realizing mysore

calling on mysore energy

2012-03-06T16:59:00.005+05:30

Mysore is on my mind today. It is most days. How can it not be? Each morning, every practice, that first "Om" followed by "Vande gurunam..." is like a thread connected to India, to Mysore, to the shala where a small remainder of friends/diehards are currently sweating out the hot month under Sharath's quiet but steady gaze. Today, in particular, with Manila friends returning home from their own yoga journey, I am feeling the shala.

Emphasis on "feeling." There is a certain lonesomeness to it, though I'd have to say it's a different sensation from missing the shala outright, which I also admit to wholeheartedly.

It's been 6 weeks or so since I left Mysore. Today, however, with Nature (a friend and Manila teacher I've been subbing for) back from Mysore I feel a sense of recognition. As she briefly recounted her experience practicing there for the first time, I knew exactly what she was feeling, what most of us who love Mysore, who call Sharath our teacher, who consider Gokulam home away from home, universally feel. Ultimately, it's inexplicable. Not to be over-dramatic, but the experience, the time, the tapas is in my blood, it's in my system.

The room exists under my eyelids, where I can see the faded rugs, the condensation forming on walls and windows. Sharath's succinct voice counting in Sanskrit or calling out "One more" echoes within my eardrums. The humidity of the shala is forever on my face, the locker room's cold marble continues to cool my feet despite my rubber mat. The magic of the shala and Sharath's support is stored in the memory of my body.

All these things are present with me, though some days the connection is stronger than others. Teaching is helping, the ability to see the room with distance, as an observer as much as a participant. Somehow, the energy of a room amidst self-practice, hearing the chorus of breath, watching over the softly determined students focused on the practice before them strengthens that direct line to Mysore. I don't even think many of the students consciously realize that they make up a part of this growing web that makes up the ashtanga community.

In a way, it's a blessing to be here in Southeast Asia, the outer edges of this sprawling global yoga community (and, yes, slash "industry").

For most of the students here, mysore is the method of their practice. Few have been to the place, or understand how a Guruji's Lakshmipuram room good for 12 people helped give birth to their practice many decades ago. They are more concerned about what is happening presently on the mat and how it's reflecting in their daily lives than being caught up in what the NY Times magazine is saying about yoga, or what's happening to Anusara's John Friend, or the contraversy around Jois Yoga as illustrated in Vanity Fair--all of which does make me want to launch into some grand yoga debate. However, I think there's something really beautiful and uncomplicated about the students I've been working with this week. Regardless of whether or not they have the memory of Mysore itself imprinted on their system, as they dive into their practice they are tapping into Mysore's magic, the lineage in its purest form, sans politics, just energy.

dear reader

2012-02-26T12:45:00.002+05:30

When I first put up this blog in October 2010, it was to chronicle my first trip to Mysore for friends and family. I was on one of my biggest adventures. And I wanted to share it with my loved ones and fellow practitioners in Boracay and around the Philippines who wanted to know what Mysore was like and asked to please send back word.

One of the big surprises of the that first trip was to see how well received this blog became not just among my intimate friends and family in the Philippines and in the US but also with friends in Mysore, who would then share it, until--somehow through the magic of the internet--ashtangis from all over the world seemed to be reading.

I always wanted to write. Ever since I was a kid. After working in media, however, for some 7 years in Manila, I felt burnt out. I'd lost the point of it all in copy-writing about things that didn't resonate with me. So, I looked for something new, which led me to a teaching gig at an international school in the itty bitty island-resort community of Boracay where I taught middle school English and where, in order to deal with the stress of a new job and a new environment, I started to take up yoga.

The rest, as they say, is history. And over the nearly six years that I have been practicing, yoga has blessed me with so many incredible gifts: better self-possession, stronger awareness, renewed optimism, strength and courage to be who I want to be, a diverse and growing crew of beautiful and amazing friends who I would not know were it not for yoga, a healthier lifestyle, and, yes, muscles even!

But one of the greatest gifts of yoga is how it has helped connect me back with my writing. And how, with this blog, it has given me something to write about as well as a gracious audience who is happy to read my observations and ramblings.

I love writing this blog. It has been my friend and confidant. My therapist and sounding board. If you have been reading this from the beginning, I hope that you can see, like I can, how much I have grown with it. How much the practice in Mysore has worked on me. How much more honest I've become with my feelings. And by sharing with you, how much more fulfilled I feel for the experience of this incredible yoga practice, whether I am in Mysore presently or not.

I just want to say, thank you, dear reader, for sharing this journey with me! By reading on, you silently and subtly support my writing practice, which to me is also a form of yoga. Thank you to those who comment and write to me personally, your own words propel mine. This blog has been an important tool for creative healing, for reconnecting back to my first love, the written word. Most of all, I am filled with gratitude to have a gracious audience, many of whom have become friends, to share these beautiful experiences with!

Taking leave, sort of. Though I have left Mysore already. I have a few things that I haven't yet had a chance to write about the trip. Events and thoughts that have to do with Ashtanga/Msyore specifically may find their way here from time to time. For day to day stuff, I will continue to write on my other blog on(e) love.

parcel of practice, connection and a whole lot of self

2012-02-25T13:26:00.008+05:30

Guruji in Manila. I like to put out Guruji's photo when I teach.
Here he is watching over my class at Echo Yoga, along Perea.

I hate to admit it, but it took me a while to change my clock. Needless to say it was getting ridiculous, subtracting the two and a half hour time difference between the Philippines and India, plus the additional 15 minutes that accounts for "shala time." Math is not my strong suit. It was impossible setting the alarm. Not very yogic, I know. Not very of the moment.

When I finally did convert to Manila time, the acceptance that I'd really left Mysore was long overdue.

I'll be honest, since I exited from India an entire month and three weeks earlier than scheduled, there's a feeling of loss: the list of Mysore activities still to do, singing lessons and kirtan, friends who I did not get to meet, new depths of connection, self-study and practice that I was preparing to dive deeper into.

All the same, 3 months of study at KPJAYI is also really enough. Enough to dig deep, to unravel and get put together--a few times over, by the time of my departure.

In India, the term for "take home" or "take away" in restaurants, a.k.a. "hotels," is "parcel," which is usually wrapped in newspaper. I feel comforted that I've brought back a hefty parcel home from Mysore. Taking stock now, I am assured that the three months has given me much to munch on:

the practice
In conference, Sharath emphasized how no particular person owns this practice, that it belongs to anyone who really embraces it. And for the last three months I've been locked in a full body bear hug with the practice. Sometimes, it was intense and the practice and I were rolling around the room, wrestling each other; me, refusing to get beat down, the practice trying to subdue me or, rather, my ego. Other times, we were lovingly wrapped around each other, content and existing in total harmony. Over the last year, between the two trips to Mysore, my relationship with the practice has totally evolved and continues to. Today: we are good friends. And I take this very special friendship home with me.

And while there's no way of taking Sharath back in a parcel, his presence in my practice returns home with me too. It's funny to get so little contact and a very minimal amount of feedback and yet feel so much guidance. It remains a mystery to me how it works. I just know it does. I've left feeling like I've been sent off for summer break with a rucksack full of assignments by my teacher. Homework!

connection
One of the gifts of Mysore is the opportunity to connect with so many beautiful like-minded people, who are tapping into the same pool, the source of the ashtanga practice. No matter what background we are hailing from, whatever place we call home, there is a shared commitment to ashtanga and to the lineage. And as the practice churned me, the people who were closest to me became touchstones to the variety of experiences that Mysore inspires, whether it's the complexities of the postures, the emotional uprisings/purgings or personal epiphanies, those precious "aha!" moments that shines a light on some dark corner of the mind.

These connections, whether they are brand new or a couple of trips old, are what makes Mysore special. And when we go home, we are like dots connected around the globe, forming a very tight community, bonded through our love of Mysore and the growing pains we witness/help each other through.

the self
Ultimately, the best connection I ever made in Mysore is with myself. The practice works on so many levels (most of which are upped when practicing in Mysore). Externally, there's the physical body, which stretches and strengthens. There's sweat, lots of it; our body cleanses. Muscles feel soreness and pain as they work towards openness. The practice melts away what is physically extraneous. Internally, it's no different as we release our issues, the tightness in our hearts and minds loosens, removing such incredibly huge yet totally unnecessary obstacles.

For me, I feel like I understand myself better. I have more patience for my foibles, which I see with greater clarity. I am owning up to the things I value and the person that I am, all the sweet and odd and sometimes inconsistent gifts that make me special. I love myself more and in doing so feel more love for the people and the world around me.

taking it home
Realizing all this now not only takes the edge off having to leave Mysore so abruptly but is also enriching my return home. The parcel of practice and the connections with others and with myself is something I can always take with me. It travels light. It packs so nicely into whatever new life space I inhabit.

In truth, I brought home similar lessons from my first trip. But the second time around, my "take home" feels more substantial. I guess that's why people like myself keep on coming back for more. Everything changes and moves, evolves and becomes more refined with this ever dynamic yoga practice.

asian invasion, go team philppines!

2012-02-21T15:46:00.009+05:30

Philippine Feet at Sri Ragna Patna.

Asian explosion: Chinese and honorary Chinese
gathered to celebrate Year of the Dragon
with fireworks in Gokulam.

I've been meaning to write about what I call the "Asian Invasion." This season, among the newest wave of practitioners joining the ranks at the KPJAYI shala are from all parts of Asia--most notably from Korea, from Taiwan, from Thailand, from China, etc...During my time there between October '11 and end of January '12, there were definitely more Asians compared to my trip the year past. And according to some older students, from the years previous.

There are some exceptions, of course, Japanese students have been coming for many years, what with an amazing crew of teachers leading Mysore programs in the country. Students from Hong Kong, likewise, have represented. But for some of the region, ashtanga is still in its infancy, though it is growing quickly with lots of visiting teachers and local ashtanga programs cultivating a new generation of bendy ashtangis.

The Philippine Islands are also staking their claim in the Asian Invasion in Mysore. By my count--which is limited to my circle and may not fully account for all--there are 6 students from Manila there now, 2 from Cebu/Boracay, 2 more hailing from the Philippines in March. Eleven--and still wishing I could make a full dozen. While I was there, we possibly peaked at 8. May seem small in comparison to the forces of Brazilians and South Americans, Canadians, Fins, Norwegians, and various European countries represented in Gokulam at any given time. But it's still unprecedented. Perhaps one day, we too will be called into the shala rather unceremoniously like "You, Russian," or "You, Japanese." "You, Philippines!"

Ashtanga is growing. All over. And Asia is the new frontier. And while I can't quite help but feel nervous about the growing gaggle of students gathered in front of the gate before lead class, it's also exciting to be a part of the swelling numbers, to see the practice develop in this part of the world, in the part of the world I currently call home. To see it seed and sprout, grow and strengthen is a testament to the power of the practice to draw and cultivate mindful and dedicated practitioners, who come to Mysore to learn and then in turn share the spirit of Mysore back home. As Sharath has said more than once in conference: ashtanga doesn't belong to any one person. It belongs to everyone, anyone who is open to embracing it.

Wishing the friends from the PI who are still there, much love and great practice! Keep representing!

poetry and the power of love

2012-02-05T13:55:00.002+05:30

Life goes on in Mysore. With or without me--though bits of me lingers on in the form of poesy. On Monday, 6 February, a couple of my poems will be performed at a yoga philosophy class titled "The Invisible Power of Love."

Though I looked forward to participating personally, I leave my two poems in the very capable hands of James Boag who will be reading them and explaining them on my behalf. The two poems that will be shared investigates the transformative power of love within the lens of yoga.

In a way, these poems are a product of my time in Mysore, of the gifts of love that my yoga practice has helped blossom. And it is fitting for them to be shared there.

The class will be 2-4pm. At James Boag's residence/sound chamber behind Palace Honda Showroom in Saraswathipuram.

in flux

2012-02-01T19:28:00.003+05:30

Joy: Chai and watching the day begin
on Gokulam Main Street.

One of the things I love about Mysore is that so many of the people who are drawn to it are living lives of flux. They are changing and embracing it.

The most pedestrian of questions like "Where are you from?" can result in much mmm-ing and um-ing followed but rather long, rolling answers. "Well…I'm from _____ originally...Then I was living _____." Followed by, "And for the last 6 months I've been _____." Followed by, "Now, I'm in_______." (You can insert, "Mysore" here. One of the few things most of us can be certain of). The conversation usually trails off in the direction in which no one really knows, what comes next is anyone's best guess.

And around the breakfast table/coconut stand/outside the shala gates/wherever, people will nod their heads in perfect understanding. They are flexible; they get the transitory life. They too are drawn to Mysore in order to transition or to inspire change of some form.

Similarly, the question of profession can also garner some rather complex round about answers. There are newly quit jobs, new work awaiting, professional shifts, and combo-job mash-ups of yoga-slash-(enter job that earns money)-slash-(enter job that doesn't earn money but we love doing). Lucky are those who can say straight out they are yoga teachers, period--a track that comes with its own stretch of difficulties. Regardless of what finances these Mysore excursions, we fall quite out of the norm regardless. We're rare birds if we can get anywhere from a month to three months off from our real life in order to clock in time at the shala.

But that's just it. We do somehow. We're in it together. We're all pretty unusual in our dedication to the practice, in the ways that we've managed our lives that allows for this experience. We get it, we get each other.

Having just left Mysore, nearly two months ahead of schedule, I am now dreading falling into similar conversations. One, because I was hoping the next two months would bring some clarity on what comes next in both where to live and how to make a living. Two, because I realize that outside the unique world of Mysore, people expect more concrete answers, they are baffled by people so totally in-between things.

I've been in Manila now for four days. Though, so far, little engaging with anything outside home and the hospital. But at some point I will have to, whether I'm ready with answers or not.

And while it's taking some energy not to madly scramble for the right answers, I also know that clarity comes with time, understanding comes with effort. Whatever work has gone unfinished will not stop just because I am not safely within the city limits of Mysore, where I am surrounded by comrades of change, fellow yogic warriors. My real challenge is to figure things out within the context of my own life with all my old habits, in the company of my family and friends here in the Philippines, which may seem like limbo now but has been my home for nearly a decade.

self practice

2012-01-30T20:29:00.003+05:30

First day back on the mat. Just me in my bedroom here in Manila--a far cry from the unbeatable energy of the shala. I miss the wave that carries me through my practice, powered by others deeply focused on their own sadhana. I miss the inconspicuous watchfulness of Sharath and the blessings of the lineage, hundreds of hours of teaching, and of practice, of innumerable cycles of breathing with sound. Oh God! I really, really miss it.

Today's practice was like pushing an ox cart in a muddy field, heavy, leaden, no ox in sight. Just me attempting to barrel through standing and second series. My goal today after a 4-day break, in fairness I also had Lady's, was to just get through it. It was hard to sustain the energy on my own. It was hard to create momentum by one's lonesome.

Still, this is precisely why I know I must do it. This is the real test of my dedication to the practice. Not how well I perform when Sharath is there to see me, but how well I perform when there is no one else in the room but me. How much am I capable of when I am my sole witness.

In many ways, ashtanga is designed to be a solitary practice. You rely on your own wits, your understanding of the sequence, your drishti, your breath. The practice is a gift that we grow to own ourselves--and bringing it home is the real opportunity to own it. To make it ours. To integrate it into our lives--because we do have lives outside of Mysore...

So as I struggle these first days away from the yoga bubble, I am also trying to call upon its spirit--because that is something we can take with us. Mysore is also a state of mind, I remind myself. It's something that we learn along with the practice in the shala. And that, at least, takes no additional room in the luggage.

transit

2012-01-29T14:03:00.003+05:30

It’s been a crazy couple of days. Finally slept on the plane. Almost wish the flights had been longer. I’m sure I have the look of a person who is lost and dazed. I am not just a couple of hours off beat, but an entire dimension it seems. The real world, I remember, is very different from Mysore. The energy is so different in India.

Still, I’m in traveler’s limbo, where everything is hyper ordered and clinically hygienic. Singapore’s Changi airport is my third airport in 9 hours. Now at the lost and found office awaiting one of my bags unwittingly left behind. I am a person in transit, one foot forward, the other dragging a little, nothing new there.

I’ve had little time to mull on my premature departure. Things have happened quickly: my dad and stepsister coming down with dengue, dropping platelets, packing, making my way home. Less than 48 hours.

I am starting to take stock of unfinished business I’ve left behind: three more weeks in the shala (I just reregistered for my fourth month last week), an apartment paid up till mid-March, a week of philosophy class, and a Sanskrit teacher I’d failed to inform about my departure. I wonder what I’ve forgotten on top of that.

Time is a most precious commodity, and there are some losses that seem unquantifiable: spending time under Sharath’s watchful eye, time with dear friends, and time to dig into oneself, which feels so much easier in Mysore, when one is more soft and pliable.

I left saying I could come back, when my father recovers. But I don’t know if that’s how it’s going to work out in the end. The recovery period from dengue can be quite long. And, upon taking leave of the shala, Sharath said I should return when things are quieter, when there are less students.

Truth is I can feel reality tugging me back the further away I get from Mysore. I can feel the pull of family and the dharma that comes with being a daughter—at least my version of it, which I know strays from the Philippine ideal. I’ve bought my dad a bottle of Glenfiddich malt whiskey for us to break open when he finally feels better.

And I can feel that even if this wasn’t exactly my plan, this is the way things are supposed to be.

(This was written, literally, in transit. I am now in Manila. Arrived yesterday night. My dad is still in a critical time. But I've seen him and feel that recovery is around the corner. The irony is that I am now not allowed to visit. I have a cold. And he's too vulnerable to be exposed to it. The good news is my step sister is better and has returned home from the hospital.)

booking flights, packing and flowing with grace

2012-01-27T02:34:00.002+05:30

It's ironic. For the last week, I've had nothing but anxiety at knowing I was at my last month of practice. (I still have 3 weeks to go). I was fixated on wanting, needing more time. I fretted over asking Sharath the dreaded question of extension.

And now, I'm packing. Or rather, I should be. My tickets are booked. In less than 24 hours, I will be on a plane--on several planes--to Manila, where my dad and step sister are in hospital for dengue fever. In my heart I know they will be fine. They've been diagnosed early and are in teh best of care. Still, a couple of hours ago, my dad had his first round of blood transfusions. His platelet count has been dropping faster than anticipated. And I've had to come to reality: for the moment, my place isn't here.

This concept is like being vacuumed out of the safest, warmest of places, a yoga womb of sorts and thrown out into the harsh light of day. I feel like a premature thing cast out of the yoga bubble before hitting my maturity date.

My heart is breaking a little. I don't want to leave. I feel undercooked. But all the same, I know that by leaving I am flowing with grace. Home is where the Universe is leading me, where my family needs me, where my father needs comfort. The values that we've been taught to honor is compelling me home. And though I hope to come back to Mysore after my family recovers and continue practice, there's no knowing what reality has in store.

bhakti, music & giving to a good cause

2012-01-24T19:31:00.007+05:30

Another week in Mysore. Another week of opportunities for growth. And though I'm feeling wiped out enough to actually consider (aghast!) taking it easy, I wanted to share two worthy events going on this week--though I am sure there are more out there that I haven't heard of.

The first is yet another special Kirtan. Radha returns to Mysore for a limited time only and will be joined by friends James, Liz (harmonium) and Ganesh (tablas). The kirtan will be held this 4:30-7pm, Thursday, 26 January at Chakra House, 4th Main in Gokulam. Also on this day, Chakra House serves a special buffet lunch that starts at 3pm for those who want to sing with a fully nourished body.

Then on Friday, January 27, Odanadi is holding a Benefit Fundraiser from 3-6pm. The event features the renowned flutist Ravi Shanka Mishra and his band as well as a special cultural presentation by the girls of Odanadi, raffle drawing, henna tattoos and facility tours at the center. All proceeds go towards the building of a new boys' facility. Admission is Rs.500. Tickets can be bought at Santosha, Anokhi's and at the event itself.

