Ashtanga Life
I am an imposter, a fraud. I have no dreadlocks, no tattoos, few piercings. I don’t wear “unique” flowing outfits that advertise my place in the counter culture. I’ve never been to Burning Man. I think there’s something deeply contradictory about following a vegan, organic, no-sugar, no-refined flour diet, and partying it up on the weekend. I’m not a yoga teacher, a massage therapist, or a holistic health practitioner. I have more than 5% body fat. My human pretzel gene is adamantly recessive, possibly non-existent.
Like 8th grade, the yoga social world is strictly hierarchical, based on key coolness factors. Thin is in. Limberness, agility and facility with advanced poses raise one’s standing. So does money to blow on styling gear, expensive brunches and days at the pool. Drab, modest travel clothing lowers it. Having interests beyond yoga and physical appearance suggests you a geek. Finding these interests significant confirms it. Unlike the climbing subculture, where PhDs and engineers are so common that to arguments over obscure physics principles arise on the ledges, intellectual pursuits are not prized in this world. This is the realm of the body beautiful.
Though I know that yoga classes in the US can be competitive and attitudinal, I thought that those who bothered to travel all the way to India might be developing the more subtle mental and emotional aspects of yoga, such as acceptance and equanimity. But, people are people the world over. And this is at the “mellow,” not-yet-famous yoga shala where I ended up. All this is not to say that I haven’t made some lovely friends from all over – Kenya, Australia, England, Canada (Canadians are cool where ever you go!) – most of whom are as confounded by the Mysore yoga subculture as I am.
I had planned to study at the world-famous (and quite expensive) Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute, where Sri Pattahbi Jois, or Guruji, is synonymous with ashtanga yoga for many people. Believing the shala to be closed during April (which turns out to be not entirely true), I ended up elsewhere. This was clearly the right decision for me, a relative beginner, compared with the super-bendy yoga teachers who fill the classes.
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Today at the tailor shop, I was put in my place by one of the self-appointed queen bees of the cool girls. The tailor had told me that he could make me a dress by Thursday, the day before my departure from India, if I brought him the fabric by Monday morning. When I showed up with fabric in hand, the queen bee, in all her dreadlocked and tattooed glory, was having tea with the tailor. A look of indignation crossed her face at the impertinence of a mere mortal to visit her den of fashion inspiration. As I queried the tailor about the possibility of completing the dress in time, the Dreadlocked One helpfully added, “It’s a bit late to be bringing that in.” Then she flounced out in a flurry of color and beads, taking the rickshaw that was waiting outside for me. It turns out that there would have been plenty of time to complete the dress, but the tailor had not counted on receiving an order for 35 pairs of pants to be completed in 10 days from the Dreadlocked One.
******************
Ashtanga yoga deserves a little explanation. Just as the riot of color, form, and deities in Tibetan Buddhist temples belies the notion of simplicity and tranquility in Buddhism, ashtanga yoga belies the notion of repose and relaxation in yoga. Mysore-style ashtanga is a vigorous, exhausting, purifying practice of several set series of asanas (postures) designed to increase internal heat in the body to expel blockages and injuries, both physical and mental. The breath guides and focuses each movement. In between postures, a vinyasa (a flowing sequence of postures) clears the body and mind in preparation for the next posture.
Unlike the led classes common in the States, Mysore-style practice is not directed by the teacher. Instead, each student practices a set series of asanas, with the instructor providing individual adjustment and correction. This allows students to progress and take on new challenges at their own pace. The self-practice develops concentration and commitment, while the instructor’s adjustments allow the student to push past perceived limits (yes, the leg can be raised higher than the hip!). The Primary Series emphasizes forward bends and vigorous, flowing movement to purify the body for later challenges, while the Second Series emphasizes backbends. I’ve yet to see the Third or Fourth series (though it is apparently practiced at AYRI). Only a few yogis are said to have mastered the Seventh, and final, Series.
After seven years of intermittent practice, I’ve yet to fully master the Primary Series. At home, I tend to blow off the sitting postures, thinking that they’re less challenging than the standing postures. These few weeks have proven how wrong that is. I breeze through the standing postures, only to be turned to jelly once I sit. The instructors use their full body weight to help us get more deeply into the bends and twists. I’ve made more progress on challenging postures in the past three weeks than in the previous three years.
At the end of every 90 minute to two-hour practice, my legs and back are rubbery and I stagger back to my hotel to nap it off. This week, however, I’ve been delighted to discover more energy as my body and mind have gotten used to the intense daily practice. Before coming to Mysore, I wondered how people spend their long days, since the yoga is done by 8am. But such intense physical activity requires lots of nourishment and rest. Many people take other courses – in ayurveda, Sanskrit chanting, Thai massage, thangkha painting and the like. Massages and ayurveda treatments enhance the yoga practice. Mysore has plenty of interesting cultural sites, and intriguing street scenes. Students congregate at the Western-style café behind the yoga shala. And, for me, there’s always dissertation work to do.
