
Class begins with some chanting. This is code for "praying". I rarely pray as part of my own religion and now I need to do it in Sanskrit. However, many of the prayers have nice enough meanings: "stimulate the dull mind..." and "...enjoy the bliss... and "may out learning be brilliant" and "may all be happy..." Nothing wrong there. I have a small problem with being delivered into immortality, but I've just finished reading "A Short History of Nearly Everything" so I'm focusing instead on my atomic particles being delivered into immortality.
We then do 10 minutes of pranayama. This is conscious breathing and may include doing forced exhalations (Kapalabahti) for a few rounds of a minute each and Nadi Suddi, where we must breathe in through one nostril and out through the other. My allergies make Nadi Suddi an impossibility. So I sit there feelings sorry for myself what with my miserable, clogged, snotty lot in life, while all these normal people can reap the benefits of clear nasal passages.
Here's a little quote about pranayama that I thought was funny...um, I mean interesting.
"This body becomes lean, strong and healthy. Too much fat is reduced. There is lustre in the face. Eyes sparkle like diamonds. The practitioner becomes very handsome. Voice becomes sweet and melodious. The inner Anahata sounds are distinctly heard. The student is free from all sorts of diseases. He gets established in Brahmacharya. Semen gets firm and steady. The Jatharagni (gastric fire) is augmented."
- Excerpt from the book Kundalini Yoga by Sri Swami Sivananda.
And indeed, my semen is feeling quite firm.
And an interesting factoid: If you wake up and your left nostril is clogged, you'll feel alert. If the right nostril is clogged you're groggy.
Now it's time for asana practice. The room remains dark. The sun has lit up the eastern horizon but that subtle light won't reach us for another 1/2 hour. It's a standard yoga class: sun salutation, a variety of postures. We go slowly and I find that though class certainly isn't easy, I'm having a hard time building up enough heat to warm my muscles. At the end of class I immediately put my fleece back on.
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LADY'S HOLIDAY
In some yoga circles (mainly Ashtanga and in India), women should not practice on their first 3 days of menstruation. This is news to me. I am familiar with the "no inversions" rule, but 3 whole days of no yoga when I'm paying a flat monthly fee? Ain't no "ladies discount", that's for sure. I had no idea I was so delicate.
As it happens, on my 3rd day of practice I must tell J. Kumar that I have started my period. His whole face scrunches up in...what is that? Disgust? A damn crying shame? "I'm so sorry you're a woman!?"
I hold my hands up to the sky, look up and say "Gift from God. What to do!" (I'm not sure I believe in God but it seemed easier to say than, "The miracle of evolution and the human body.") He must have assumed it was bound to happen at some point. What a strange little man.
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THEORY CLASS
For the next few days I have only theory class to attend.
In an effort to spread out his teacher training course to 4 months, J. Kumar includes theory, chanting, pranayama and meditation into one hour. That's about 5 to 10 minutes of meditation: not even long enough for me to get tired of thinking about the mis-casting of Hayden Christensen or if yoga will help me do the scorpion kick like Trinity.
J. Kumar likes to tell us allegorical stories like a rabbi: something about an overworked farmer who prays for a servant but then is annoyed because the servant tends to the fields so quickly and won't leave the farmer alone. The farmer then makes the servant climb the beetle nut tree all day - up and down, up and down. The farmer gains command over the servant instead of the servant having command over him. So, I am the farmer. The field is the body. God is intelligence. The beetle nut tree is pranayama and the servant is the mind. Yeah, I don't get it either.
However, I do like the kerosene lamp metaphor: We are all kerosene lamps and the impurities of life have coated us in soot, keeping the true light from shining through. Yoga removes the soot.
One more...
Citta Vrtti (activity of the consciousness / mind fluctuations) is a film reel that plays in front of us, keeping us from seeing and experiencing the purity of the light that enables to film to be seen in the first place.
The senses distort understanding like the light from the moon is a distortion of the light of the sun.
This is some deep shit.
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IMPORTANT NOTICE
It's November 10th, 2006 and I have just finished Dostoevsky's, The Idiot. This may not seems like news, but I have been carrying this book around for 8 months. Since buying this book in Bangkok last March, I have read 15 other books, always needing to take a break in lieu of something more "readable". Anyone who says that they love brooding Russian novels is completely insane.