Odanadi (www.odanadi.org) is a non-profit organization that rescues and rehabilitates children and women affected by human trafficking. The fundraiser will be held at their main center at 15/2B SRS Colony, Hootagally, Belavadi, Hunsur Road, Mysore. Contact Roland at 9738705686 for more information.

shiva, the destroyer

2012-01-23T20:25:00.006+05:30

Summer in New York and practice at Broome Street Temple.
The Shiva alcove is around the corner.

A couple weeks ago a friend invited me to a puja at his home here in Mysore. When I arrived, he was already in full Vedic swing, chanting Sanskrit mantras adeptly as he made offerings to his soapstone Shiva Lingam. As he chanted away, I closed my eyes and settled into my half lotus. My mind drifted to last summer, when I was in New York, practicing at Broome Street Temple, Eddie Stern's studio in SOHO.

There's a little room there, dedicate to Shiva, where Shiva's lingam is also the center piece. An oil lamp was almost always lit. And the stone shone by wick light. I was particularly drawn to that part of the Temple. When I realized that people would sneak in there after their practice and meditate a little, I started to do the same, so long as the space was empty.

I remembered one moment particularly. I had just finished a sweet short meditation, deep after self practice. I must have been inspired, either that or completely insane--because what I did next was pretty much the equivalent of hurling myself off a New York City skyscraper without a parachute, no net below, no safety harness, nothing. Silently the words formed in my head and in my heart, "Shiva, destroy me." It was an act of faith and of total surrender. It was an act of insanity, as well.

First, I want to explain that ever since my first trip to Mysore in 2010, my life has been all about change. Some of it really extreme. I'd ended my commitments. I quit where I was living. And moved into storage. But I felt free and my heart, full. When I had uttered that prayer, I meant to invite more change, because I felt sure that more had to come--that whatever transformation had begun on that first trip had to continue. I wanted to graciously throw myself into the fire and be renewed.

Sometimes the vision we have of ourselves is not entirely clear, however. Sometimes, we have to take better care of our requests. I always forget what a keen listener the Universe can be. I always forget that divine forces may not have the time to dilly dally with details. I always forget that the Universe would probably appreciate specificity. Finally, I always forget to be compassionate with myself.

To summarize the summer after that request was, well...I could say things really shifted after that. Really, it was some seriously seismic shifts. The earth underneath me rumbled. My human building swayed, cracks appeared on the surface. My foundations were shaken. The tremors went on forever. And I think I'm still experiencing after shocks.

I don't mean to get all hocus-y pocus-y but I believe there is real power in prayer, real potency in intention. And now remembering that moment of self-offering, I can't help but think: no freakin wonder!

As hard as the daily asana practice is at the shala, it feels pretty light and easy compared to the aftermath of being shaken so completely. Though, I reckon, the practice is contributing to the "destruction," that it too is an agent of this extreme change.

Sometimes I have to really laugh at myself. I come here to go deeper. I mean to surrender but then end up struggling and fighting the winds of change that I have so eagerly invited. I doubt that I'm the only one hereabouts.

But the other day, as my friend did his puja to Shiva, I came to an understanding that I am the master of this movement in my life, that I have actually asked for it. So, I--more cautiously, this time--decided to recommit to my not so humble request, knowing full well that I'd been taken seriously. I added, however, "Please, Shiva, be gentle with me."

So, the good work continues in my yoga practice--both in the asana practice and in my life. I look forward to the renewal that comes with destruction, to the rebirth that comes with each metaphoric death, to rising like a phoenix from the ashes.

mysore magic, yoga at the source

2012-01-22T12:50:00.005+05:30

Sunday, something feels off at the 7:30 led class. It seems a tad dim in the shala for that hour. I look up and see bed sheets hanging outside the windows on the grill. I note: another odd first. It all makes sense two and a half hours later, as we wait at conference (another one at 10am). A movie screen is erected on stage and a projector set up in the center of the shala.

"India has plenty of room," Sharath quips over the sea of students knee to knee at the shala. "India's mantra is adjustment. Wherever you go, you have to adjust, " he said as he was trying to manage the space (students just keep on coming!). Students are crowded in the lobby, finding it hard to squeeze in. Wise words from the Boss.

As an introduction, Sharath tells of how this was the fastest documentary made. He says how "these 3 (Alex Medin, Jim and Angie Kambeitz) have worked hard day and night" to make this film we are about to see. The film rolls and we see some of the Mysore Magic that, if you've ever been to Mysore to practice at the shala, we know so well.

After wards, Sharath invites director Alex Medin to speak. Alex explains how the film is "an act of love" and what "a great honor to be a part of this system."

The film started with a conversation between him and the couple, who were staying at Alex's house. The docu spontaneously grew from there. Within days they were filming in the shala and all around Msyore.

Angie also shares how she and Jim have been "so inspired by all of you." Jim, who is now home in North Dakota joins us via Skype and adds a "Namaste" from Angie's laptop.

Mysore Magic, Yoga at the Source can now be viewed ($4.99) or bought ($9.99)on the website below. Preview of the film is also available. Part of the proceeds will go to the Sri K. Pattabhi Jois Charitable Fund. The 22 minute documentary looks at the essence of what happens here in Mysore, and practicing at the shala particularly.

http://www.mysoremagicfilm.com/

packed, more and more students

2012-01-21T11:31:00.003+05:30

It's been intense around here the last couple of weeks. Conferences have been packed since the New Year. Led classes are beyond tight. Last Friday, there were three on each side of the stage. Mats overlap everywhere. You're lucky to be practicing on the crease as a few simply choose to practice at home instead of the locker rooms. Even the second level of the Ladies' Locker room have even been occupied for the lack of mat space --from there Sharath's voice is all muffled. On a normal day, self-practice seems to flow too seamlessly into chanting, which is now at 11:55 shala time.

We come into chanting last week--at nearly mid-day, and the room is steamy. The glass of the windows are covered with beads of condensation--a.k.a. human sweat. The air is thick, even though all the windows are open. And it's hard to find a spot on the rug that isn't damp. I swear, even if I sound like it, I'm not complaining. It is what it is.

Whether its a glitch in the system or not, we're all here, trying to make the best of it. I know of at least one person who was asked to leave early and come back when the shala is less busy. It has been said (though not directly to me) that some students who have been here beyond the three month mark have been encouraged to go early. And I know of another who was greeted with much graciousness when she said she was leaving earlier than planned. Requests for extensions have been denied left and right. And I can't help but feel there was some exasperation in Sharath's voice (again, maybe I'm projecting here) as he noted that I was re-registering for my fourth month at the shala, "Not going?"

Though some people continue to leave after their 3 months or many just after the minimum 1 month, students keep on coming. Everyday, I note fresh faces wandering around Gokulam. There seems to be no end to it. The latest start times are rumored to be between 10-10:30am.

At the height of the sudden upsurge of the newly arrived, the website was updated stating that there was a new 3 month maximum study at the shala, along with the announcement of the shala's reopening on July 1, 2012. Boom, just like that, times are a changing.

It's may only be my second visit to Mysore, but already I miss quieter times. In 2010, late October was a sweet time to come. The shala had been opened a month or two before; I came in with a 6:30 start time. October 2011 was definitely more packed. Start times by the end of the month was at 9am.

We are witnessing the changing times here at the shala. As ashtanga grows throughout the world, as Mysore programs are being built up and more and more qualified teachers spread the lineage, the students inspired enough to come multiply. I know I am a part of that swelling wave of this yoga practice, which continues to expand and extend, growing a culture of people who are better attuned to their body and to their higher natures. And that, despite the change in pace and ease in these parts, the nuisance of packed rooms and stressful gate stampedes (which are still really tame, by any standards), is still good news for everyone.

play and sing

2012-01-20T09:32:00.003+05:30

Kirtan, 3 Weeks ago at Mumuksha.

Last call for Acro Yoga with my dear friend Paul Millage this afternoon at Anokhi's Garden. He's off to Hampi on Monday and eventually back to Washington state, so if you want to fly, come and play between 2-4pm today. Classes are donation basis. Recommended is P500--but he's totally cool with you paying according to your means.

This also means that this Friday will be his last Kirtan in Gokulam (for a year at least). He and James Boag, along with Ganesh on tablas and Liz Boag will be at the Kirtan at Mumuksha at 5:30pm today. The regular kirtan at Saraswathipuram goes on as scheduled this Sunday, 1:30-3:10pm (behind the Palace Honda Showroom).

friendship and the bonds of practice

2012-01-17T21:02:00.006+05:30

It's 9pm, quite late by shala standards, especially if you're practicing at 4:30 in the morning. I've just come home after squatting outside Amruth's, nursing for a few minutes a Bonvita, no sugar. We were a small group, the last remaining of a day of farewell for one of the good friends I've made this trip.

Though I should be saving this entry for the morning, I feel compelled to write about one of the really special gifts of coming out here: the people you meet, particularly the ones you connect with, who are as much a part of the Mysore experience as the practice itself.

The yoga students that are drawn here come from all around the world. We come from different backgrounds, cultures, and fields of expertise. We're all so different, except for the love and dedication to this practice. We all come so willing to dive into the depths of asana and the depths of the depths that our physical practice helps us access. We come and surrender. That makes us incredibly open not just to the practice, not just to Sharath, not just to ourselves but to each other too.

I've been here three full months now, practicing and sharing this experience with the same room day in, day out. As we practice, we each individually create this incredible energy. And then we share it with each other. That builds a unique bond. Outside the shala, relationships solidify over coconut, chai, shared meals and adventures. Some people you get to know well. Some, barely at all.

For those that we establish deep connections with, these people become our source of support especially in these intense times that we are being pried open. We gravitate to each other quite naturally, we prop each other up, we look out for each other--sometimes in very quiet and loving ways, gracious and beautiful in its subtlety. Though somethings are extraordinary, mostly we do the most ordinary things with each other. We break bread. We swap jokes. We cry on each others' shoulders. We're real with each other. We check in and see how we're feeling, how the pose or the pain is going. And we give each other shelter through our personal storms. We thrive in community. We remind each other that we aren't alone in this crazy pressure cooker.

But even the connections that are not so defined are also special here. For example, the sweet girl who practiced beside me for the last month, whose name I didn't get to know until her very last day. She congratulated me so warmly, with so much sincerity when she realized that my practice had shortened and I'd been split. She really felt for me. And when she had to go, I missed her presence.

Though one friend is leaving, I look forward to seeing the familiar faces in the room again tomorrow morning. Whether I know them well or not, I feel so much love for this amazing set of people. I feel so much gratitude that I can continue to share this experience with them. That, for me at least, there is still time left to get to dig deeper into these human connections that truly enrich my life here in Mysore and the overall experience of the practice.

mysore magic, the documentary

2012-01-15T21:19:00.009+05:30

Mysore Magic's opening clip:
Morning coco in front of the shala.

It was a happy Sunday/Shankranti yesterday, full of pongal and painted cows. Conference was canceled due to festivities but, for me at least, it felt quite ok to keep the afternoon free and easy. And as with everything to do with Mysore, the day was magical in that oh-so-subtle way.

Between beautiful opportunities of sharing between friends, from led class to a beautiful lunch cooked with love to just enjoying the simple pleasures like ice-cream and pizza, there was the sneak peek at the film Mysore Magic.

For the last few weeks, one might have noticed the guerilla-style film-making threesome--Alex Medin with film-makers/yoga practitioners Jim and Angie Kambeitz--taking in the various scenes around Gokulam. They seemed to be everywhere at one point, at the coconut stand, in conference, at led class and self-practice, as they worked to capture the special quality that draws us all here to Mysore, to practice at KPJAYI.

Yesterday, Alex arranged a preview and special Shankranti/thank you lunch for the participants of the documentary. We all packed into one of his apartment living rooms, dimmed for the occasion. A screen projector was set up to run the 21 minute docu, so aptly titled, Mysore Magic.

The film, driven by interviews with Sharath, Saraswathi, some prominent scholars of Mysore, and a sampling of long-time and newer shala students from around the world, showcased the different themes of life around the practice: the roots of this amazing system, the remarkable lineage, the draw of the practice and how it has the power to transform the lives of the people who embrace it.

In all, it is a beautiful representation of what happens at the shala here in Mysore. It captures the flavor of the area, which is steeped in yogic tradition. It illustrates the spirit of the practice in the faces of those whose lives have been changed because of it.

For me, particularly, it's an honor to take part, to share my thoughts about this extraordinary Mysore magic, which constantly awes/challenges/blesses me. And the film itself is like a time capsule of this special and, yes!, magical period of my life.

Well done to Alex, Jim and Angie! They produced this excellent work in record time without sacrificing the love for the project and their own practice.

The documentary Mysore Magic will be shown at next Sunday's conference and is supposed to be available for all to see--eventually--on the shala website.

third series in led intermediate

2012-01-15T11:35:00.003+05:30

Second led intermediate ever. I continue to be stoked and at the same time totally trashed by the time I get to my last pose. Sharath helps me in ekapada for the very first time, which is very cool and, today, very necessary.

In truth, however, I'm pretty much thanking the divinities at this point that I haven't been able to advance past ekapada. My arms are jelly, I'm out of breath, and my mental screws are coming loose. Still, I continue to feel blessed to be in the room.

I contentedly sit back, wrap myself up my mat towel and watch the rest of the room advance. Things pretty much go as usual. Energy remains high. So many in the room do full intermediate.

There's one surprise, however. Sharath calls urdhva dhanurasana. Then asks the room how many have been doing visvamitrasana, the first pose of third series. Hands come up. I count at least 18. And he asks them to continue. The rest of us watch as this select few are led through the first two postures of third series. A couple drop out for vasisthasana. After wards, everyone joins in for finishing.

While watching, I couldn't help but feel this surge of excitement to see a fairly good number go into third. I can't help but feel that there is a larger picture being painted here, that Sharath has a plan--and an interesting one--and for that small window of time, we were being given a glimpse of it.

i heart led primary, post split synopsis

2012-01-13T07:29:00.006+05:30

A new day: Sun rising over Gokulam.

The room is packed. The ladies locker room is full again. It's hot instantly. Though tight in the carpet-less back row, my mat mates and I are forgiving with each other as we are forced to invade each other's mat space. Sharath brings attention to a ringing phone. No one claims it. Eventually, he finds the iphone himself in the ladies locker room. It is ringing in his hands and he jokes,"mine now." We laugh and he continues to lead us into finishing.

So, ends my first full week of "split-dom." It's been light and happy. Just come home from my first led primary after a full week of intermediate poses only. And wow! led primary series has never felt so good! I could feel straight away how my body misses it and how grateful it is to receive yoga chikitsa once again.

It's interesting to feel the shifts in my practice, most of which are very subtle. Life on the mat is transforming. It always really is. But it's different to have the presence of mind and energy to take note of it (For the three weeks prior to being split, I was an exhausted train-wreck, barely barreling through primary into part of second series.)

Now, practice is shorter--as I'm at ekapada, and still patiently working through it. I've taken a few extra liberties, extra effort to make the most of it, to build enough heat to prepare for intermediate. Instead of abbreviating sun salutations, I've added extra sets of both A and B. I'm also taking extra breaths in standing, 8 instead of 5.

Less time means more power and I can feel it not only in the poses themselves but in jumping back and forth. I sense more strength and more lift. For the first time, I've been able to hold Sharath's count in uplutihih two led classes in a row. Quite on its own it seems, my body is redistributing energy to other places in my practice.

Second series is also changing for me. The rhythm is getting steadier. There's less hesitation coming into poses, especially kapotasana, which is slowly, slowly becoming less and less frightening. A month ago supta vajrasana seemed impossible without having an assistant stapling my fingers to my big toes. And though requiring work, it's starting to look like I may be able to hold on someday this lifetime at least.

Finishing at ekapada (at least 3 tries, which is fully sanctioned by Sharath), I'm surprised at how much I sweat through this fragment of second series. How for now, this is really enough. There is so much to refine here already. So much to work on and grow from.

It feels like an amazing time, being split is like getting a new start for a new year. This is one of the things I really love about this yoga practice, I am always a beginner, always in the position of growing. Yet each time the clock resets to zero, I get to apply the knowledge I've collected, the strength that I've built and the flexibility that I've embodied into this exciting new phase of learning.

poetry in motion

2012-01-10T10:14:00.010+05:30

I could be in the thick of asana practice. I feel hot all over. Beads of sweat form along my hairline. I take a deep inhale and exhale as I focus my eyes on the words before me. No, this is more intense than practice, I think to myself, as I prepare to dig deep within and share.

At least that's how I felt last Saturday, January 7 when I read out my poems at a special themed kirtan. The theme was "love" and I dug out my most recent love poems to share with--luckily--an intimate gathering.

Ok, so... I write poetry. I don't know why, but admitting it always feels like I'm revealing a dirty little secret. I've even been debating in my head the blog-worthiness of the event, which sort of says a lot about my own sense of self-worth, especially when it comes to my writing. Beyond all else, I get nervous sharing my poems, they're windows to who I am, they reveal me at my most vulnerable. Through them, I am all exposed nerve--ironically, much like what the practice is doing to me presently.

It was the first time I'd shared my work in Mysore to an audience. And it couldn't be more perfect. It was a small group, they were open and receptive, they'd come for kirtan after all at James' in Saraswathipuram, they'd come to sing their hearts out, they'd come knowing that "love" was on the table.

It's beautiful to read to a receptive audience. I always feel that I get as much I give, that there is this beautiful exchange when you speak your truth and someone is there listening, receiving it, making it their own, finding their own truth in the words I've strung together. In that way, writing poetry and performing spoken word has always drawn me, it has so much power to shift perspective, to share emotion, to describe the indescribable.

As I read, I feel absorbed in the moment. In between words and stanzas, there is some understanding of the way the world works, of the complexities of love, that I don't always recognize in the life outside the page--and the sphere off the mat, as this expression is so much like the process of yoga, of incredible discovery. Yoga and poetry feel linked to me and I guess that's why the kirtan worked so well with the reading of poetry. James shared "If" by Rudyard Kipling and Paul Millage read a couple of Rumi verses.

I wish I could live the way I write, just as much as I wish I could live the way I practice. Ultimately, I think whatever we engage in, whatever the thing we love to do whether it's yoga or writing or teaching or cooking or building or being parent, we should do it fully and with purpose. And as we do, our lives become more and more like poetry in motion.

One of the poems I shared:

The Miracle

1.
Aspens quake and we pause,
fingers twined, ears attentive.
We listen to the forest chime,
leaves aquiver in soft symphony.
We think they honor us
as they clap leaf to leaf and
we take in the trail, the trees, the
dome of blue swathed in cotton,
walls of endless mountain ranges,
nearby gurgling water, all of which
we inevitably associate with
the miracle of us. We are
encouraged as applause
travels in waves across
a frothing sea of green.
The tree line glitters
and we kiss, once again,
slowing our progress
down the mountain.

2.
Later, we are informed
that their synchronicity is not
our good luck or great timing,
neither can it be attributed
to the magic of our love—
as much as we might contest this.
Rather, their song is older than
time, instruments so finely
tuned, so precisely selected;
they are designed for life,
efficient bathing in sunlight,
dancing foliage throwing
off mite-sized predators,
seeds carried by wind,
aspens growing a landscape.

3.
We will not see this, but
when time comes and the last
of our summer sets on these hills,
the trees will change together.
Miles will turn golden, as if
their gentle cooing triggers
the very moment in which they
harmonize their autumn robes,
in that inconceivable act of
solidarity, love among trees,
miracle of miracles.