************
I could regale you with the minutiae of how I finally got deeper into this pose, or stretched a few more inches in that pose, but that’s all beside the point. The practice is internal and personal, and surprisingly emotional. I’ll be in one of the dozens of forward bends I do each morning, and suddenly I’m waiting for a friend, or on a road-trip, or meeting a first date. Memories are stored deeply in the cells, and slowly released as the muscles stretch.
Like 8th grade, the yoga social world is strictly hierarchical, based on key coolness factors. Thin is in. Limberness, agility and facility with advanced poses raise one’s standing. So does money to blow on styling gear, expensive brunches and days at the pool. Drab, modest travel clothing lowers it. Having interests beyond yoga and physical appearance suggests you a geek. Finding these interests significant confirms it. Unlike the climbing subculture, where PhDs and engineers are so common that to arguments over obscure physics principles arise on the ledges, intellectual pursuits are not prized in this world. This is the realm of the body beautiful.
Though I know that yoga classes in the US can be competitive and attitudinal, I thought that those who bothered to travel all the way to India might be developing the more subtle mental and emotional aspects of yoga, such as acceptance and equanimity. But, people are people the world over. And this is at the “mellow,” not-yet-famous yoga shala where I ended up. All this is not to say that I haven’t made some lovely friends from all over – Kenya, Australia, England, Canada (Canadians are cool where ever you go!) – most of whom are as confounded by the Mysore yoga subculture as I am.
I had planned to study at the world-famous (and quite expensive) Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute, where Sri Pattahbi Jois, or Guruji, is synonymous with ashtanga yoga for many people. Believing the shala to be closed during April (which turns out to be not entirely true), I ended up elsewhere. This was clearly the right decision for me, a relative beginner, compared with the super-bendy yoga teachers who fill the classes.
*******************
Today at the tailor shop, I was put in my place by one of the self-appointed queen bees of the cool girls. The tailor had told me that he could make me a dress by Thursday, the day before my departure from India, if I brought him the fabric by Monday morning. When I showed up with fabric in hand, the queen bee, in all her dreadlocked and tattooed glory, was having tea with the tailor. A look of indignation crossed her face at the impertinence of a mere mortal to visit her den of fashion inspiration. As I queried the tailor about the possibility of completing the dress in time, the Dreadlocked One helpfully added, “It’s a bit late to be bringing that in.” Then she flounced out in a flurry of color and beads, taking the rickshaw that was waiting outside for me. It turns out that there would have been plenty of time to complete the dress, but the tailor had not counted on receiving an order for 35 pairs of pants to be completed in 10 days from the Dreadlocked One.
******************
Ashtanga yoga deserves a little explanation. Just as the riot of color, form, and deities in Tibetan Buddhist temples belies the notion of simplicity and tranquility in Buddhism, ashtanga yoga belies the notion of repose and relaxation in yoga. Mysore-style ashtanga is a vigorous, exhausting, purifying practice of several set series of asanas (postures) designed to increase internal heat in the body to expel blockages and injuries, both physical and mental. The breath guides and focuses each movement. In between postures, a vinyasa (a flowing sequence of postures) clears the body and mind in preparation for the next posture.
Unlike the led classes common in the States, Mysore-style practice is not directed by the teacher. Instead, each student practices a set series of asanas, with the instructor providing individual adjustment and correction. This allows students to progress and take on new challenges at their own pace. The self-practice develops concentration and commitment, while the instructor’s adjustments allow the student to push past perceived limits (yes, the leg can be raised higher than the hip!). The Primary Series emphasizes forward bends and vigorous, flowing movement to purify the body for later challenges, while the Second Series emphasizes backbends. I’ve yet to see the Third or Fourth series (though it is apparently practiced at AYRI). Only a few yogis are said to have mastered the Seventh, and final, Series.
After seven years of intermittent practice, I’ve yet to fully master the Primary Series. At home, I tend to blow off the sitting postures, thinking that they’re less challenging than the standing postures. These few weeks have proven how wrong that is. I breeze through the standing postures, only to be turned to jelly once I sit. The instructors use their full body weight to help us get more deeply into the bends and twists. I’ve made more progress on challenging postures in the past three weeks than in the previous three years.
At the end of every 90 minute to two-hour practice, my legs and back are rubbery and I stagger back to my hotel to nap it off. This week, however, I’ve been delighted to discover more energy as my body and mind have gotten used to the intense daily practice. Before coming to Mysore, I wondered how people spend their long days, since the yoga is done by 8am. But such intense physical activity requires lots of nourishment and rest. Many people take other courses – in ayurveda, Sanskrit chanting, Thai massage, thangkha painting and the like. Massages and ayurveda treatments enhance the yoga practice. Mysore has plenty of interesting cultural sites, and intriguing street scenes. Students congregate at the Western-style café behind the yoga shala. And, for me, there’s always dissertation work to do.
************
I could regale you with the minutiae of how I finally got deeper into this pose, or stretched a few more inches in that pose, but that’s all beside the point. The practice is internal and personal, and surprisingly emotional. I’ll be in one of the dozens of forward bends I do each morning, and suddenly I’m waiting for a friend, or on a road-trip, or meeting a first date. Memories are stored deeply in the cells, and slowly released as the muscles stretch.
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