However, the last line of the book is awesome and particularly germane for my circumstances. I'm going to save it for the last entry of the trip.
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MY CLASSMATES
There are a handful of other foreigners in class as well as locals from the neighborhood. It is wonderfully authentic doing yoga with the Indian housewives of Vijay Najar, though I try not to think about what they pay per class. While the foreigners are in the most stylish of yoga outfits, they are doing their downward dog in saris.
The most surprising thing is the realization that some of these lovely, wealthy, clean-looking women don't shower very often. The woman next to me smells especially ripe. Even though they have big houses with showers, bathtubs and hot water on demand, regular bathing isn't part of their daily habit. Perhaps this comes from cultural norms when they were growing up. Perhaps they don't have time. Perhaps body odor isn't seen as something to be embarrassed about. I don't know.Now I'm not saying that all Indian people smell badly. They certainly don't. I just assumed that this would be more common with poorer people - those with less access to water.
But it's difficult to let go of the old ways. Women with washing machines still wash clothes by hand. Those with bathtubs and showers will opt for a bucket shower. My yoga teacher's wife mops the floor on her hands and knees with a rag. This is how she's always done it and it would never occur to her to buy a mop so that she doesn't have to bend over.
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YOGA NIDRA
This morning we're doing guided meditation. I know that my mind is as agitated as ever because all I can think about during this hour is how much I hate this. J. Kumar talks the entire time. "Feel the prana in your toes. Feel the prana in your ankles. Feel the prana in your shins. Feel the prana. Feel the prana. Feel the prana." If he would just shut up for 1 minute I could feel the fucking prana. I'd like to squeeze the prana right out of his squeeky little throat.
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MY NEIGHBORHOOD
Unlike Gokulam, Vijay Nagar has very few westerners. I am a novelty. It is an affluent area as you can see by the newly completed house below. There is construction everywhere. Four houses on my street alone are being built.I exchange some pleasantries with Anju, the owner of a new idli and dosa place. She encourages me to try to rava idli. Yeah, sure. Why not. Anju and I are the same age but her children are 17 and 14. I tell her she looks great, but she doesn't agree.
"I'm old so I'm fat," she replies.
"But no wrinkles. I have lots of wrinkles."
It's so funny how women bond.
Mohan is the owner of the "Departmental Store". He and his assistants, Raju and Madu, are completely intrigued with me and what I buy.
"I'd like some Fruit Loops please."
"But that's for children."
"Who are you? My mother? I can go buy Fruit Loops down the road if you prefer?
(Oh, right. I'm smoking again. Since mid-October. Had a little crisis in Rishikesh and I'm a total loser. But trying to stop. Fruit Loops help.)
They don't understand why I live alone, or rather, how my father has allowed me to live alone. The "Departmental Store" is like most other small shops in India, where the store is behind the counter and you must tell them what you want. This is easy when you know what you want, but I'm having these boys show me every brand of washing detergent. If you don't specifiy, the shop keeper will just pick out whatever brand they want, and it won't be the cheapest. I'm looking forward to coming back here for feminine products.
At the kiosk around the corner from my place the owner asks the regular questions.
"Yes, I'm studying with J. Kumar."
"I know Kumar."
"Well don't tell him that I'm buying cigarettes. Okay?"
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THE YOGA SUTRAS
In theory class we're chanting part of the Yoga Sutras. (The Yoga Sutras is an important text in the history of yoga. The 196 lines define the 8 limbs of yoga.) So, we're spending, oh, 20 minutes of our 1 hour theory class to chant the sutras. With J. Kumar's accent, not understanding a thing about how to pronounce transliterated Sanskrit, and trying to read words that go on forever, my agitated mind is acting up. I'm getting stubborn and insubordinate. Not good. But really, it'sliketeachingsomeoneEnglishwithasentencelikethis. I'm not getting the point here.
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THE NEIGHBORHOOD KIDS
All the neighborhood kids call me Auntie.
One especially gregarious 8 year old girl named Krittika has taken a special interest in me. I make her repeat my name 20 times so she'll remember it and stop calling me Auntie.
"Auntie, I mean, Jennifer. Where were you?"
"I was at yoga class."
"What time do you go?"
"6am and 3:30pm."
"If you are late, will the teacher scold you?"