4.
The real secret is this:
Aspens stand autonomously, but
each is an echo of an original tree.
The whir of woods starts deep below,
where the mightiest of roots do grow,
and from each root hundreds and
thousands of saplings spring
with leaves already trained to sing.
Like us, a colony of trees is one force,
drawing strength from one true source,
this is where the miracle starts,
it is a song sung straight from the heart.

--Karen Castillo

I'd like to thank everyone who came, listened and shared energy that kirtan. The two poems were very personal and I felt very safe and loved sharing them. I'd like to especially thank James Boag for his constant encouragement with my poetry and writing. I'm blessed to have such friends and supporters. There will hopefully be another poetry-kirtan event while I'm still here. In the meantime, the singing continues at Saraswathipuram Wednesday 2-4pm and Sunday 1:30-3:10pm (yellow house, behind Palace Honda Showroom).

playfulness and acroyoga

2012-01-10T03:21:00.007+05:30

Paul demonstrating some more complex sequences
with the experienced Sita.

Safety first: Joel spots as Paul brings Liz up to "throne."

I'm all for a disciplined practice, but I also believe in play--that with all this intense sadhana, asana and svadyaya (self-study), there's a real need to just break loose and have fun. Do things that are out of the ordinary. Move the body in different ways. Stretch the mind outside whatever boxes we're used to.

Occasionally, I like to go dancing, moving to an external beat, enjoying hip-induced lateral movement. I enjoy Sunday afternoons after conference when friends set up the slackline at the Park by the Krishna Temple. It's a light experience though challenging in its own way, walking across it, body wobbling to the line, trying to remember to breathe. And over the last three months we've built a little community there.

This month, my dear friend Paul Millage is here from the Pacific Northwest and he brings with him acroyoga. (I know, I know. Sharath would probably have a thing or two to say about this relatively "new" adaptation of yoga.) But I really enjoy getting flown, taking my yoga practice, usually bound to a mat, into a really dynamic 3-dimensional space. I feel really challenged by being a base, but it feels good to support someone. It builds trust and communication. And beyond all else, it's fun and playful. And with this intensely crazy practice, I sometimes just need to play.

If you would like to check it out, classes are by donation, based on your own means.
Paul is teaching:

Tuesday 2-4pm
at Saraswathipuram,
Yellow House right behind the Palace Honda Showroom

and

Fridays 2-4pm
at Anokhi's Garden, Gokulam

Paul is also offering daily between 10:30-11:30am private sessions of a combination of Restorative Acro Yoga/Thai Massage. Suggested donation is Rp1000. To make an appointment, call 9945226641.

full moon and goddess energy

2012-01-09T09:50:00.005+05:30

Some moon days are crazy. I can feel the intensity of it in my practice, in my mood and in the energy of people around me. Those days, I usually want to run for cover, bolt my doors tightly and ride it out hiding in the confines of my inner sanctum.

Last night's full moon, however, was much much softer. A kind, motherly energy that felt supportive and lovely. Things flowed with ease: led intermediate, conference, afternoon puja, a sweet inner dance meditation that inspired honest communication. Then, it led me to seek out sisters who with very little prodding joined me in my quest for a late dinner (one of the real joys of having a moon day!).

It was just one of those nights that just unfolded graciously. It was already 8pm when I felt the yen for dinner. Oddly enough, the friend who I called was well up for it. When I arrived at her house, two other beautiful devis were already assembled there. They were receptive to my craving for round-as-the-moon pizza and together we piled into an auto rickshaw and headed to Cafe Pascucci, where we really ate with gusto a pizza each.

Throughout dinner, we talked full-heartedly and lightheartedly about our struggles and our victories over heart ache and change. I was in the company of women who have navigated the torrents of life with grace, strength, courage, love and good humor. I felt quite blessed to be in their presence.

Later (well beyond our normally prescribed bed time), we sat around in a circle under the moonlight, sharing with each other the things we were grateful for. It was a powerful moment, vocalizing our thankfulness, for the bounties in our lives.

It is indescribable the beauty of these spirited, self-aware women, which is so apparent in their gratitude. Each have embraced the path of yoga, the challenges that life has hurled upon them, the intuitive heart wisdom of the divine feminine from which they are guided. In fact, Mysore is filled with such incredible women (and, yes, men too)--which is what makes this place very special, the energy here is unique in part because of the people that practice here, so full of light, so full of intention.

And I am so grateful to be here in Mysore. The two trips here have helped me grow in ways I can hardly begin to explain. I am grateful for this practice, which has helped define my path, which has helped me understand myself better. I am grateful for the friends and loved ones that have supported me in this life-journey. I am grateful to have opportunities like last night to share with such remarkable goddesses, to feel the blessings of my own life, to be reminded of that I too am connected to this loving, healing, powerful goddess energy.

surviving led second

2012-01-08T12:50:00.002+05:30

Kapotasana B and my right leg is shaking. I try to ground it. I try --unsuccessfully--to take full chest-filled breaths. I think, this could be the moment I spontaneously explode. That would be the first in the shala. Student cracks under pressure, kapo takes innocent victim. Then Sharath gets to "5". And somehow I survive it, like the rest of the class.

When I woke up this morning of my own volition, my first thought was worry, had I missed my alarm? Had I missed my first led intermediate class. It was 2:45am, 5 hours and 45 minutes before the 7:30 start time. Needless to say, I was excited. And not a little worried.

When I arrived at the shala, however, the worry started to dissipate. There's something light and even celebratory (or maybe that's just me projecting!) about waiting for the class. Not only is it later in the morning but the mood seems so different from the high intensity of the crowd waiting for led primary. It's hard to pinpoint it, exactly. But there's a certain levity in the people hanging about the steps, many quietly chit-chatting. And there's no pushing towards the door as we shuffle in.

It's a big group, however, the largest of the season. People lay their mats out on the stage. Along the corners of the room straight onto the marble. And in the right hand corner, last row where I'm at, we're practically mat to mat. It's tight, but manageable with mindfulness.

Sharath seems game as he overlooks the sea of yoga students practicing intermediate series. There are a lot of teachers in there too. The energy is potent. It's subtle and not in any way chaotic. It's the kind of energy that carries you. And together, we start with sun salutations, building heat, he counts slowly.

As we get to the intermediate poses, I realize how much this will improve my practice. How little attention I've put into the precision of breath in this series and how much I will learn from attending these classes. It's so different to be led through these intense poses. There is no room for fear, though I have a quick moment before kapotasana, a stuttering thought that went something like oh my God, here we go... And then it passes.

I stop like I'm supposed to at ekapada sirsana, with at least another 2 people in the room. We're the first to sit. Sharath eyes me and another, "More practice." Sure, thing, Boss Man! No problem.

And for the rest of the time I wrap myself up in my towel, I continue to breathe deeply, and I sit back and watch with awe the feats human beings can do with enough focus, hard work, dedication and practice.

I've sat in the lobby several times to watch led second. And I've felt inspired and amazed by the practitioners. But to see it from the inside, to feel the vibrations in that room, people's energy focused on their own individual effort yet feeding into this incredible group force. There is some serious mojo in there and it is captivating.

I wait and rejoin the bulk of the room into finishing. I'm a bit cold, but that little matters. I want to feel the room, the collective energy through backbending, sarvangasana, and sirsasana. I'm less tired than usual, having sat through half of intermediate and manage to hold uplutihih, a minor miracle. I feel joy and satisfaction as Sharath lets us take rest, the first full rest I've been given in the shala this entire trip.

It is incredible to be here in India, in Mysore, practicing at the shala. I am filled with gratitude that this is a part of my life. That this incredibly human-generated energy is not just something I can access but something I contribute to.

being split

2012-01-06T16:08:00.000+05:30

I sit, nervously, in front of Sharath at his office today, explaining that I have a question about Sunday led class.

"You stop at your pose," says Sharath, a.k.a. Man of Little Words.

"Of course!" I think to myself. But I still can't grasp the information. It's slippery. My mind asks for definite confirmation. It's somehow not enough having him tell me to just do intermediate this past Thursday. The concept won't stick.

"But which class do I come to on Sunday?"

"Come 7:30," says the Boss, ending another less than 15-second conversation with him.

But who cares! That's it. It's really real. I've really been split, and on Sunday I will be attending my first led intermediate class.

Part of me wants to play it all cool and just be ok, it's just another day. (I just want to say here that everyone's practice is different. That in the end, it doesn't matter where you are, primary, intermediate, whatever. It's not the postures that are important, but the process. Right now, however, in my process, this is where I'm at.)

So there's another part of me and that girl, she's doing cartwheels! I'm--and I really have to sigh with relief when I say this because it's been a rough 3 weeks--happy! It's a landmark.

The practice of ashtanga is one with little fanfare, at least not in this shala. You come, you do. There's no hand-holding. It's tough love between Sharath and most of his students. He doesn't give hugs. He sparsely gives validation. He's watching all the time, but sometimes it feels like he looks straight through you. An occasional "very good" is golden. I actually got a look of total disgust a couple weeks ago, with matching sigh/grunt after a tight backbend with him--which oddly enough is one step higher than no feedback at all.

There's little to feed the ego here. It's all about us and our individual practice. Sharath quite skillfully stays out of the way, appearing only at the most crucial moments. He lets us do the hard work. In fact, we have no choice but to do it, this work that is really ours to do. It's a special sort of guidance. He's present but not. He understands where we are in our practice, most of the time without knowing who we are. His energy is there zigzagging across the shala floor from 4:30 in the morning to past 11am, even if he pays us no mind. His way forces us to take responsibility for our practice and our bodies, for our routines, our rest times, and our self-study. And though he does his best to inject discipline by seeming severe, he doesn't baby us. He treats us like adults--even when we sometimes act a little like children.

For me, getting split by Sharath is a pat on the back, a serious form of validation for the energy and time I've put into my practice, the longest and most serious commitment I've ever made.

It's also like a dream. How in the world has this happened? Last year, I watched intermediate led from the lobby with awe. And while I'm still far from doing many of those awesome poses, I cannot help but feel the sweetness and gratitude for the opportunity to share in that energy. For me, this Sunday will be a testament to the powers of yoga and it's ability to change a person. I am so much stronger and so much more flexible than when I started. And not just in body. This practice has transformed me in ways I can hardly explain.

I can't help but feel like this is a new chapter in my yoga adventure/life. My experience in the shala is about to shift. My practice will get shorter as I drop primary series from my daily practice, but I will have more energy to devote to the intense intermediate postures I've already been given. Led primary on Friday takes on new significance. Sunday led is about to get really tough. There will be no room to dilly dally in intermediate, no means to procrastinate getting into a pose, no time to wipe the brow, or to squeeze in extra breaths. I'm totally freaked out and really looking forward to it at the same time.

Slowly, slowly the mysteries of second series will start to open. And so will I with them. I am happy to do so with Sharath's blessing. I will take comfort in knowing that despite my fears and self-doubt he believes I'm ready.

release

2012-01-05T06:42:00.000+05:30

Once in a while, you hear the sounds of muffled sobbing in the Ladies' Locker room in the morning. This practice is intense. What with deep back bending and stiff body parts opening, emotions shift, epiphanies come, waterworks seem to swiftly follow. Pain is there; whether its surface pain, or a deep down sort of soreness that through all our twisting, forward and backward bending moves up enough to see the light of day.

Yesterday, the girl sniffling through her finishing sequence was me--well, at least one of the girls. Luckily, it's dim in there in the mornings. It's easy to cry cloaked in darkness, to have a "private" moment with myself and my emerging emotions.

Some of it was good. I felt overwhelming gratitude towards Sharath as he told me to skip my nemesis of a pose ekapada and go on to backbend. That somehow he has my back--and literally too by helping care for the poor, stretched out thing!

Some of it was not so good. I'm well into my 3rd month now. The body is fatigued. The practice is long. The subtle body is tired too. It's worked and tender. Issues long past resurface. Unfinished business pops up. Layers of self flap in the wind and it's hard to get a really clear view.

I remind myself (all the time, it seems!) that the important thing is getting the emotions out there. Let the tears fall. Be honest. Release it. See it for what it is, understand what it means to you, and, finally, let it go.

moving

2012-01-01T10:49:00.000+05:30

Literally: moving. I am in the balcony of my old 2 bedroom apartment as I write, the last of my bags finally packed. Most of my things are already at the doorstep of my studio, perfect for one.

In a way, it's like easing back into an old home. It's the studio that I lived in for a month and a half last year. It's a cozy space with lots of light and rooftop in a very quiet part of Gokulam.

In another way, it's marking yet another shift in my time here.

Mysore, depending on how long you manage to stay, is full of shifts. Many times, it's subtle like a bit of an attitude adjustment or a change in the routine. Sometimes, the ground even slips entirely away from you and your entire perspective changes. Mostly for the good. Though there are other times...

I am moving in the New Year. I'm on my own now. I also have a feeling it isn't limited to just accommodation. Can't help but feel that there is much movement all around, not just in my own life but in the lives of practically all the people I know. I don't entirely get it. I don't exactly know where its taking me. I'm just trying to go with the ebb and flow.

What I do feel is that it's positive. That change, whatever form it takes, is good. That it is the nature of things, of people, of our planet, of the universe to change.

So as I sit here overlooking 8th Cross, enjoying the view for a few more brief moments, I think how nice it has been to see this view for the last two and a half months. However, I look forward to seeing things from a different vantage point. I'm ready to see things in a different way.

letting go and embracing change, new year 2012

2011-12-31T11:03:00.000+05:30

Puja for Sri Maheshwara.

My past patterns and samskaras burning up--
well, at least on paper, for now.

Forecast said rain today and so did the sky, which was a soupy gray. I think it's fitting to have rain on New Year's Eve. I like the idea of washing away all the ills of the passing year, clearing out the air, starting 2012 fresh.

Mysore in general has this magic quality, which when you tap into it has a very potent power. People who come here leave somehow transformed. Even if you don't intend it, the practice seeps in deep. And change is inevitable.

Now, combine this potency with the power of intention, then multiply this by the amount of folks practicing yoga here with their minds focused and hearts open, bent on surrendering to a higher purpose, on a day full of wishing, praying and intention-making. It's an amazing combination, an alchemical solution, a very special energy that can inspire real, tangible change.

Last year, I had one of the most beautiful--and as it turns out, the most powerful--of New Year's Eves. The sun had just set on Chamundi Hill, and I'd written down all that which I wanted to let into my life: love, true connections, the opportunity to come back to Mysore and study at the shala, closer bonds with family and friends, a healthier life and outlook. It was a very general list but a far cry from the reality of my life a year ago. Now, a year on, I'm amazed at how much of what I hoped for during that night came true.

Today, I wanted to observe the coming New Year in a way that would manifest the changes I want in my life. So, I piled into a rickshaw with a beautiful posse of girlfriends and rode up to Chamundi armed with pens, paper, candles and incense sticks. There, we made a swift beeline to the quiet and grace-filled Sri Maheshwara temple a little behind and above the over-crowded Chamundeshwari Temple, the true highlight of the sacred hill. We broke our coconuts in the "Coconut Breaking Station," presented our offerings, then found ourselves a covered corner where we wrote the things that we were letting go of and the things we were inviting in the new year.

The sheet paper with things we wanted to manifest went in an envelope, while the things that we wanted to release, we burned--which didn't come easy with the density of the paper, the dampness caused by the steady drizzle, and the breeziness of midday. We fumbled with lighters as we re-lit the candles over and over. I guess, it's hard to undo our habits and patterns, not just literally but figuratively too. If last year's ritual was about surrendering, this year's is about letting go.

Afterward, I went to a special themed kirtan on "Rebirth," which was being led by dear friends James Boag, Paul Millage and Raddha, which went on an unprecedented 4 hours--an hour longer than the advertised time. And though our numbers dwindled towards the end, the space was charged with song, frequencies of love and devotion, bhakti at its very finest.

It was an emotional kirtan for me. One, because it was just plain old beautiful to sing with so many open-hearted people. Two, because change, as much as I try to embrace it, is hard to do, difficult to accept. And for the last year, I have lived in a world of change, transformation that I myself manifested, but have not, until now, realized the full scope of. I can't help but cry at the discomfort of such a metamorphosis, I can't help but mourn that which I feel attachment for, I can't help but feel the struggle that comes with letting things go.

It's now just past midnight. Fireworks are raging all over Mysore. It's pretty tame in Gokulam, but there is an occasional shout, "Happy New Year!" Standing on my rooftop, I watch the sporadic light show over residential buildings. I inhale the brisk air. I open my arms up to the night sky, quietly embracing yet another new day, another new moment, my heart hopefully ready for the next wave of change.

(Click here for last year's ritual)

new year singing

2011-12-30T13:32:00.000+05:30

Paul Millage, Radha and James Boag at Mumuksha.

Ganesh providing the beats on tablas.

When I was growing up, I loved watching musicals. And I formed this idea that in a perfect world people would spontaneously break out in song, just because! I know its silly, but there's something really irresistible about it.

There's something incredibly joyful about singing and I really like the idea of singing into the New Year. Actually, singing and chanting (I've been taking voice lessons with Ranjini and Sanskrit lessons as well) has been a big theme for this trip. Though I've had very little to do with the kirtan events in and around Gokulam for the last month or so, I feel like taking myself and my voice out for a spin.

Luckily, there's plenty of kirtan on offer for this weekend, thought I'd share the events here for anyone else who wants to break out in song:

Friday, 30 December, 5:30-7:30
at Kumar's Mumuksha
386, 2nd Main, 3rd Stage
with James Boag, Ganesh on tables, Radha and Paul Millage on Harmonium

New Year's Eve Kirtan on "Rebirth"
Saturday, 31 December 2011, 2-5pm
at James Boag's place at Saraswatipuram
(first house behind Palace Honda Motorcycle showroom
off 1st Main in Saraswatipuram)

1 January 2011
Regular Sunday Kirtan, 1:30-3:10
at James Boag's place at Saraswatipuram
(first house behind Palace Honda Motorcycle showroom
off 1st Main in Saraswatipuram)
also with Paul and Radha on harmoniums

new pose puzzlement

2011-12-26T17:40:00.000+05:30

Everyone has a pose that stumps them (most will have their lion's share over the course of a lifetime of asana practice), which either physically or mentally eludes them. The struggle that ensues takes on epic proportions. Two and a half weeks ago, I got one such new pose, ekapada sirsasana. And since then, it is working me to no end.

Now, it may seem to some that this might be the start of an asan(a)ine tirade, pardon the pun. Here goes another ashtangi railing about the physical aspect of yoga. I'm not going to pretend that it is not an important component of this yoga practice. It's absolutely the vehicle for this practice. But for me, the practice goes somewhere beyond the mat. That mat and what I do on it is like a magic carpet.

But first: ekapada sirsasana.

In a way, it's a landmark for me to work on this posture here in Mysore. Not just because it's challenging and totally not suited for my tight-ish hips. It's the last pose I ever received from another teacher, a little more than a year ago. Any new poses will be given to me by Sharath, sealing my student-teacher deal, the one that I myself have chosen, which defines the respect and trust that I have for my teacher.

Though I have only been working haphazardly on this pose until now, I knew it would be challenging to take on in Mysore. I had no idea, however, to what extent. Its amazing how one new pose can utterly alter--ahem, mess with!--one's practice.

On the grossest of levels, there are certain physical drawbacks. I currently have a long practice, full primary followed by my intermediate poses. By the time I get to ekapada I'm usually two hours into it. I'm fatigued. My arms are like jelly. I've lost all composure at this point, gone is the steadiness of breath, gone is my count, what vinyasa!?!

Then there's stopping at ekapada, which is an extreme forward bend. The back is compressed as the leg sits on the back/neck. Not exactly the most ideal last pose before opening the back into urdhva dhanurasana, followed by drop backs.

Last week, I witnessed the total disintegration of my back bending. I could barely come up from lagu vajrasana, I collapsed at my first try at kapotasana, and could not grab ankles in backbending. Sharath had nailed it on the nose after he had to walk me into my ankles, my elbows dragging on the carpet, "Mmm, back tight from ekapada." Really? I hadn't noticed.

That's when my emotions kicked in. The new pose had already filled me with anxiety. Now it was making me fearful. What if my backbends continued to deteriorate? What if I ended up stuck in ekapada for all eternity, the pose mocking my left hip ad infinitum? I was tired and moody. My practice was abandoning me. No one was helping me in the pose. I felt frustrated and alone. My morale had dipped and the dark cloud in my head seeped into the rest of my practice, which for the later part of the week seemed to falter all around.

Self-doubt coupled with missing my family for the holidays made for an emotional Christmas cocktail. Sporadic waterworks interspersed holiday merry making with friends in Mysore. I was happy one moment, some kind of sad another. I felt a little deranged.

The weekend was a good break, though I could feel the tightness persist in my back during the led classes. I did what I could to be nice to myself. I ate what I wanted. I enjoyed the festivities. I watched some feel-good movies on my laptop. I also talked to friends, some of whom had their own tales to tell.

These intermediate poses are intense. They do not have the same sort of gentle healing properties of yoga chikitsa or yoga therapy that primary series is known for. Intermediate is linked to the nervous system. These poses push one to his/her limits with extreme back bends, extreme forward bends and gravity defying arm balances. And when pushed we become vulnerable. Whenever we dig, something comes up.

The body is this frightening repository not just for things we eat but also the thoughts we imbibe and the emotions we experience. Some of these things pile up, sit, and calcify. They can harden and numb us. And now, I'm finding these old stories and feelings are popping up, possibly being dislodged from my sacral region, the seat of svadisthana chakra which governs creativity and my ability to relate with others. It should be a place of union--though the riot in my head as I try to get my right leg into ekapada definitely disagrees. But even this says something.

So, right now, even though I'm "stuck" in this pose, I know something deep within is moving. These emotions are part of this movement. It's too early yet to say where exactly it's taking me, but I feel like the inner part of the work has at least begun and that the external will catch up at some point.

That's the beauty of this practice: what starts with the body subtly works its way into the heart and mind, while the knowledge uncovered there reflects back out into the physical practice, we become stronger, we become more flexible, we take one step closer to becoming free of that which restricts us.

christmas in mysore

2011-12-25T08:17:00.000+05:30

Anokhi Garden Christmas tree.

Christmas Day. My second Christmas in a row in Mysore. This marks the half way point of a 5 month stay in India. And to be perfectly honest, I'm worn out. I've spent part of the holiday weekend close to tears--the other part indulging in sweets and chocolate in a gross attempt to chase away the blues.

It's tough to be away from my family during the holidays. And the practice...well! the practice is challenging me in whole new different ways. I feel fatigued, I feel stretched, I feel pushed, I feel a little out of my element. It is stirring me up in whole new ways, physically, mentally and emotionally.

Still, the holidays, though not so vibrant and festive as at is at home, is very special here too. I've really seen the best in people this weekend.

At Anokhi's Garden last Friday, some beautiful friends got together to raise over Rp80,000 for Ashadayaka Seva Trust and Operation Shanti by doing the things they love: cooking, baking, master-minding. The Christmas Party that they organized not only brought people together but benefits the children in this community. Everyone who attended the festivities, who bought tickets, who gave raffle prizes took part in this wonderful event full of good intention.

In one Gokulam Christmas Eve gathering, I saw again the amazing camaraderie that forms between people that come out to practice here, that even in a primarily Hindu country like India, the Christmas spirit lives in the action of people, in a tree cheerfully decorated, in the cakes and pastries that were baked, the food that was prepared, and the time we share with people we care about.

Christmas here is a no frill event. The decorations are at a minimum. There are no carols blaring out of storefronts. There is no massive drive for gift giving and mass consumerism. What drives the holiday spirit, however, is the human connections that makes the Mysore experience so rich and varied.

For me, this year, Christmas is waiting at the gate of shala with joyful anticipation. It's greeting my mat mates a Happy Christmas before practice. It's seeing Sharath come out of his office with a Santa hat and wishing us a Merry Christmas before launching into the opening prayer. It's having Christmas Chai after practice at the steps accross Amruth's. It's about waking up this morning and feeling -- despite all the intensity of being here and being pushed to my limits -- that there is no other place I would rather be this special morning.

dating yoga

2011-12-21T09:01:00.000+05:30

For me, Mysore is about yoga, which in Sanskrit means "yoke" or "union." It is about connection: to our teacher, to the people we meet, to the friends we make. There is an intensity to the bonds formed here, as people are pried open, hearts all soft and vulnerable from excessively deep back-bending. Without barriers, love flows easily and links are made.

However, the most important relationship I've formed so far is with this mad, crazy, magical place, the shala, and within it, this blood-heating practice called ashtanga. It has everything we look for in a partner: it has depth and complexity, it's challenging, it may seem mysterious but it actually makes sense, it makes us work but rewards us for our effort, it keeps us grounded and humble and it makes us feel great, it is constant and yet always dynamic, and it sure is HOT!

The phases of life here even reminds me of the stages of dating.

The first month can be mild, a time of adapting to the inner workings of the shala, to life in Gokulam as well as India at large. It's a time of easy flirtation as one skims the surface of asana practice.

It can also be euphoric, the honeymoon period in which my practice/my teacher and I dance about merrily, getting to know each other. It is full exciting firsts. First practice. First backdrop. First led class. First conference. First coconut. First Indian breakfasts. It goes on and on, all memorable first dates.

Month two is less straight forward, less easy. There are bumps on the road--and as this is India, there are plenty of them. Fatigue wears down the charm of the place and the practice. And the deeper the practice, the heftier the drama. There are amazing highs, but there are lows too.

My practice and I won't always get along. We sometimes misunderstand each other. Other times, we just don't see eye to eye. I may intend to grab calves in back bend but that does not always happen. I may want to move on and get a new pose, but that's not up to me. The practice (and Sharath) may have other plans. I may want to secure my leg behind my neck and back in ekapada sirsasana but my hips won't oblige.

There are petty jealousies. My practice may want me to conserve my energy. To take things easy and rest. It can be possessive. It wants all my time. And sometimes, I feel envious of another student with his/her practice. They look so... happy. They look so good together! Then my practice gets pissed off because my drishti has strayed and I'm not paying it proper attention.

There are disagreements. There are tears. There are disappointments and frustrations. The deeper the practice, the deeper the relationship delves into the deep down stuff that we usually try to hide from each other. Through the difficulties, though, we start to understand each other better. We make up and go back to loving each other, stronger than ever.

I'm days into my third month now. And I can see that my practice and I are getting into a nice groove. It's not perfect, but it feels great to spend time together. I can see there is so much more to discover and I'm looking forward to it. We're learning each other's quirks. We're learning not to rush each other.

I look forward to understanding my practice better, and by knowing it better I feel that I will know myself better too--and that relationship with myself is the connection that I have long wanted to establish, that's what draws me to India, to Mysore, and to the shala.

distraction detraction

2011-12-10T22:43:00.000+05:30

Friday night at Fluid, the nearest premier nightclub--in fact,
the only nightclub in the area.

Though many of us come to Mysore to focus on our practice, one of the biggest ironies of being here is that Mysore itself is land-mined with distractions. A simple thirst for a coconut can turn into an unexpected adventure, beautiful and wondrous, but sometimes totally out of step with intentions of quiet, rest and practice, self-study and a deepened understanding of yoga within the context of ourselves.

I feel like I've actually done less than my previous trip, the first two-weeks of which I was a hyper-tourist/yoga student who was making the most of my first trip to India. I've now mostly dropped the tourist part. I spend two hours plus every morning, six days a week, excluding moon days and ladies' holiday at the shala for practice. Including singing class, Sanskrit and chanting at the shala, I spend an extra 10 hours of what I feel makes up my "formal" self-study. Factor in an hour for conference a week, that's still only 17 hours out of a 168-hour week. Even if I sleep half that time (I wish!), that still leaves 67 hours. Where in the world does all this time go?

Its different for everyone. There are many around here who seem extremely skillful at managing their time and conserving their energy. I think these people are incredibly stealthy and discerning, they appear only when they totally desire it, they engage only when necessary. I wish to God that I were one of these gifted people.

Instead, I'm one of the ones scratching her head, after one of those seemingly interminably long lingering breakfasts, wondering where the last two months have gone. Over the course of this trip, I've ended up in the mall, in temples, a couple of cooking classes, the palace for the Sunday lighting, a bowling alley, a night club, obscure food joints half-way across town, and--once--at the horse races. And I'm slowly catching up on seasons of television shows that I didn't even know existed 2 months ago. I've been party to some really fun social situations, and am often with friends, mostly having to do with eating. More than a few times I've caught myself wondering if I have somehow completely failed in my original goal, had I lost sight of my purpose of deepening my practice?

At this point I could berate myself for being a "bad lady," a hack of a yoga student--and I have, at times, gotten to this point, totally guilt-ridden at not having accomplished some goals that I'd personally set for myself. One of these goals was to religiously blog, which I obviously haven't done in a very long while. So yes, I have failed to some extent.

In my defense, however, I feel like I am still on course. But like many of the paths I've chosen, its never so straightforward. Some of the things I have engaged with may seem like petty distractions, but they are still a part of this unorthodox means of schooling that exists in this Mysore yoga pressure cooker.

In truth, my interactions with people help me understand more about the practice itself, not to mention how it fits in my own life. Every experience is a part of the Mysore experience, whether its on or off the mat. And some of the activities, well, they're just fun and light and I am so grateful to have such moments that make me happy and keep me grounded. It's good to laugh, its good to eat, its good to dance.

Still, I understand that a good balance must be struck between my yoga practice and my practical everyday life. My intentions must never be forgotten. Its also important to go with the flow of energy, where my heart wants to go, what things it longs to uncover. I realize that being a student of life doesn't mean I have to always be studying; life is not so serious. Our life lessons are meant to be enjoyed. Everyday should be honored with celebration--a healthy combination of quiet and boisterous merry making--because its truly a miracle to just be here, to have the time to explore who we are in such a magical place, to have the opportunity of self-discovery thrown at us in such a myriad of ways.

the revolving door

2011-12-05T21:54:00.000+05:30

Old friends and new friends taking chai at
Amruth's after led class two weeks ago.

The shala has a revolving door. People come and people go. This is a fact in these parts, evidenced by Sharath's voice doling out new start times continuously. Overnight, it feels, old faces go missing while new faces peer into the door in the later morning hours.

I'm approaching my second month, and I am amidst month no. 2's exodus in which a good number of those who are in my intimate circle, with whom I spend the most time with, who make up my beautiful support system here, must go. Most have already gone. My entire island crew have flown homeward or to their designated pit stops. At this moment, my roommate Claudia is waiting for her flight at Bangalore airport. And I find myself wadding through this wave of change. Last week, I felt physically drained. This week, I am emotionally tender.

Noticing the sudden disappearances of those I am not even close to also takes a toll. We get used to the energy of people we see day to day. We fall into each others' routines, we bump into each other at breakfasts, on the street, at the store to visit the chocolate man. We form silent relationships with people with whom we share an inch or two of communal space between mats in the shala. Without knowing, our breaths and movements merge in a symphony of yogic energy, quiet and potent.

It's hard not to mourn the sudden absence of such intense connections. Nor should we stop ourselves from honoring the gift of them, those who genuinely share themselves so openly in such a short amount of time.

But I am also reminded that this is a part of the Mysore experience, that there is a transitoriness to the friendships that are forged here. Some will exist only here, reuniting during serendipitous trips to the shala. Others will continue virtually over Facebook or Skype. Some will crossover and reconnect through the tight-knit ashtanga world. One thing is for sure, the shared experience of being here creates very special bonds.

For me, I feel, this is a time to practice non-attachment, hard as it is. We must embrace those that come and we must release those that go. The connections that enrich this time is still separate from our practice. Their road is different from ours. This is just a reminder to stay cool and steady amidst a sea of constant change.

Part of the change is also good. As new blood cycles in, they bring with them new energy, new insights, and new adventures. In the end, we are all a part of this amazing place, we are all passing through this revolving door.

Sutras & Singing Bowls

2011-11-25T11:59:00.000+05:30

Spread the word:

Chanting the Yoga Sutras with Neel Kulkarni
Accompanied by Singing Bowls by Akhilanka

Tonight, Friday 25th November 2011
#30 Mystic School, 14th Cross, Gokulam
6pm to 7:30PM

Though I didn't make it myself, my friend Claudia--who was helping promote the event--said it was hugely successful drawing over 25 people for the sutra-singing bowl concert. Good vibes were had all around!

mysore night light

2011-11-07T20:19:00.000+05:30

Even though I spent two and a half months here last season, there were a lot of things I didn't get to do last trip. Among them was to visit Mysore Palace on a Sunday night when they light the whole thing up with what pretty much amounts to hundreds and hundreds of 60-watt light bulbs, the kind you pretty much find screwed into the sockets at home.

Its spectacular, a little strange, and very festive as tourists and loads of locals walk around in awe of the magnificent night lights. We went last Sunday, took a quick stroll. They say the trick is to get there before 7 o'clock, when they turn the lights on and the old palace transforms into a magical Disneyland-like wonderland.

Lights start to go out quarter to 8, when the Palace grounds close. The magic suddenly ceases as the lights turn off and things shift sadly back to normal, at least by Indian standards.

kirtan for kids

2011-11-03T18:10:00.000+05:30

Kirtan tomorrow November 4, at 5pm at Anokhi's Garden for the benefit of the Ashadayaka and Operation Shanti Children. Sure to be good fun for a couple of great causes!

sound yoga

2011-11-01T08:35:00.001+05:30

Kirtan at Anokhi's.

I love kirtan. I don't deny it. Even if I don't have the voice for it. Even if I don't have the tuning for it. Even if my pronunciation is flawed and my tongue trips over the succession of Sanskrit consonants ungracefully. I love the coming together of people, the strength of collective intention, and the vibrational shifts one feels when we allow our bodies to be an instrument of devotional sound.

Ok, so never mind the strangeness of repeating the names of Hindu gods with ecstatic fervor. If they could see me in the throes of Indian devotional song, my ultra-Catholic relatives would surely sick the family priest at me or at the very least whisper behind my back what they've always suspected, "she's a weird one, that little heathen!"

Thank goodness I quite like being strange. And I don't mind being quirky. Though when you are in a place like Mysore, surrounded by so many yoga practitioners/world wanderers, its actually hard to stand out. Extraordinary is quite the norm. But I digress here.

My point is, hereabouts I'm not the only one who likes kirtan because there's been two already in the two weeks I've been here and another one slated this Friday, 5pm at Anokhi's Garden. The first was a small candle-lit Diwali affair with Mark Robberds on guitar and Ganesh on tablas. The second was an all out feel-good mini concert where Mark and Ganesh were joined by Samya with her cool ethereal voice and Peter on his harmonium. They played together and took turns leading. The back room at Anokhi's was packed. And the appearance of some of the Ashadayaka children really made the kirtan extra special. They were, of course, well versed on the chants and were not shy about singing their hearts out. In fact, neither were we, the collection of some 30 odd students sang so exuberantly that we were not shaken by the last dregs of fireworks exploding around Gokulam.

Kirtan has been such a source of great joy for me, not just here recently, but also when I was in the Pacific Northwest this summer where I stayed at the aptly named Bhakti House and beautiful Bellingham--where just about everyone seemed to own a harmonium--and I was able to take a kirtan class with jazzy lady Gina Sala, that I've decided to take singing lessons from a classical Indian teacher right here in Gokulam. Gulp! Just writing about it is making me sweat because in my heart of hearts I always secretly wanted to sing but lack the skill and confidence to do it.

The opportunity to tackle this new challenge seemed to just fall into my lap. Or rather I moved in to it, so to speak. My landlady, Ranjini, upon letting us into our apartment that first night in Mysore introduced herself as a classical Indian music teacher, and it turns out that she's a respected one also. We sat down then and there and I agreed to come to class once I was all settled in.

Yesterday was my first class. And I am still buzzing from it. She gave us a brief intro, went over the scales, then threw us right into song, starting us with common chants and scales. Most of it is call and response. To just listen to her deliver the chants is in itself a delicious activity. Its a little more rattling trying to sing myself, but I found the beautiful voices coming from my fellow singing partners Claudia and Patricia buoyed my own performance.

So, surprisingly--and happily--I am finding that this is time of singing. A new dimension to this second Mysore experience.

The next kirtan at Anokhi's Garden Cafe will be this Friday, November 4, 5pm. To explore voice lessons with Vid. Ranjini Koushik, a vocalist in the Carnatic Classical tradition, call mobile +919480380383641 or 0821-2582193.

Surviving Diwali & Getting Down to Business

2011-10-30T07:56:00.000+05:30

Day 1, Diwali. Fireworks in front of the shala.

Boss Sharath is a kid at heart, face-mask and sparkler in hand.
Here he is lighting up one of a ton of fireworks.

Its not as bad as I remember. Last year, Claudia and I had just arrived for our first ever trip to Msyore when Diwali celebrations commenced in India. And in my memory it went on forever and ever, merging with other minor holidays that seemed to follow one after the other. After the third day, the loudest and most extravagant in terms of fireworks, however, the noisy activity seems to have petered off (I hope I am not speaking to soon and the peace holds).

But Diwali has not passed without taking on victims. Some students are worn down--not from celebrating themselves--but from having their nerves shredded by neighborhood explosives. There have been sleepless and smokey nights throughout Gokulam, where students are getting up for start times as early as 4:30am.

Still, Sunday led feels like a new day. Things are starting to normalize. Routines are finally being set. We are happily returning to the regular programming. Today as I write, intermediate students are having their second led class. There were two led primary before that, one at 4:30 and another at 6am.

This morning, Sharath lead a speedy first class. I know because I was able to hold utplutihih, which I have not yet accomplished in any of his led classes. As we jumped through from the pose, he skipped savasana altogether saying, "Jump through, go home, take rest." He does his quiet chuckle and adds, "two more led class." Our cue to make haste, he's getting down to business and we are only a third of a very long morning.

Today also marks the beginning of the first 6-day practice. I can't help but feel that things are finally getting serious and the air, along with the chill, is filled with possibility.

slipper karma

2011-10-28T09:42:00.000+05:30

Have you seen these brown slippers?

Are these your black flip flops?
Any chance you're wearing brown ones today?

Today, I walked out of the shala after a lengthy savasana following the second led class of today. My slippers, your basic brown Havianas, are nowhere in sight. Nearby there was a lonely pair of black flip flops, also Havianas but more worn in, looser round the thongs--all I could think of after my post-led haziness was, "Seriously?! Not again!"

Last year, my own slippers went missing and in its place were a pair quite nearly similar except for the thickness in the thong. Also after a led class. And despite sending out the word, blogging about it, leaving a note on the replacement pair at conference, my original pair did not make its way back to me--and I ended up wearing the ones left behind for another 4 months.

When I shared my latest slipper slip up saga at the coco stand, two friends separately pointed out that I must have some serious slipper karma. Was I a slipper thief in a past life? What injustice had I committed against rubber flip flops that I should slip up twice now.

Perhaps I just didn't learn my lesson: don't bring a nondescript pair of flip flops to the shala. Or perhaps I should have followed my instincts and written my name on the pair -- which I resisted just on the grounds of the pure dorkiness of the act. I should be more assertive and simply stand by my own compulsive quirks.

Or maybe its another one of those not so heavily veiled messages from the universe. Let go, do not be attached. Maybe, its yet another metaphor for life at the shala. I stepped in today sure footed, stepped out in another person's footwear altogether.

So here's to change! To adapting! Still, I would be eternally grateful if my original pair , which fits so much better, does reappear. Fingers crossed!