"No."
"So why do you go so early?"
"Because I want to learn. I pay to learn so I go on time."
"I'm thinking about joining yoga class too."
She's very bossy with lots of attitude. My kind of girl.
In the late afternoon all the neighborhood boys gather in the dirt lot across from my house and play a little pickup Cricket. As dusk encroaches upon the game, mothers' voices are heard around the neighborhood beaconing the boys back home for supper. It's a comforting scene.
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WHY I LOVE BIKRAM
I love Bikram because it was the one place in San Francisco, besides my car, where I was warm. I love Bikram because it's hard and because I see an improvement in 3 classes. I love Bikram because it makes my back feel better - all that heat and stretching.
For these reasons, I do not like J. Kumar's class. We just move too slowly for me to maintain any good heat so my muscles can't get deep into postures and stretches.
Furthermore, J. Kumar goes haphazardly through various series that he's created and I'm not getting a sense of any type of flow. He loves back bending asanas, which historically irritate my lower back so for a quarter of the class I'm not participating. Every class he asks me if I'm okay and every class I tell him that these postures hurt me. He doesn't listen.
But most importantly, J. Kumar doesn't teach asana. He simply goes through postures and you follow along. He doesn't verbalize what I should be concentrating on: keep this leg tight, hold in the abdomen, remember to breathe. He doesn't correct me. He doesn't encourage. He doesn't push. His class is like any other yoga class I've ever taken, except I wasn't paying $500 for those yoga classes. Here, I'm expecting more. Much more. I know it's India and they do things differently, but if he's going to charge a western price, he needs to provide, to some extent, a western service.
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EGO EGO EGO
Another favorite thing J. Kumar likes to do in theory class is complain about Pattabhi Jois: how much money he charges, how he doesn't teach any other aspect of yoga, how he doesn't have Indian students.
Sounds to me like he's jealous. And if letting go of the ego is such a huge part of yoga, then J. Kumar isn't setting a good example
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LEAVING J. KUMAR
Everyday we practice our mantras, reading off sheets that are riddled with typos and mistakes. Everyday J. Kumar asks if there are mistakes on the page and everyday I must hold my tongue. "Yes, there are still mistakes on the page. Just like yesterday."
Forget about chanting the sutras, 5 minutes of meditation, cold yoga, 20 minutes of backbends everyday, J. Kumar shouting instructions across the room to someone (He can't remember anyone's name). What ends up driving me away is J. Kumar's disorganization. If this man can't take the time to correct a prayer sheet, he doesn't deserve my money. I've thought a lot about this decision. It wasn't easy. A part of me thinks that I'm giving up on something that was difficult - taking the easy way out. Another part tells me that if I'm not happy, I should just move on. In the end, it comes down the fact that I cannot, in good conscious, give this man $2000.
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WHERE I'M SUPPOSED TO BE
I think I was where I was supposed to be. I met wonderful women in my class and living in this neighborhood was an experience I'm sure I would never have as a backpacker.
And now the time has come.
Ashtanga awaits....
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FUN HISTORICAL FACTS (from "A Short History of Nearly Everything", Bill Bryson)
But before we continue the search for my guru, did you know...
- William Herschel, a German born musician, discovered Uranus. He wanted to name it George, after the British Monarch. (1781)
- Charles Mason (astronomer and surveyor) and Jeremiah Dixon (surveyor) were sent to America (Yes, they're Brits) to resolve a boundary dispute between Lord Baltimore and William Penn. After surveying 244 miles, the Mason-Dixon Line was created 100 years before the Civil War.
- Halley's Comet was named 15 years after Edmond Halley's death.
- Issac Newton was the first person to be knighted for scientific excellence. He was somewhat of a nutcase. He was interested in alchemy. He learned Hebrew to better scan texts for floor plans of the lost Temple of King Solomon.
- The scientific term "cell" was coined by Robert Hooke because of it's resemblence to a monk's cell.
- Joseph Banks was a British Botanist that sailed with Captain James Cook on the famous 3 year "Endeavor" voyage, at which time Australia was claimed for the Crown. What's so fun about this? Well, Joseph Banks was also the name of Tom Hanks' character in the totally under-appreciated movie "Joe Versus the Volcano". Coincidence? I think not!
Tom Hanks won't leave me alone.