Sleeplessasana

2011-10-25T11:03:00.000+05:30

I am usually a heavy sleeper. My usual night pattern is to fall deeply into slumber only to be pulled out from a full night’s shuteye by my two deafening alarm clocks. Not so in this first week and a half in Mysore.

I am so excited to practice that my body clock is playing tricks on me. Not only am I am getting up before my first alarm, but many times well before it.

One night last week, I must have drifted off to sleep sometime past 8:45pm. I woke up and looked at the windows trying to surmise whether the darkness outside could be that of early morning. Maybe its time to get up, I thought. I looked at my alarm to find that it was only still 9:30pm—only 45 minutes had passed! How in the world could I think it was nearly morning? I tucked myself into bed, surrendered back to sleep. When I woke up again, feeling pretty rested, if now I was closer to my start time. I looked at the clock it was 9:45pm—a measly 15 minutes had passed!

Though that’s the most extreme case so far, I’ve been waking myself out of sleep pretty consistently of late, well before my time. 11:15, 12:30, 1…

This is the energy of the shala’s call. It wakes me in the morning. Not just me, but all of us, motivating us to get up well before dawn. Its drawn us all here to Mysore, India, to practice, to be present, to just be—and that’s worth waking up for.

walk the line

2011-10-20T20:18:00.000+05:30

Total union: James and his slackline.

Line-master Arne casually walking across.

There's all sorts of things one can get into here in Mysore. And last week, I had the good luck to try slacklining with fellow students at the Gokulam park beside the Krishna temple.

Its been a fun and easy going way to while away the afternoon. Finding balance among friends. Getting addicted to defying the laws of physics--or rather, better understanding the laws of physics.

At first, it may appear to be completely different from our practice, what with our fixed postures, set series, and precise counting. Slacklining is a practice in balance, using a nylon line anchored between two points. The line itself is slack, which means that it is dynamic, it stretches and has bounce. And it seems to be this fun and free-flowing activity, where one works on finding equilibrium amidst movement from one side to the other--um, sound familiar?

Walking across the line isn't easy, however. Breathing is essential. Eyes should be focused ahead of you. Body should be relaxed. The mind needs to be aware and vigilant, using the different parts of the body in harmony to allow that perfect balance moment to moment. Is this not similar to our yoga practice?

But then, I can't help but think, that this pretty much applies to everything. To all activities. To driving. To cooking. To our work. To life. If we applied these methods, which we use in our hour and a half asana practice, to all our everyday activities, how much more successful would we be as human beings? If we practiced them with as much diligence as we do when we get on that mat, how much more amazing our lives could be?

Then again, when I look at my own life, which has transformed so much due to yoga, I see how it has sneakily seeped into the rest of my life. I've been witness to it taking over gradually, killing my old habits, replacing them with new ones, healthier and more mindful, steadier in the shifting world of slack.

(Its a pretty casual affair, the neighborhood kids have a go so do entire families of students. There's an intention to set up the slackline at Gokulam Park after Sunday conferences. Everyone is welcome to join. Last Sunday was pretty fun, there was hula hooping and this wonderful easy going day out at the park vibe post-conference.)

Welcome back---bending

2011-10-19T12:07:00.000+05:30

Self-practice, at last. This morning was the first of the season. I think everyone, myself included, was really looking forward to it.

Though this is my 5th day at Gokulam and 3rd practice day at the shala, for the most part, it continues to feel unreal. It seems almost an impossibility that I was here last year. More so that I am back for more!

And while I've been excited many times over, nothing has quite captured me the way pretty much everything had on my first trip a year ago. The newness of the place and the first time experience of the shala cannot be duplicated, of course. My senses are not so assaulted as my first taste of India. Everything, thank goodness, has been calm and easy, if not a little lacking of that excitement that comes with inexperience.

I am far from disappointed. There is this beautiful pace and ease to this second trip. Its not the whirlwind of activity that typified my first month in Mysore, instead its steady, like meeting an old friend and knowing that ahead of us is this nice long visit (4 month-long this time).

I noted the sensation coming into the shala this morning for my 5:30am start time. I understood the process. It didn't rattle me to see the lobby filled with people. I calmly noted the mass of students, mentally distinguishing the throng before me, and waited patiently for my turn as I crocheted myself a hat for when it gets colder. I moved up towards the door. I put away my soon to be hat as I got closer, anticipating for my "One more" from Sharath. I noted who was getting dropped back, so that I would know where I would go when my time arrived. It was smooth, seamless, comfortable. Thus, went my practice.

It was when I had come up from my last back bend that I had my A-ha! moment. It was like a light turned on in my head, re-illuminating the reason why I was here in the first place.

A happy surprise, Sharath was there the moment I came up. He instructed me to drop back on my own three times. Then returned to rock me three times. On the last, he talked me to my heels, supporting me ever so gently. I relaxed despite a month and a half of very light back-bending. My practice hasn't been what it should be, I'd been traveling and whatnot. But here I was, heart being pried open again, eased back into a place of surrender and vulnerability.

"Very good," Sharath said before pressing me into paschimattanasana and leaving me to my thoughts.

I smiled to realize that this trip is not about being awed and wooed by the shala or by India. I'm here already. I've rearranged my life to make the return happen not to feel the extraordinariness of Mysore but to do my practice, to be with my teacher, to continue to have my body/mind/and heart slowly pried open, the absolute miracle of daily patient practice.

Go Team Boracay!

2011-10-17T14:23:00.003+05:30

Chit enjoying her first coconut at Gokulam.

Joycee and I at the park today.

Robi, Claudia, Myself, Momo and Anoushka before conference.

Last year, Boracay was a blip on the Mysore map, which is its nature, I guess, being a wee 7-kilometer island in the Philippines. Then it was just me and Claudia. Later, others connected to our island home would come to Gokulam like Momo Reina and very briefly Clayton Horton.

And while I am no longer residing on the island, I can't help but feel some sense of excitement that we seem to be representing better this year. Claudia and I are back this time with our friend Chit, a long time Boracay resident and ashtangi. Our friend Anoushka, who was recently lured into living part-time on the island, is here for the week. Momo, who was just on the island teaching for 5 weeks, is here with Robi, while Mark Robberds, who recently held a workshop on the island prior to returning to Mysore, arrived with us on the same plane. Joycee, who was on the island to teach last May, is also here. And Bela Lipat, who is from Manila, is no stranger to the island either.

All this has added more color to this year's Mysore adventure (We're on day 3!). Its good to be with friends from home, sharing this island connection, transplanting some of that tropical paradise, good island vibes here in India.

First day of school

2011-10-16T21:40:00.004+05:30

Claudia and I on our first morning back in Mysore.

Mysore and its like first day at school: we’re students for one thing, excited little things running around preparing for our school year, except our school supplies entail finding apartments then cleaning and refurnishing said apartments, getting local mobile numbers, and renting scooters.

At every turn, we meet friends who we haven’t seen since last season, as if we’ve been reunited after a long summer vacation, catching up on what we did in that interim time called our “real” lives—the ones we live in between visits to Mysore (I get carried away here, I know as this is only my second trip, but honestly this is what it feels like for me).

And there’s this electricity in the air. This sense of anticipation that is apparent at the start of a school year. Students are eager and excited. The mood is festive, the suburb of Gokulam coming to life as each day brings new carloads of students because today is when Sharath starts teaching again for the season.

And although my companions and I didn’t managed to arrive in Mysore early enough to register for class today (the first led class with Sharath was early this morning and we arrived Friday night forgetting that the shala wasn’t open on Saturdays), it’s incredibly special to feel the energy of today. There’s a beautiful feeling that we are part of the start of something very special.

Today, at the first conference of the season, Sharath announces that he isn't going to say too much (the conference is barely half an hour), intimating that there would be time to go over things in future conferences, that rather this was a time to “adjust.”

“Life is about adjustment,” he says. (“Alleluya, ain’t that the truth!” I could have shouted all gospel-church choir like).

Sharath explains briefly about how life doesn’t always work the way we want it to and how we have to adjust to it accordingly. More so in India, he says, where things are specially different.

He reminds students how to act appropriately in a place as traditional as Mysore, that the beach dress code of Goa doesn’t fly so well locally, how blocking 8^th cross as students drink their fill of morning coconut doesn't ingratiate us to our Indian neighbors, that accepting a random invitation to a stranger’s wedding may not be to our better interest, or that converging as groups at the coconut stand might attract unwanted attention—the last one seems to have fallen on deaf ears as many did indulge in a post-conference coco as is customary on Sundays.

He recommends students walk or take auto-rickshaws because ordinary traffic rules do not apply in India and not be so bold as to try to drive motorbikes or scooters in a country where everything is different, especially in a place like Mysore, where when a mind says go right, it goes right, without looking or taking any precautions. (This just after booking a scooter for myself not a half hour earlier. As with every learning experience, some must be through personal experience.)

It is our orientation for our first day of school. These are the don’ts. There has to be some. He has to start us off right. But there are also some inspiring moments. He starts by looking around the room and smiling, commenting on how he sees “a lot of new faces,” and how that is “good…it means ashtanga is spreading.”

He also talks briefly about how yoga came to Mysore. He talks about Krinshnamacharya coming to Hasan, where his grandfather Pattabhi Jois was able to study with him for some years. How eventually Krishnamacharya would go, then Pattabhi Jois would end up in Msyore to attend Sanskrit college and how Krishnamacharya would also end up in Mysore, where Pattabhi Jois would then study with his teacher for the next 20-25 years.

At some point during this historical recap, I see Sharath’s hand hold the arm of the chair beside him. Its Guruji’s chair, or “throne” as some people call is. Sharath gently holds the arm as if it were a hand. I think of how he must miss Guriji, his grandfather and his teacher, and how he must be trying to presence him now as he starts this new season of teaching, like us, he is also a student calling to his teacher at the start of the new year.

Manila to Bangalore

2011-10-15T18:46:00.000+05:30

En route to Mysore. Our numbers are growing. Mysore becomes more and more of a reality the closer we get to her.

At first it was just me, alone at the airport in Manila. Then we were three when my friends Chit and Claudia arrived from Boracay. We doubled that number when we saw friends Yan Ong and Mark Robberds at the airport in Kuala Lumpur, where we also met Alice.

We will be joined by friends who are coming. We will join friends who are already there. And then there’s the rest of the shala…

So far, its all so different from my first trip just last year. Claudia and I, were both newbies, excited and anxious, eager and uncertain of just about everything. For me, the excitement and eagerness are still there. But the anxiety and uncertainty has been replaced by—for the lack of a better term—determination. I am determined to get settled in, to find a groove that is in keeping with my intentions, clearer than last year’s exploratory nature. I am determined to dive into the practice, to learn, to surrender.

Last year, I was told that the first year is special because people come with no expectations, that some returning students are disappointed to come back to find things different. So I’m trying not to have any expectations outside of my own personal goals. I accept that things always change. Instead I want to be a part of that change. I get that I am mostly ignorant. And that’s why I am returning, to know more, to be more, to let Mysore act upon me with its special yogic magic.

two weeks to mysore

2011-10-01T11:53:00.000+05:30

As I countdown, I've been going through the mental checklist:

Shala acceptance, check.
New passport, check.
Visa, check.
Apartment, check.
Plane tickets, check.
Car pick up from Bangalore to Gokulam, check.
check, check, check!

I've started to imagine what I'm going to stuff in my backpack already. Ironic, since I'm still traveling in the US, still living in my summer Stateside clothes, still have a quick trip to Hong Kong to visit Mysore friends Deva and Rosanna before catching up with family and friends in Manila for a week. It seems utterly incomprehensible that I am going to be in Mysore, India in 14 days.

Then again...

If I remember correctly it took me and Claudia about two weeks to swear to each other that we would return the following year. And that was exactly a year ago now!

I am amazed at how time works. How much things have changed. How so much of my life has been re-focused to make this trip possible, how much of "this trip" is actually now my life. How when a door closes, a window opens, and sometimes not just a window but all the walls simply collapse around, and the whole bloody house is blown wide wide open. And how all this crazy opening is the result of the potential magic that gets cultivated when you practice at the shala, when you dive into your yoga practice, when you surrender to your teacher and most importantly to your self.

I wanted this. And because I was brave enough to admit it to myself, I've manifested this trip, my second one to study at KPJAYI with Sharath.

I'm so excited, I am beside myself. So much has happened between the two trips. There has been heartaches and trauma, but there's been an amazing amount of love and discovery as well. When I returned home, everything seemed to collapse around me. My whole life, the world I had so meticulously built caved in on itself, the foundations were soft. And now, while life's little roller-coaster continues to take its ups and downs, loops and corkscrews, it at least continues to be thrilling.

I have no expectations. But I can't help but think, what will happen next? If one trip to Mysore could turn my entire life upside down, what will it do after a second trip?

Post Mysore Survival Tip: Mysore Debriefing

2011-05-09T16:16:00.000+05:30

It's been a while since I've written. I suppose that is a symptom of the world outside of Mysore. Beyond the safe walls of Mysore's yoga bubble, life takes over. There's work, relationships, making a living, surviving. Time is no longer my own to dispense with as I see fit. Responsibilities and debts have to be paid. The real world is not a yoga vacation but a yoga trial, where the challenge of fitting it all in with a 6-day a week practice can nearly be insurmountable.

And life has been full--of everything!--since my return from Mysore. There has been confusion and heartache and sadness. There has also been discovery and joy and love. It has been totally and absolutely full on!

You hear stories around Gokulam. "The things that happen to people when they go to Mysore." People go nuts. They move half way across the world. The leave their jobs. They quit their marriages. They go buck wild or plain old fashioned crazy. And I remember listening to these stories bemused and confident, thinking to myself, that's not going to happen to me. I'm content with my life. I wouldn't change a thing. But change is not something we control, it is something that happens quite naturally, and with much speed if yoga has anything to do with it.

And what quite naturally happened to me was a healthy dose of Post-Mysore-traumatic disorder. Things that appeared fine from an old angle, appeared decidedly different. For me, it was how I was living and the choices I'd made. And from the moment I started to head home, the world as I knew it started to fall apart. Perhaps this world had seen that I was no longer the same, that the wheels of fortune had spun in a different direction, and things that used to fit would fit no longer.

I'm not good with confrontations. And no amount of yoga had changed that. Cowardly as it was, instead of going home to Boracay to deal with it, I did the opposite: I joined a yoga workshop in Manila. Govinda Kai was in town back in early Feb (at Bliss Yoga).

Things had come full circle. Claudia and I were together again. And were it not for Claudia, I would not have taken the bulk of the workshop.

Ironically enough, the workshop itself became a vehicle to cope with my shifting world. In a nutshell, it became my Mysore debriefing, helping me to understand the complete upheaval that I was going through, which according to Govinda is quite normal.

A year ago, when I asked Govinda (he was in Boracay for a workshop) for advice about going to Mysore. He said that I should go for 3 months. He said that the first month was for "getting used to it," the second was for "falling apart" and the third was for "coming back together again." When I reminded him of his advice, he quipped something like, "and then when you return everything falls apart again." He didn't include that vital piece of information a year ago. In any case, he couldn't have been more right.

Govinda listened as I explained the mess I was coming back to, how I was now afraid to return to my once so orderly life. But Govinda helped confirm what I felt in my bones, that the changes I'd personally felt were good. All he said was this, when comparing me to our first visit a year ago, "You are more present." And I could really feel it.

Coming back from Mysore, I really appreciated the intense practice that happens when Govinda holds space. But beyond that, the series of lectures that he shared with our group slowly debriefed me from my India experience, it gave me time to process all this new information, new programming, it organized my thoughts, and put words to what seemed like undefinable feelings.

He talked about love and relationships and how these can be wonderful vehicles of self discovery, he shared a deeper perspective on sex (but not SEX sex, rather the polarities between masculine and feminine), he talked about backbending as integration and arm balances as a means for creating space. (And boy, can Govinda talk! By the end of the week, he had no voice). His lectures clicked with many of us and I really related to all the themes in such a personal way. They shed light on so many things.

When time came to go home, I was steadied by my time with family and friends in Manila and with Govinda and his time-tested wisdom. I was ready for the storm--admittedly half of which was of my making--and rough winds were waiting.

Connecting to Mother Mysore, Odanadi Yoga Stops Traffick in Boracay Island

2011-03-13T19:23:00.000+05:30

Mysore continues to be real for me. Everyday, as I read updates on facebook, as I recite the opening prayer on my mat, as I recall the memories of the two and a half months that I spent there, my mind fixes on it, the city and the shala, the people and the energy, the yoga community as a whole.

I miss the energy of it. The quantity and the quality of that energy focused on yoga is both exciting and overwhelming. In Mysore, I felt fueled by the community around me. And though I love the tight knit group of dedicated yoga friends that I practice with here in Boracay, in the Philippines, we're a small group driven predominantly by an easy-going island vibe. While the island itself is only 7 kilometers long (with the thinnest width of the island a measly 1 kilometer), its small pockets of yoga barely every cross or meet.

Then, I started to see all the announcements go up on facebook from my Mysore community--some of whom by that time, were spread out around the world in their respective homes. Everywhere it seemed people were rallying around Odanadi Yoga Stops Traffick, the event that creates awareness against the trafficking of women and children and raises money for the caiuse. I felt that we needed to take part somehow. I felt the need for that sense of togetherness here too.

So on March 12, I felt the strongest connection to Mysore since returning home to Boracay, in the Philippines, as our own island yoga community gathered for 108 Sun Salutations, joining over a hundred participating studios and organizations world wide for Odanadi Yoga Stops Traffick.

Within the Mandala Spa shala, eight resident teachers led part of the 108. Clayton Horton of Greenpath started things off followed by Nicole Serrano, Mo-ching Yip, Stacey Memije, Markus Duss, Margaux Palau, Sebastian Stroeber and myself. After a wonderful savasana, Clayton led us in Kirtan and a short meditation for the victims of the recent earthquake and tsunami in Japan. In total there were 24 participants, packing the shala.

In the end, we raised not only PhP10,800 but we also raised the bar in terms of our own local yoga community.

Quicken, Ode to Saraswathi

2011-01-29T07:08:00.000+05:30

Quicken

My pulse quickens as she approaches. I try, oh God, I try to breathe. Slowly. Deep, even breaths. But I can't help it, I can't help the stress from racing my pulse.

It is part anxiety, part excitement when I see her in front of me--well, actually, from behind me--well, actually, both. I peek at her from behind my heels, her colorful pajama pants hiding what people say are fine looking legs.

Ok, so breathe. There is no escaping it now. I see her feet wait. I inhale and heave myself up into standing, where she is before me, a head shorter than myself. She places her hands behind my hips. Her fingers are light, but her hold is steady.

Oh, God. Here it comes. I wish she would smile. When she smiles, the entire shala lights up. And her eyes are kind, easing away my fear of her, of her folding and unfolding me like a piece of sheet cloth in the wind. Mamma. Saraswathi.

--This piece was written during one of the writing circles conducted by Deborah Crooks and fellow shala student writers Benji, Leena, Dorota, and Alex (who joined once), I miss you guys. I miss exchanging words with you all!

Some words on Mamma...

I've spoken at great lengths about Sharath since he was my teacher those months in Mysore. But Saraswathi too has a strong presence in the shala. I would always hear her towards the end of my practice, her soft voice echoing ethereally over the pulsating bodies as she chanted, sometimes she sounded like she was humming.

She's an incredibly strong yet tiny woman, who can with total ease drop back a man over twice her size. She is beyond sturdy, an immovable force from which you can anchor yourself to.

I would often see her hovering over friends with very open backs, she would always magically turn up as they entered that crucial moment. (Saraswathi was once a great back bender--and apparently takes great pleasure in helping others attain such heights--with hands on their thighs that is!)

During my time at the shala, my feelings for her went through several phases. The first was fear and anxiety. I'd heard that she was a toughie when it came to adjustments. Over an email my friend Stacey reminded me before I left for India, when she comes to you, just breath, relax, she's incredibly strong. Gulp, I thought!

I remember my first with her. It was so fast, I didn't quite know what hit me. And then paschimatanasana! I'll never forget the force in which she pressed me. It felt like she had made a running start because I lurched forward so strikingly. And when she released me, I actually bounced back from the delayed inertia.

Eventually, the fear did pass. And I started to enjoy her terribly efficient quick as lightning drop backs. 1, 2, 3. Wham bam, thank you, mam! "One More," she would yell to the foyer as I quickly rolled up my mat to finish in the locker room. It was a welcome break from the depth in which Sharath was asking me to go, walking me closer and closer to my ankles.

Then at some point, I actually enjoyed the deep back bending and would note with some sorrow when Saraswathi would be before me. She sped through me. And it would be done too quickly.

Then towards my last three weeks, I started to struggle less and less in back bending. I started to relax in the pose. My breathing was deeper. I could grab my heels (with Sharath's help) and it ceased to be a horrifying experience. Time would stop and all would be well.

By my last week, I was surprised to find myself hovering as I dipped backward. It was a new experience to go slowly. And for the last two times of the trip that Saraswathi appeared before me, she guided my hands to my ankles as I came down. The first time I felt her hand on my wrist, I remembered what Stacey said and I simply surrendered. I think that was the moment I really began to trust her, just days before my final departure.

For me, it was a special gift, an acknowledgement of how far I'd come. The following day, she was there again. I had more difficulty the second time, but when I came up she smiled her famous smile and gave me some advice, the first words she'd actually spoken to me the entire trip.

In the end, I didn't get to say goodbye. But I know that I will see her again. And who knows what combination of feelings she will inspire. Whatever they may be, I definitely look forward to it.

Mysore Extracuricular: Crochet Club

2011-01-24T16:21:00.000+05:30

At Anu's with Rich, Jenn and Harish. Jun Pe snuck in.
The itty bitty hat I'm holding is my first hat--
which is obviously too small for my head.

At Anouki's. With Rich, Katherine and Alin.

This is a seriously inappropriate hobby to have in the tropics, I think to myself as I make tidy little balls from yards and yards of thick woolly yarn, no doubt the strangest thing I brought back from India (in pale pink, purple, green and gray).

In the first stages of my "Mysoresickness," I even insisted on wearing the leg warmers I made (1/3 of a set of triplets, Ursula in Osaka and Deva in Mysore have the other two, Heidi in Helsinki owns their cousin--all of them have the right to be wearing theirs) to practice. Sure, it was cool for the Philippines. It was 5:45am cool in the Philippines. But who am I kidding? It is not only hot, it is humid, and I've totally missed the two week period in December when there's an ever-so-slight chill in the air mostly in the evenings only warranting a long sleeve shirt or a shawl. Otherwise, it is plain old hot and humid.

After my second day of forcing the issue, my friend Christina when boarding the car saw the thick cold-weather leg warmers on the passenger seat, pointed at the them and asked with concern, "Were you wearing these?" Christina, a model slash DJ and my most fashionable friend, looked horrified. The fluffy, cozy winter-warmers have no place here, she might as well said.

I haven't worn them since, though I've been tempted to blast the AC on high in order to make use of them in the morning on the way to the yoga studio. I'm still crocheting, however. I just can't stop myself. I'm finishing a hat for my niece in Singapore. Again, tropical weather, inappropriate present.

Still I continue. I feel calm doing it. And it reminds me of Mysore.

When I first arrived in late October, crochet was all the rage. Everyone seemed to know how. Guys and girls. You could find diligent enthusiasts at the shala gates whiling away the waiting by hooking and pulling, hooking and pulling their string of yarn into homemade creations. There were pockets of the crochet community everywhere, meeting in private homes and in public cafes.

I started over chocolate almond smoothies at Anu's cafe, where a group met to crochet in the afternoons over their evening tea and smoothies. Richard from England, along with Alin from So Cal was almost always frenetically at it. Jenn from Canada was all pro and was knitting. Katherine was doing a refressher. Juliana was a natural. Me, not so.

Richard's enthusiasm for the sport was catchy. Before long I had purchased my own yarn and and crochet needle and was knotted up and stumbling on my fingers. Richard was patient. And many others helped give me little tips along the way.

The Odanadi Fundraiser in late November was the crochet event. Many an amateur craftsman and craftswoman donated their creations to sell for the benefit of the Odanadi street children. In all it was a testament of the shala students' commitment to helping the local community AND their love for crochet!

I was a total newbie at the time and was still on my first hat, which though was meant for me appeared to be shrinking in size. In the end I had produced a rather small hat suited for a baby. Such was my learning curve. My second hat completed by Christmas was a perfect elf hat--quite by accident.

But I kept at it. At home. In front of the shala gates at 4 in the morning. At practically any dead moment.

In a way, it's become a sort of sitting meditation. Something positive and creative to keep my vata self occupied. It's been good to learn something new, to see my own progression, to improve with each project--much like life at the shala, practice and patience, practice and patience.

Changes

2011-01-24T14:22:00.000+05:30

The view from my plane, from Singapore to Manila.
Reminds me of that phrase "sky's the limit."

It is nearly two weeks since I left Mysore. And the place continues to work on me. As with asana practice, I try to relax, inhale and exhale deeply, allowing it to do its magic, resisting as little as possible. It is a challenge to remain flexible, especially back in the real world.

I quite ignorantly said, before I ever left home, that I would not change. Though in essence I am the same person, it was not a realistic promise (and I am sorry for making it). Change is constant. And if you spend a long enough time in Mysore, if you surrender to your yoga practice, if you willingly allow yourself to go down the rabbit hole, change will be inevitable. It might be subtle, drastic, physical, emotional, spiritual, or more likely a crazy combination of all the above--so wide is the scope of this deep yoga practice, so deep is its reach, so sneaky too--I barely noticed myself until wham! here I am.

Since Mysore, I continue to feel these "shifts." They are these little tremors, aftershocks that typically follow a big quake. Mysore was that for me, groundbreaking.

Physically, I see the changes. Having had no full-length mirror for the last one and a half months in Mysore (I bought a round little thing, 6 inches in diameter to braid my hair in the morning), I am totally amazed to see myself, whole self, so healthy. I feel some changes too in my stamina, flexibility and strength. Ursula told me that I would be surprised with my own practice after I returned from Mysore. That has yet to happen, but I believe it will. Everything in good time.

Mentally, there are shifts too. I feel like I am thinking with more clarity. I feel more aware of my own thought processes. I caught myself today thinking as I was being asked by the bank guard to move my car, I was already out in the rain, "Don't be upset, he's right, he's only doing his job, you'll only get a little wet." Within a second I'd got over the inconvenience. I've been driving in Manila for a week now and I've noted at least a half dozen moments that could have transformed into road rage, I thoughtfully let it pass along with the haphazard drivers of buses and jeepneys that dominate these streets.

Emotionally, I feel more FULL STOP. My friend Alena, once accused me of over using the word "surrender" while teaching yoga. And she's right. I love to say it. I know the importance of it in ashtanga and in life. And to some degree, here and there I have surrendered. But that whole-hearted surrender happened in Mysore, a little each day at practice (all this crazy back-bending perhaps?) and finally culminating around New Year's at the Shiva temple in Chamundi Hill. Since then, I can physically feel my cruddy little heart opening. Untold emotions have since eeked out and continues to do so. It is inconvenient and there seems to be no end to it. It is also incredibly beautiful to feel so...alive.

Some changes will take some getting used to like my renewed commitment to psuedo-vegetarianism. I've been eating fish post-Mysore. Though, I'll probably get used to it faster than my family will. I feel more sensitive to my environment and to the people around me. I quietly wigged out the two times my family and I went to the mall, which is a real shift because I usually love the mall. There was something unsettling about the energy, the bright artificial lights, the buzzing shoppers and excessive retail.

Then there are the changes that I choose to make. Changes that are motivated by both my newly-gotten mental clarity and this spooky heart-opening. These, I think, will be the hardest to go through because it will be me (not Mysore) who will have to be the master of change. They are pesky decisions that disrupt the status quo. They won't always be easy. They might hurt a little, sometimes a lot. But they are necessary and they are honest.

Everyday, I revel in the mystery of Mysore and it's transformative powers. Everyday, I remind myself that change is good.

Missing Mysore

2011-01-18T21:12:00.000+05:30

Hutch and Alex and I at KL airport.

Cutie pie Amelie, my niece, and I in front of Year of the Rabbit display in Singapore.

The fabulous Filipino ashtangis feasting after practice for B-day potluck.

So far, the hardest thing to write about is the journey home.

I definitely have Mysore withdrawal symptoms. It isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It’s not like I get the shakes or anything. Missing Mysore is subtler than that.

My body misses the routine, morning practice and shala energy. It has been lonely and uncooperative over the last few self-practices.

My mind misses the concentration, input of Sharath during conference and interactions with fellow students, the talks of yoga and the talks you have when you have had enough of talks of yoga.

My heart misses India.

The first few days, I was in a daze, head cloudy of recent Mysore memories, which I am blessed to take home with me. I would smile and try to be present, as I continuously let the intensity of the last 2 and half months wash over me. I was sleepwalking. I couldn’t quite vocalize how I felt. I couldn’t explain. Not at the start anyway.

In many ways, luck has been on my side. I’ve not jumped directly back into the matrix of my “real life.” I’ve taken a slow route, visiting family in Singapore and Manila (where I am now as I write this) before heading back to my own little island nation, Boracay.

And at every stop, there seems to be a reminder that the world outside Mysore is a friendly place. In the airport at Kuala Lampur, when faced with about 6 hours of waiting between flights, I quite shockingly bumped into two Filipino friends Hutch and Alex, who were en route to India. I impart some India wisdom and they keep me company until my morning flight.

In Singapore’s Budget Terminal, I board the taxicab of Mr. Ali, who asks me out of healthy curiosity why I practice yoga. This is an interesting question to get soon after departing from Mysore and I am surprised at how easily I answer, “I feel closer to God.” I explain in brief ishvarapranidhanadva, which animates, Mr. Ali, a Muslim who says that in Islam they don’t use the word surrender but instead submission. A liberal man, he philosophizes about how he doesn’t understand those who claim their religion without studying, without practicing. I tell him it is just like yoga.

This first conversation in Singapore was comforting, that somehow it was a reminder that the spirit of yoga that I saw so alive and well in Mysore lives and breathes outside of India. It comes in different packages, but the essence is somehow preserved.

The unobtrusive comforting ways of family also played a role in my reintegration back into reality, as they ushered me through Singapore's extremely clean environs, mostly from one meal to the other (that's what Filipino families do, eat), a welcome activity since I just realized I have lost 7 kilos over this trip, interspersed with shopping (a trip to Ikea and the giant Konikuya bookstore was a total shock to the system).

Today, in my first full day back in Manila, I went to practice at a local ashtanga studio called Stillpoint in Makati. It was interesting to participate in a different energy, to be adjusted quite liberally, sometimes by two teachers at a time. It was great but odd. I appreciated the intimate numbers and wonderful help with alignment, but I also missed being swallowed in the powerful anonymity of the shala, seemingly forgotten but silently being worked on.

It was a great yoga homecoming too as we gathered for a triple birthday potluck after wards. This was yoga Filipino style, a hard morning’s practice followed by an opulent feast (We Filipinos know how to live it up!). And after eating, I started to talk about Mysore to those that asked about it. Once I got started, it was as if I couldn’t stop. I wanted to share and vocalize my experience. I wanted to repeat the words “Mysore” and “shala” and “Sharath,” as a means of remembering and celebrating my time there.

Last Practice

2011-01-13T04:09:00.001+05:30

Shots from that last Anouki's farewell breakfast, with the October-Novemebr-December peeps!

Today's practice was bittersweet. Never have I been more tuned in to the sights and sounds of the shala. Never have I been more conscious that it would be a while before I would experience them again. It would be my last here at Mysore for a while.

I wasn't alone. The knowing smiles at the gate, the sympathetic squeezes from friends at the ladies locker room, Pedro--who I have been consistently in the row behind me most of the trip--saying goodbye. I had to face it. My time was up!

There was nothing left to do but simply enjoy it despite being so tired.

I was utterly pooped from the long goodbye. Ursula and I started it off with a joint casual farewell breaky at Anouki's garden on Saturday. A head start, we thought. And it just never stopped. The days since were filled with little gatherings and intimate get-togethers, solidifying the bonds formed over the last 2 and a half months. Then Ursula left. I was next in line.

I looked around me before I started practicing. I saw the familiar faces of now friends who are near my own mat, each beautifully focused on his or her own practice. I thought about what a wonderful support they have been, whether they know it or not. How amazing it was to be in their presence, each having something spectacular to share about themselves. How inspiring they are to me, their love and their commitment.

As I practiced, I listened to the cumulative breath, the whole room in continuous motion, inhaling and exhaling. Though not in unison, the discord in breath reminded me of the ocean. I imagined letting the waves of breath wash over me. I was soaking in it.

I dove in, tired or not, trying to enjoy the presentness of the practice. I fetl alive when I practiced. And connected. Connected to myself. To the shala. To the people sharing the room. To the practice itself.

I broke from this amazing flow as I neared backbends. I wondered who would drop me back on my last day at the shala. Would it be an assistant? And if so, would I have the hutzpa to hold out? Would it be Saraswathi, who has ceased to scare me? Or would it be Sharath. I really hoped for Sharath.

And there he was as I came up from my last backbend.

"Last day?" he asked and grinned as I nod and say yes.

He gently bobbed me up and down, encouraged my hands to my heels, then hoisted them around my ankles. It all went by so quickly. Before I knew it, I was tugged back up. He said "Good" quietly before pressing me into paschimatanasana.

"One more," he said.

It was over. I felt a cloud of emotions filming over my eyes. I choked back tears and took myself to the ladies locker room where I sniffled through a longer lingering paschimatanasana.

That's was when it hit me: I would miss my teacher. For that is what Sharath is to me now. I wanted to cry because I am going to miss him, his steady presence and gentle but confident assistance. I'm going to miss his subtle, quiet guidance. I am going to miss Mysore. The practice, the fellow practitioners, the cows, everything.

Still all good things must come to the end. And it's no small comfort knowing that all ends are beginnings.

***

I have left Gokulam now. And am making my way slowly to the little island where I live in the Philippines. However, this process, what I call "Realizing Mysore" is far from over. It continues to work beneath the surface and it's surprises, I feel, will continue to bubble forth. In this respect, I will continue to write this blog. Plus, there are somethings about Mysore I still haven't been able to share. I hope all who read this will indulge me further as I continue to share my observations. Namaste!

New Year’s Eve, A Ritual Surrendering

2011-01-07T21:34:00.000+05:30

Despite the multitude of non-yoga related activities that made the 31st very special, from sunning by the pool, drinks (ok, one drink! We didn’t go too crazy!) at the Metropole, ringing in 2011 with a raging kerosene induced bonfire at The Green Hotel, finding an after midnight rooftop party with dancing, and capping the early morning off with singing Bob Marley and Lennon standards to guitar playing and a rather unorthodox music sheet filing system, my favorite was the post-sunset trip to Chamundi Hill, where I squeezed into a rickshaw with three lovely ladies to make a New Year’s offering to the Goddess Chamundeswari.

It was Deva’s idea. We would go to the temple, bring puja, and have a little private ceremony to discard the old and make affirmations for the new year. Deborah and myself took to it right away and committed ourselves to the pre-party endeavor as an auspicious way to start the New Year. At the last moment, we bullied Ursula into our rickshaw and she became the fourth member in out trek up to Chamundi.

We might have missed the sunset, but the early night sky was nice too. It was a cool night. And it had a feel of possibility, as the lights from the city started to twinkle below.

Deva, ever a beautiful devi herself, made sure we each had a wicker basket of temple puja. As I stared down at mine, a colorful cartoon face stared back at me, two coconuts for eyes, banana nose and a wicker smile. The flower topping the pretty offering sprung up between the coconuts—like an ornate bindi, we’re in India after all.

When we got to the temple, however, the great goddess was closed for another half an hour. We decided to then make our way to the smaller Shiva temple just a little walk from the temple of Chamundeswari. It seemed apt, to burn our past cycles in the home of the great destroyer. Every beginning has an end, and ours would start here at the temple of Lord Shiva, the god of yoga.

The moment we entered the small enclave, we all knew we had made the right decision. There was none of the people that crowded the entrance of Chamundi’s main temple. Instead, there was peace and quiet. The temple looked ethereal, lit up against the night sky. I was struck with a new appreciation for these structures made out of these massive stones. They seemed much holier in the moonlight.

We were the only ones there. The temple priests ushered us in the coconut breaking area, there was even a sign that designated it so. One attendant took each of our cocos, cracking them open against the metal sharp edge at the center of the massive container that caught all the coconut water.

In the temple, they took the puja baskets to the priests within, it was returned short half a coconut. Shiva’s share. We were told to draw a short chalky line across our foreheads, which we did for each other. Having had finished our obligation to Shiva, we found a serene spot behind the temple where we sat and started our own little ritual of letting go and starting anew.

We each had two sheets of paper, one for the things we want to let go of and another for the things we want to let in. We wrote and wrote and wrote, each filling our sheets with our hang-ups and our heart’s desires, a personal reminder of our intentions for the fast approaching new year.

The things we wanted to let go, we burnt. We watched it crumple and disappear into ash, our lit incense sticks stoking the miniature fire, fueled by the toxins of the things that no longer served us.

The things we wanted to let in went into envelopes, which would stay in Deva’s safe-keeping until the following New Year, when she would post it to us, wherever we might be.

We arranged the remaining puja at the back of the table for Shiva and, possibly, the monkeys. Thus started our celebration of New Year’s Eve, a burning followed by a celebration, a death followed by a rebirth.

At the time, we all felt moved. Speaking from my own experience, it was an important moment to really take stock as well as commit to the things I feel are currently important in my life.

And even now, especially now a week into the new year and less than a week before leaving Mysore (sadly, I have been unable to stop counting the days), I feel the potency of our new year’s eve ritual.

Every day since that night, I seem to be unraveling. The practice continues to be strong and powerful, but I feel a little bit like I’m falling apart. I’ve totally lost my voice and I am really tired. Emotions that I’ve long locked away somewhere deep within seems to be suddenly bubbling up to the surface. In private (and very occasionally in public too) there are waterworks.

The ironic thing is a week ago, I felt quite cocky that I had somehow managed to more or less make it through this entire trip emotionally and physically unscathed. Nothing major, just a little freak out. Some back pain. But otherwise, no tears shed in the shala, no panic attacks at back-bending, I was cool, perfectly happy.

And while I remain happy, there is something going on in me that I can only attribute to some inexplicable heart opening, which is a part of this incredible practice, especially here in Mysore. It is happening quite on its own and it is completely outside the range of my powers to control, which considering that I am a closet control freak, is a little hard to take.

But take it I must. With this falling apart, I see the promise of coming back together, better, more whole, more honestly me.

(Aside: Unfortunately there are no photos of our New Year antics as my camera was on a trip quite without me back from a Gurukulam at Pandeshwara--where I had originally hoped to be for the long weekend. But when I asked Sharath (apparently informing him would have been a better way to go) if it would be ok if I took the Thursday led off for the trip, his recommendation was to not go on account that the long travel would "hurt your back." As I sat there, hiding my disappointment, hmmm I thought it was the practice that was hurting my back. He added that since I had only 3 weeks to go, I should stay. What could I do? It was like him saying "you do!" in the shala. So I did -- not go. He was right, of course. The 8-hour bus journey may have done a number on my back. It's nice to know that he cares too. More than anything, though, I'm glad I stuck around to have this very special moment.)

The New Year’s Shift

2011-01-06T19:37:00.000+05:30

Overnight, it got busy. The first signs were over the New Year’s weekend. At every turn, there were new faces, on shala road, hanging around the coconut stand, people loitering around the entrance on Anu’s.

Then by Sunday’s led class I was met by a slew of new arrivals smart enough to arrive early at the gate. It was a packed class with students on the stage, foyer and some even in the dressing room. There was still a comfortable amount of space in between some mats. I’ve been told it only gets worse. Every day there will be new faces. The shala will continue to fill.

By 4pm conference, we filled the entire shala (more on special guest Mr. A.G. Mohan soon). The room was a buzz. The small groups talking amongst themselves collaborated into a massive sound. There was a long cue from Sharath’s office to the shop, students waiting to register. The office was closed since Friday, so there was a bit of a backlog. The new arrivals now outnumbered my self, my contemporaries and those that registered before us.

The shift in numbers don’t only affect mat space, it changes a little of everything. Gokulam is not so intimate as before. Quiet moments are less likely to be found at any of the favorite local cafes and eateries, there are more introductions and reunions.
And the energy, oh my, the energy! At this first stage of it, for newbie like me who has settled into an easy groove already, it’s a little unsettling.

Despite the sudden shift, it’s all very exciting too. The promise of seeing so many devoted students, many returning students with fine-tuned practices, of sharing the room with them all. It’s a lot to experience in my final week and a half in Mysore, but also a good one to see. Though I’ve been told by returning students that numbers are controlled this year, I am looking forward to tasting what it’s like, the fullness and energizing effect of a packed shala, the converging masses of ashtangis from around the world coming to practice at the busiest time of year.

Slipper Slip Up

2010-12-29T10:33:00.000+05:30

Do these slippers belong to you?

My original slippers.

Today's topic is as light and frivolous as flip-flops, literally. With the sea of flip-flops parked around the shala steps, some mishap is sure to happen, accidental swaps and so forth.

So, if you're thinking, hmmm, that first pair (pictured above) looks awfully familiar, like a lost pair, I'm sorry. Maybe you have my pair (the second photo). It's cool. Not fussed. A small practice in non-attachment. If you don't have my pair, again, I'm truly sorry.

It started at last Friday's led class. Or rather, after. When I went to fetch my flip flops, they were gone. I searched all over, around the steps, investigated the feet around the coconut stand but to no avail. I suddenly understood why some students chose distinguishable footwear. Still, there were few cream colored slippers around, nothing like the common black flip flops. I thought I would be safe.

There was a pair, similar in color and metallic hue of thong strap, both Haviannas. They were slightly bigger, strap slightly smaller and less golden. But they were in the same area as I left my own pair. Having brought no other alternative footwear, I crossed my fingers that the owner of this pair had mistook my own and that I would not continue a chain of events in which other folks would loose their footwear in the process. Oh well, best foot forward.

At first I felt odd wearing another person's footwear, thinking the strangest things. Who might own it, what might the state of their feet be? Then I thought with the frequency we all go barefoot around here, it didn't really matter.

The mysterious thing is they haven't turned up. Not even at conference, where I'd left the slippers with a small little note for the owner of my borrowed slippers. No cigar. It fits well enough. I've already gotten used to it.

Maybe I just have to accept the strange exchange. Maybe part of being here in Mysore is forcing us to walk in another person's shoe. It might be very similar and only slightly different, but every shift offers us a different footing in our own experience.

Conference: Newly Certified, Faith, & Eat Vegetarian

2010-12-28T20:30:00.000+05:30

Sunday, 26 December 2010

Today we witnessed a rare occurrence at the shala. Sharath explains that it’s been over 3 years since someone was certified. And this afternoon, he shares with the room, two students are bestowed the privilege. Australian teacher Mark Robberds is called up to the stage to receive his certificate. The room applauds wholeheartedly. I think everyone feels as I do, how much he deserves it. Mark is such a light and grounded person with a most inspiring practice—I remember waiting for my “One more” at 5:30am and just watching him gracefully move from one insane asana to the next. It’s always shocks me when men can do splits! Well done, mate! Not present is another student: Jorgen Christiannson based out of Los Angeles, who also receives applause.

He talks a little, explaining that older generations have gone. And now these certified and authorized teachers play an important role in continuing ashtanga yoga, that they are key bearers of this yoga tradition, now spanning 4 generations.

Sharath sits, taking his place on the chair he pulls out. This conference, I am a good distance from him. I usually like to sit up front so I don’t miss a word (I’ve long learned to embrace my inner-geek). And from where I am sitting, I am struck by the brightness of his dark eyes. His demeanor changes throughout conference depending on his topic, he moves from serious to authoritative to sheepish when he is being humorous. But the deep pool sparkle in his eyes is a constant light.

He returns to his favorite recurring theme: lineage. He mentions again a saying: a student with two gurus means there is one dead student. He explains that its like when there are too many cooks in the kitchen. What happens, he asks? The dishes go bad. He quietly laughs saying we are the dishes. When you have two gurus, you receive instruction from one and another set of instructions from another. The result is confusion.

Then, Sharath talks about faith. He says that it is important to have “faith in the practice” and “faith in your teacher.”

This strikes a chord with me. I’m big on faith. And I feel that so much of this crazy practice requires quite a lot of it. Faith, a healthy amount of devotion and surrender, whether its getting dropped back, waking up early each morning, tailoring diet to the well-being of the practice, working and saving every peso to get here, or prioritizing India over seeing family this Christmas.

These sacrifices, whether big or small, seem worth it, to be in the shala, to be in Sharath’s presence. Its part insanity, I sometimes think, being here, spending this amount of money to be knackered by 2-hours of practice and, let’s face it, what seems like a very small amount of personal attention. But the moment Sharath’s in front of me, the seemingly impossible task of reaching for my heels from behind my back seems to be not such a daunting one-—sure, it’s still hard, but not impossible. Time is not an issue. Its quality not quantity.

The last time he adjusted me in supta kurmasana, as well. I felt an energy and self-confidence that really is not typical. It wasn’t a deep adjustment but once he’d lifted my legs I was shocked to find myself easily hoisting myself up and into bakasana with none of the usual elephant-like difficulties. Such is his grounding energy. I trust him. The faith makes all the difference.

He also stresses the importance of having the blessing of your teacher also. He shares a story from the Mahabharata. (I don’t remember names and I’m totally paraphrasing here). There was a warrior who went to a great archery teacher. Because the warrior knew that the teacher would only accept a brahman, he lied. So he was accepted and was trained wholeheartedly by the teacher. One day, the warrior was sitting, his teacher asleep on his lap, when a mosquito lands on his leg. The warrior stays really still and doesn’t mind when the insect bites him and draws blood. His teacher gets up right away and confronts him, “You are a warrior.” (Sharath breaks from his story here to let us in on the joke, that brahmins are not known for their courage, he laughs a little, enjoying the joke himself). So, falling out of favor with his teacher, the warrior is unable to properly recall the mantras necessary to successfully shoot his bows against the good guys, Arjuna and the side of the Pandavas. He adds little comment. As it is with our asana practice, he lets us stew the story in our own juices.

He takes questions...

Someone asks for advice on diet.

“You must eat vegetarian,” says Sharath. He states two key reasons. The first, I think though I may be wrong here, because of lightness such a diet creates in our practice. The second is ahimsa or non-violence. Over the last couple of conferences, Sharath has been adamant about practicing the other 8 limbs, especially grounding ourselves in the yamas and niyamas.

And besides, he quips, “Human teeth are like cows.” Later, maybe upon seeing that we are taking his line of reasoning quite seriously, he adds, “I’m joking (about the teeth).”

He does stress the importance of milk and ghee. That it is tradition for Indians to eat a spoonful of ghee with every meal. He adds that the daily consumption of milk will result in a long life.

He then describes an energy drink not to be found at your local Jamba Juice. He holds out his right hand, fingers curled up creating a cup size proportion. He says to take that much moong dal, wash it carefully, and soak it in a copper pot over night. The following day, blend the moong dal, adding two bits of jaggery. He says this is very good for us, especially for backbends. A new spin on the protein shake to be sure!

Another student asks about sweating? If it’s ok not to sweat?

“Everybody sweats,” he says, as if swallowing a laugh.

He says that not sweating can be a result of improper breathing. He reiterates breath with sound, deep and even breaths. We shouldn’t even wipe away our sweat. In fact, we should be rubbing our sweat onto our body and that this process will help detoxify us. He recalls a famous politician who drank cow urine and lived a long life of 105-years old. Much to my relief (I was afraid he was going to add to cow piss to our list of dairy food), he said that wiping our sweat would result in the same benefits. Phew!

At some point Sharath’s children, Shrradha and Sambhav, unabashedly come in and join there father on stage. Shrradha casually addresses her dad in Kannada as if there weren’t a roomful of yoga students fixing their eyes on her back, Sambhav, who is so small and adorable, a mini Sharath—-bright eyes and all, though his is the bright eyes of all children that age—-puts on a show, jumping down from the stage, his bulbous eyes looks at his audience, filling him with the need to step up on stage again to jump. While his father talks, he does this several times, ending up at some point rolling around on the rug below.

Throughout, Sharath is patient and unbothered, he continues to talk to us. At some point, Sambhav is in his father’s lap. He is in a strop with his sister and kicks her as she tries to take him. Sharath gently admonishes him. In retaliation, Shrradha flicks her pen on Sambhav’s head. He gently chides her too. He speaks in Kannada one final time, and the two are obediently off.

By himself on stage again, a student asks how does he balance his family life with his yoga practice?

He jokes, “When we moved here, the shala, I put them upstairs.” (or he says something close to that. On a serious note, he does say that it takes time and balance. He confesses it doesn’t always work.

I love seeing the Shrradha and Sambhav around the shala because it’s nice to see Sharath in another context. They very much look to him as a kind father figure, they don't seem afraid of him at all. I more or less get flustered whenever confronted by Sharath. I get these irrational nervous spasms.

(The other day he stopped me during backbending to ask me what my last pose was. I blanked. The name escaped me. I mentally went to my asana storeroom, looking for the right pose, afraid to say a pose too early and get demoted or a pose later and look dumb, or (aghast) presumptuous. If I had said exactly what was going on in my head it would have sounded: “You know, the one with the feet here and my hands here…” all the time, thinking "God, save me.")

Seeing him with his children--mind you this is just a few times now I’ve witnessed them together--well, they love him, which I know isn’t unusual. But they seek him out and they are allowed to. He doesn’t shoo them away, even when he’s working. He observes them, it seems. Totally patient, he looks kindly on their idiosyncrasies and gives them space to simply be. He is stern only when he needs to be and such moments are fleeting and still somewhat gentle. It reminds me a little of how he is with us.

Before the conference ends, Sharath makes another special announcement. He is being visited by a student of Krishmacharya. A.G. Mohan was a student of Krishnamacharya for 18 years in Chennai from 1971 to 1989. He has invited Mr. Mohan to stay an extra day to visit with us and share his stories of Krishnamacharya’s life after Mysore. We get to meet Mr. Mohan on Sunday, a special treat at the start of a new year at the shala.

A Mysore Christmas

2010-12-28T18:45:00.000+05:30

I was resigned. Perhaps this year, there would be no “Christmas.” On Christmas morning, surrounded by children tearing into their pressies, I was happy to be wrong.

Predominantly Hindu, Christmas is not big in India. There are none of the familiar sights and sounds of the season: no decorated trees covered in tinsel, no wreaths, no carols, and none of the holiday consumerism, which dominates the west and the little Southeast Asian Christmas-slave I call home, the Philippines—and which I guiltily find comforting because, well, I am Filipino. My American side doesn’t do me any favors either in this respect.

In my tropical neck of the woods, decorations start to come up by late October and the general population systematically stuffs itself silly for a three-week period leading up to the big Christmas Eve feast. And quite some time after, as well.

Because the shala stayed open it was pretty much business at usual in Gokulam. The 25th was off only because it fell on a Saturday.

Generally, the shala students were pretty casual about Christmas. I guess we knew what we signed up for. Christmas itself could have passed us all by. In the days leading to Christmas Eve, a Friday, there were no definite plans. Quite suddenly though, there were dinners here and there, and at least one big party at Alex’s.

For me, it almost felt as if we were forcing the issue, scrambling for a way to observe the holiday. Still, I treated myself to as many heart warming indulgences as possible: chai in Amruth’s in the morning, lunch at the 3 Sisiters, homemade chocolates from Geetha and Trupti Coffee (a double whammy), classic holiday movies (It’s a Wonderful Life and Sound of Music) that I’d downloaded before leaving home in anticipation for a solitary Christmas. I did venture out too.

In the end, I joined a group dining at Windflower’s Olive Garden (no relation to the stateside chain) for a joint yuletide celebration and birthday party for Yan, also practicing at the shala. It was a surreal event at the garden establishment tucked at the bottom of Chamundi Hill. There, our party was ushered into a raised stage area, where they had prepared seating for cocktails. We were even visited by an Indian Santa. Half the party dressed in beautiful saris, some like glittering constellations. It felt a little like Junior Prom, someone said. Or the pre-prom dinner, arranged by our parents. Us "kids" disoriented by the so-called finery--what? tables not cushions? dresses not yoga clothes.

At Alex, we arrived just in time for caroling. Alex led, while Mark and Lars accompanied with guitar and harmonium respectively. The rooftop was full of students and together we sang a number of favorites, from Jingle Bells to Silent Night. This followed by dancing. It was a great little party.

The Eve was fun. Good company and happy vibes dominated the night. Still, it didn’t quite feel like Christmas.

In the morning I treated myself to a Christmas Day castor oil bath before heading out to meet a group going to Ashadayaka Trust, a orphanage for street children located 15 minutes away from Gokulam.

I was first introduced to the orphanage during the November fundraiser, which was organized by a handful of dedicated shala students. Over the last few weeks, I've joined some of the afternoon excursions to Ashadayaka. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, willing students meet at 4:15 at the coco stand to visit the children. We take them to the park and for an hour they are given hugs, time and attention. Anyone is welcome to join.

These children are so special. They may have been abandoned, they've had it rough in their young lives, but they are still children who like to smile, play, and take pleasure in having a grown-up hold their hand. And for that one hour, they are the center of the universe. I've seen the other neighborhood children stare in amazement as we walk with them down to the park. Sometimes some hang around the playground, inching their way towards our group, the desire to join in and play with us too shining in their eyes.

I was happy to join the Christmas gift giving that Deva had organized. I brought a present for Arathi (one of the girls who insists on holding my hand and wearing my sunglasses on the walk to the park)--a pink-clad barbie doll. Other shala volunteers brought presents, while donations from students and friends all over the world made certain that all the children would have something special.

We started with carols. Bo Chang, a classically trained singer and master gift-wrapper, led us in a cheerful round of carols. Though the English mystified the kids, their tongues glossing over the consonant sounds, they loved fa-la-la-la-ing to "Deck the Halls," which they screamed happily in our kirtan fashioned caroling.

Deva and Ursula brought in the bags of presents. And the distribution began. Shelly's daughters were present and helped give out the first batch. In an unusually orderly fashion (I've been to a few Christmas gift-giving events in the Philippines that could easily have turned into riots) the children came up when they were called, then returned to their spot in the circle, patiently waiting for the moment they could open them. Some curiously investigated theirs, shaking them trying to discern the weight or find an audible clue.

When all presents were distributed, we helped them tear into their gifts. Their faces then...the surprise followed by the elation at seeing a brand new toy (there were dolls, toy cars, balls, cricket bats), their brand new toy was Christmas!

For the next hour, we played. Shelly's husband Trevor taught basket ball tricks. Deepika and Mark played tossed around balls and played catch. Like myself, Deva, Ursh, Z, Bo, Shelly and her daughters moved around the rooftop, enjoying the company of children. Even our rickshaw driver joined in, he visits the orphanage too in his free time, he tells me later. The boys excelled in their sportsmanship. The two older girls with their hula hoops. The younger girls all investigated each other's dolls. The younger boys raced their cars.

Before we left, we gave out cake and they gave us their thanks. The children circulating within our circle, each giving us a hearty thank you and a strong handshake. Some more than once.

Many times over that hour, as I watched the scene, I wanted to bust out and cry. I felt so much love for these children and so much admiration for the fellow students there that day. This was the spirit of Christmas, of giving, and of receiving--that precious transaction of love that eludes us so many times in this modern day.

Get involved. To visit the children, meet at coco stand 4:15pm Mon, Wed and & Fri. Also, fore more info check out the Ashadayaka Trust group on facebook.

Counting Down, the Last Three Weeks

2010-12-23T09:26:00.000+05:30

You can tell straight away when someone’s days are numbered at Mysore. For one, they know what the exact date is. They know this because they are counting down. I am trying not to, but at three weeks to my departure date, I too am starting to count the days. Each day is precious. Each practice is important. So is each coconut drink, tasty Indian meal, and yoga student gathering.

Thing is, we’re constantly reminded of leaving. There is always someone packing up, someone you like that you hate to say goodbye to. Even those you don’t form solid connections with, it’s difficult to see them off because they are somehow a part of the collective experience. They are part of the room, you’re familiar with their favorite spots, and they are contributors in that amazing morning energy.

Plus, you know at some point that’s going to be you. Everyone’s days are numbered at the shala. Everyone eventually has to leave. It is simply how it is. (Ok, excepting the special few that have managed to make a home out of Mysore, the lucky ducks! Still, such a fate is not for everyone).

That’s a part of the logic built into this place. It makes sense. You can come and practice, but you have to return home sometime. Part of the real challenge isn’t here in Mysore anyways. It’s back home and applying the lessons there. Though sometimes you simply wish that the rules could bend, that non-renewable visas were extendable, that jobs back home could wait, that family members and friends understand rather than worry that you’re in India or that you’ve joined a cult, that bank accounts could magically top up themselves, or that six months could stretch on indefinitely.

The farewells make it hard, particularly. In the beginning, especially for a first-timer like myself, it’s all “hello.” Every interaction is an introduction. A beginning. But once you’ve made it past the month mark, it’s more “goodbye” than anything. Every couple of days, some one is off (Though it’s not all doom and gloom, folks are happy to head home or to move on to another adventure too. But it’s sad to go regardless). There are leaving breakfasts, lunches and dinners. We’re lucky when there’s a gap of 5 days between such moments. It’s hard but I try to remember: non-attachment, non-attachment!

We were talking at one such leaving dinner this week at the Green Hotel, all of us with staggered departure dates: from tomorrow evening, next Friday, early Jan, mid Jan to March, all of us staring into the inevitable, the end of the Mysore experience.
Mr. Next Friday was adamant that he didn’t want to talk about it. Fair enough. I think if my time were up by the end of the week, I’d also rather not think about it.
In a conversation with my Sanskrit teacher’s teacher, a wise scholar in the Sanskrit college here in Mysore, he stressed how yoga is an experience, thus its personal. How I experience it is different from you or anybody else. I think that’s true for any experience. What seems sad for another person can be happy for another. Half-empty, half-full.

At the moment, with exactly three weeks to go, I still have room to be cheery about the imminent end of this Mysore trip. I say “this” because I know there will be more. I am committed to returning. And that makes me feel better, knowing that this is only the first leg of a great Mysore adventure, one that will span many trips, many years, and many future aches and pains —all of which I will sadistically love!

I remember attending my first real ashtanga immersion. Some of the students had been to Mysore before. Some of them, who hadn’t been to Mysore, had been around block, attending different workshops with different well-known teachers. And though none of them had met prior to this course, they had so many mutual friends and acquaintances. The common denominator: Mysore. I think that’s what began my fascination for this place.

Now, I’m here. Though soon enough, I too will be leaving, I feel like I also now have that Mysore connection. And that isn’t as transitory. I’ll take that home with me, that depth of practice, the lessons learned from Sharath, the energy at the shala, and the friendships and connections made here.

I suppose that by writing this I’m declaring how I want to see the end, how each goodbye is laced with the potential for a future hello. Many of those that I met plan to return too, and with much luck, the same time of year that we all seem to love. And when we meet again, we can skip the awkward introductions and slip into the Mysore ashtanga-heaven-stream-of-consciousness, friends reunited by our common interest.
So, to all those that I have had a pleasure to meet on this trip and who have gone back home or have since moved on, I can’t wait till we meet again!

Conference: Kriya Yoga, Savasana Demo & the Tortuous Uplutihih

2010-12-20T09:40:00.000+05:30

Sunday, December 19, 2010

In fine form today, Sharath comes out of his office. Taking his time, he pulls out a chair and looks around. He looks stern and serious as he asks, motioning to the room, which is filling up with new arrivals everyday, "What you talk about?"

He cracks one of his subtle smiles and relaxes, “So loud!”

We laugh at his punch line, we move in towards the stage to make room for all the new students (there are a lot of new faces) and settle down properly to hear him speak.

Sharath launches today’s conference by putting emphasis on kriya yoga. In Sanskrit, kriya means action. He says action is important in our practice. He says there are 3 key actions: 1) tapas or discipline, 2) svadyaya or self-study and 3) ishvarapranidhanadva or surrender to god (whatever god that may be, he adds). He says also its good to do japa mala to the god of your own choosing.

He talks about the importance of effort. As is his way, when he talks about yoga philosophy, he analogizes using his own experience. He uses himself as an example of effort, saying that he is not before us today because he was born into a yoga family. Rather, he is here before us based on his own efforts, that he did not seek out being a teacher. He even intimates that if he had his own way he would prefer the role of student.

At some point in Sharath’s discourse, Sharradah bounces up onto the stage to speak to her father. They exchange some words in Kannada, and he sends her off. Once he is on the stage by himself again, he shares with the room, “She is asking if she can use my computer.” The timing in his delivery makes the cursory remark seem so funny.

I love conferences that have this lighthearted mood to it. Sure, it’s still serious. Everyone listens earnestly but there is something fun about it. It’s a pleasure to just sit there and absorb it all.

He talks about how yoga can alter one's life for the good. He asks us to look at the day of a non-yoga practitioner versus that of a yoga practitioner. There is a huge difference, he says. He speaks from his own life: he gets up early, her practices, he stays home, and doesn't go out. He admits it wasn't always so, that he used to love to go out and socialize, but that he's settled down since. Tapas, svadyaya, ishvarapranidhanadva.

He says that these changes are happening to us too. That at some level, our discipline is kicking in. That when 6 o'clock in the evening rolls around, we are thinking of going home, having dinner, heading to bed. This is true. My life seems to have changed dramatically since I started yoga, and for the better. More so since I've been in Mysore.

He starts to take questions:

Someone asks about whether there is a proper form to taking savasana and is turning around and having feet face the opposite direction more respectful? He answers, "It doesn't matter."

I was told this by a teacher so I felt a little embarrassed when he said it didn’t matter, "just lie down."

(These conferences are slowly undoing some habits I’ve picked over the years—-many from other yoga teachers. Already I’ve stopped sweeping my arms up from the floor in the ekam of Surya A and kicking up into a haphazard lift up into a semi-handstand after Warrior B, the later he even demonstrated as an easy going lift up which is actually a lot harder than what I was doing before.)

Then he actually corrects us saying that the pose that we’ve been referring to as savasana is actually sukhasana. Herm? He explains that savasana is not like you’re sleeping, you're not relaxed. Rather, it’s a dead man’s pose, where the body is still and straight as a stick.

He asks Alex Medin to come up to demonstrate. He shows Alex how to interlock his fingers. With hands cupped behind Sharath’s head, Alex lifts him. Sharath’s body, stiff as board, comes up easily to standing. Wild! We are all amazed and thrilled by the demonstration. In sukhasana, he answers later, it doesn’t mater if your palms are up or down, so long as you’re completely relaxed. Noted!

One student asks him whether its ok to take more than 5 breaths in the practice. He says, yes, its ok but jokes if everyone would do this turnover in shala would be too slow. He does say that if a person is finding difficulty with a particular pose, he can go up to 8 counts. Before moving on to another question, he jokes with the student, “Your breathing or my breathing?” He swiftly pumps his breath into quick bursts of inhales and exhales, then does his version, slow and controlled.
I look back to see that the student smiling.

Prompted by a question about padmasana, he talks of the importance of a steady padmasana, especially during pranayama. At some point, he shares a story about Krishnamacharya, who was traveling with a group of students up north. They visited one yoga school (he said he wouldn’t say which) where someone was practicing pranayama incorrectly with his left foot first in padmasana and using his left hand for nadi shodhana.

Krishnamacharya was upset by the sight, angrily he tells the man, if you're going to use that hand, you might as well eat food not through your mouth but through the other hole. Sharath leans in to the audience and takes up his left hand, "you know what you use this hand for?" Again, more laughter. Ashtanga students are very comfortable with toilet humor.

Another student, asks if it’s ok to “cheat,” to take extra breaths in uplutihih. Sharath usually starts counting “one” by the time a normal human being will have had about 5 breaths. Then he continues to count very slowly. He says there are two reasons why uplutihih is held for a long time: one, because it develops the mula banda and the udiyana banda and second—he pauses here for effect—“it’s fun!”

We all laugh, being on the receiving end of his good humor twice a week, doing our best to hold uplutihih for what feels like 30 breaths instead of 10.

Then he recalls something, provoking one of those quiet laughs of his. He shares a story of Guruji when they were on tour in Australia. Guruji was leading an intermediate led class, he tells. He says that touring was very tiring.

Guriji was up to “6” in sirsasana, headstand with legs halfway, when he fell asleep. He himself was quite impressed with the students, who where afraid to come down and pretty much continued to hold it. He snickers playfully that he let Guruji sleep for about 10 minutes before waking him up. He said that Guruji laughed loudly when he realized he was sleeping then proceeded to count “7”...

Sharath, it seems, is cut from the same cloth, coming from the same line of playful teachers. I am enjoying conferences more and more each time. I love these moments with him, hearing his little gems of wisdom, seeing his miniature demonstrations, and hearing his stories, his own and that of Guruji.

Doing the Body Good

2010-12-19T20:44:00.000+05:30

I just posted on facebook: “castor oil bath works! Joints lubricated, check!”

My cousin Peebles posts back, “like C3P0, Kaz?”

And actually she’s right. Totally! For the last few weeks, I’ve become something of a rusty robot, motor skills seizing from hard labor (well, 2 hours of it a day anyways). My body, though strengthened and stretched by nearly 2 months of deep asana practice is also tired, worn out by the daily grind.

Certain muscles are tight. Joints are rickety. Like everyone else subjected to the daily practice and deep drop backs: my shoulders and neck are tight, my lower back is strained, the hips feel unhinged from being hauled into supta kurmasana by Sharath’s strong-armed assistants (to whom I am eternally grateful, regardless). During the last week, it’s almost as if I could hear my hip joints popping uncomfortably during the first few sun salutations.

I’ve been bad. I admit it. Before this last week, I’d had a total of one massage, a coconut oil rub down by two industrious ladies at Iora salon right across the shala. I had an appointment with Harini and her magic feet for a castor oil bath, but then I had to cancel due to my lady’s.

Then I got carried away, doing this, doing that, busying myself during my free days. After the first month of non-stop activity, the fatigue set in followed by pure laziness/procrastination. By last week, there was no denying it: I had neglected to take care of my tired bones and moaning muscles.

Luckily, last Wednesday, my long awaited massage with Aimee Echo was due. Aimee is also a student at the shala. She is a yoga teacher and a massage therapist back home in Southern California, specializing in deep tissue massage. She’s been booked up with needy students like me for weeks. To top it off, Aimee is an absolute sweetheart.
Aimee’s strong hands put me back in touch with the deep down parts of my body, which were both irked at being poked at and overjoyed at feeling release. As she proceeded to try and work out my kinks, which she said was pretty much shared by most of the shala students, I knew that I’d managed things badly. I hadn’t invested the time and effort to take care of myself. It was lovely and too short—as I had to run to another appointment with Ayurvedic specialist, Dr. Kumar.

In an attempt to know more about my constitution, I was off to visit Dr. Kumar of the Dixit Health Clinic & Research Institute, who is known amongst the yoga community here for his Ayurvedic treatments and for being able to prescribe the correct lifestyle advice for one’s particular dosha.

It’s easy to like Dr. Kumar. He has big, kind eyes, a straightforward face, and a bulbous bald head, which bobs side to side with a smile as I sit and introduce myself. There’s something comedic about his countenance and it is easy to be comfortable in his presence. He sits up straight and attentively listens as I explain to him why I’ve come to visit him: 1) to hasten my slow digestive system so I can enjoy a light practice and 2) to know more about my dosha.

I prattle on. When I am done, he asks for my arm, takes my pulse and asks me whether I’ve always been of slight build, how regular is my menstrual cycle and whether I have dry or oily skin. He pronounces me predominantly Vata as he writes “Vata +++” on my sheet.

I had answered a questionnaire once to try to ascertain my own dosha. The result was evenly vata/pita. So I ask him, about my pita side.

He says, “Only a little Pita,” writing as he says this “Pita +” on my record book.

“How about Kapha?” I ask.

“Very little.” His head bobs. He doesn’t bother to write kapha down in his record.
I’m baffled at how he would know all this at this point, so I go ahead and ask, “How do you know?”

“It’s very clear. You have all the signs,” he assures me as both hands gesture at my person. With his head confidently see-sawing from side to side, he seems sure that such signs are totally apparent. Well, he’s the expert.

I suppose he does have a point. Slender, check! Enthusiastic, check! Airy, check check check!

He then rattles off a list of things that are good for me and things that are bad for me, which kinda make sense.

Things that are bad for me: bitter vegetables, refined flour, refined sugar (jagery is an exception, thank goodness), anything cold, chili peppers (which though spice on the outside are actually supposed to be cooling—at least that’s what Doc said when I tried to contest), cheeses which are channel blocking, and chai (mon dieu!) which is constipation causing.

Things that are good for me: mong dal, white or brown rice, fruits, milk, ghee (everyday, he says), butter, all kinds of vegetables, all sorts of fruits like papaya, bananas mangoes and pomegranate, and generally all things warm. And pranayama.

He also suggested I curb my coconut water consumption, which was averaging at 6 a day, to at least half. And that I could continue to indulge in my most beloved food: chocolate—but with moderation, his eyes laughing at my question. Drats! Double drats!

I also consult with him regarding a criticism I get from some of my friends about how I am overly active and can get really really busy—a very vata trait. I ask, “Should I do something about this? Should I change? Or should I just embrace it?” Again, his head sways from side to side, this time in disagreement.

“You cannot change your nature! Embrace it. You can still do the things you do, just try to do them s-l-o-w-l-y,” he lets the last word drawl for emphasis. It feels good to have him say this.

To top off the week of wellness, I finally decide to self-administer a castor oil bath, which Sharath recommended at conference over a month ago. I’d put off the sticky process long enough. On Saturday, with the guidance of yoga teacher Mozart Reina (a top bloke with a wealth of knowledge that he is happy to share with others; we also have a Philippine/Alex Medin connection), who showed me how to mix the soap nut powder and instructed me on the proper procedure, I dove into the treatment.

The castor oil bath is supposed to have a variety of benefits that are good for yoga students. It detoxifies the body, pulling away toxins that are being released by deep asana stretches. It releases the heat in the body (the practice generates a lot of heat). And it lubricates joints. People say their practice improves with regular castor oil baths.

As I spread the gluey liquid from my scalp to the rest of my body, I wasn’t so sure if it was all worth it. I wondered how in the world the bowl of mushy soap nut water was going to rid me of the goo that enfolded me. I poured hot water over my head a few times then rubbed the oil deeply first into my scalp then eventually (after much milking the oil from my hair) into my muscles and joints, spending longer on my troubled hip joints. After the second round, I applied two bowls of the soap nut to scrub away the oil. I was pleasantly surprised as the soap nut really works wonders as it scrubs the castor oil film gently away.

After drying myself off, I bundled myself up in a shady area in the room as Mo instructed. Sun and heat of all kind is not advisable post castor oil rubdown. Sitting still, relaxing, my body still recovering from the sticky oil bath, I started to feel quite heavy headed. Throughout the day, I felt a variety of sensations. I felt out of it pretty much all morning. My limbs felt quite loose by mid-day. I felt very hot and tired in the mid to late afternoon, almost feverish like. And I slept like a baby that evening.

To top it off, led class the following morning may not have been easy but at least my hips didn’t feel unhinged not even during the first sun sals. I’m definitely sold on castor oil baths and have now purchased my own liter from the 3 Sisters.

My body feels improved somewhat from the trilogy of health treats. More than anything, I’ve woken up to the need to be good to my body, to support this amazing yet exhausting asana practice with things that will re-energize and nourish me. My body has served me well thus far, and it too needs and deserves tender loving care.

Castor Oil can be bought at Loyal World, as well as Soap Nut Powder. The castor oil I used, however, was from Three Sisters. Harini has it made special and Mo says it’s the best. Three Sisters: 08212522788

For Dr. Kumar, and the Dixit Health Clinic, visit www.ayurvedamysore.com or call 0821 424 4620. They also have a wide range of treatments and courses for those interested in Ayurvedic medicine.

Food, A Festival of Worship

2010-12-19T18:30:00.000+05:30

We are eating in silence. It is so quiet. I can hear myself chewing. In my head, my own teeth gently crushing up each tasty morsel seems to echo across the wide room, which I know from kirtan there has great acoustics. I am self-conscious. Can everyone hear me too? Ever gnaw sounds exaggerated, as the delicious food gets masticated.

I try to focus on my plate and not look up at those around me. It appears as if they are doing the same. I try, as the exercise requires, to focus on the food. My right fingers handle the colorful food on my plate: bright and crispy grated carrots, cubed beet roots oozing with red juicy goodness, red rice topped with the smoothest lentil dish, a dazzlingly festive green that reminds me a little of guacamole. From my fingers to my mouth, each bite tastes of pure nourishing goodness.

James Boag has invited us, his Gita students plus friends from Prague to join him in sampling the exquisitely simple and healthy cooking of Ratna, who will be catering the food for his upcoming Beeja workshops starting in late December. He also wants to share a slideshow of his trip to Kashmir, to ashram of the self-realized saint of Lakshmanjoo, the home of his yoga lineage Kashmiri Shaivism.

Ever the teacher, no learning opportunity is wasted with James. Once all the plates are filled up with Ratna’s delectable dishes, he suggests that we apply what we’ve been discussing in class: yajna, which depending on the translation can be thought of as sacrifice, though we established in class the best way to think about it is “ishvarapranidhanadva” or surrender to the absolute.

In chapter 3, verse 15 of the Gita, we explored how every action is an opportunity for worship; that action with mindful gratefulness can lead towards the divine. Today, we are eating consciously for that purpose.

As I chew my food slowly, savoring the wonderful flavors, as I look my fingers push my food into perfect bite size morsels, I contemplate the chain of gratitude that is connected to this meal.

I start to think about my teacher, James and how kind he is to organize all this. I think about Ratna, who he’s hired for the occasion. I think about her cooking such beautiful dishes with love. I think about the people she’s interacted with to make this spread possible, her teachers, her family, the different grocers, then the people who have sold the food to those grocers, and about where the later would have gotten the food. I think about the farmers and their families in the farm and how they support each other, about how each farmer puts a lifetime of experience into each crop. I think about the energy it takes to tend a field, the richness of the soil, the nourishing water, the spouting of each seed, and that beyond that. My mind pauses here, my eyes closed, my tongue pushing this festival of worship around my mouth, I think about God. I feel an incredible sense of gratitude.

Though not the typical lunch party, where food is imbibed with a healthy helping of small talk and socializing (which, I have to be honest, I will still very much enjoy), I found the experience very satisfying. I felt full and nourished, and not just in my belly. I appreciate the silence in which we ate our food, the connections that were made, the gratefulness that I felt.

James says, “We eat in silence so we can enjoy the internal symphony.” And today, it’s true.

James and Ameli have a series of very interesting workshops entitled Nourishing the Center, which are coming up. Check them out: http://www.beeja.net

Spectator Sport, Second Series Led

2010-12-12T19:59:00.000+05:30

A couple of weeks ago, I started noticing that some students would crowd around the door of the lobby in between the primary series led class and the second series led class, which follows primary every Sunday. What was going on here?

For most of my first month here, the 4:30am Sunday led left me mentally crippled so I usually ambled out in a zombie-like state, under-slept and over-tired. I'd seen people hanging about. And I guess I'd simply dismissed it as an odd place/time to linger at the shala. More than anything, the need for a coconut pick-me-up and eventually a retreat back into my own bed superseded any need to figure it out.

Then two weeks ago, I asked my then-roommate what the deal was? She looked at me a little oddly, as if I should have known, shala students can come and watch second series led class. Hm, I hadn't received the memo.

I stayed then, watching over half of the class. But two weeks ago, I was a wreck, still unused to the 4:30 start time. To top it off, I hadn't slept much at all. So, I was a groggy spectator and not even the wow-inducing second series postures could keep my lids from getting heavy.

This morning, however, more used to the early start, I settle on the bench facing the doorway into the shala. There, two of the three rows of students, are within my view. And I watch.

Seeing these advanced practitioners reminds me of how Lord Krishna defined yoga in the Bhagavad Gita: "Skill in action." Beyond the fluidity of one asana after the other, the concentration and will power that each and every student exhibited—-it’s incredible the focus. These elite second series (in this case, the ones recognized by Sharath, and some are beyond 2nd even) students have cultivated something truly special in their practice.

Though I feel somewhat guilty that I am among the many pairs of eyes peering at them as they try to completely throw themselves into the yoga process, I am still glad to have the privilege to do so. I understand though, when someone is looking at you intently, watching your every move, it can be little creepy and a lot annoying. It's like you're on display. It's not really nice.

Still, for someone just getting into second series, I am grateful for the opportunity to quietly observe. (Plus, with very few advanced practitioners in the Philippines, let alone in Boracay, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen second complete in person).

Watching them get in and out of intermediate poses, is an educational experience. Live lessons.

Sharath teaching second is also special. He has a definite relationship with the students in the room. He knows their practice and he knows their names. He is getting to guide them through more complicated poses. Though he remains strict and maintains the militant counting, I suspect, his manner betrays that somehow he’s having more fun. And it’s nice to see him having fun.

Above any lesson, these students are inspiring. They are living testaments of the amazing things a person can do when you set your mind/heart/soul to it, not to mention the discipline and hard work necessary to cultivate the strength and stamina necessary to do second. It’s a beautiful thing to see, human potential expanding beyond what seems humanly possible.

4:30am Start

2010-12-11T12:56:00.000+05:30

(December 9, 2010)

Yesterday was my first day to practice at 4:30am.

Though I’ve been having led class now for both Friday and Sunday at 4:30 for a couple of weeks, starting mysore practice first thing in the morning is definitely different.
Gone are the many students amassing at the gates, waiting to rush in to secure themselves a spot. Sure, people still come early to claim their favorite place, but there is less anxiety around the process.

Anyone coming in after the 4:30 start, experiences the room in full gear. The room is hot and steamy, condensation on the windows, heat rising from the bodies of students and their tapas generating asanas.

For me at least, there is a certain tension involved in coming later in the morning. The anticipation builds as I wait in the foyer, while watching the early group. Then, once called, there’s this need to be swiftly efficient: to quickly find your spot in the room, to efficiently route out the path you plan to take to said spot, to effectively get to that spot without whacking some poor unassuming student mid asana with your mat on the way there, to put down your mat and towel and safely get to the dressing room where you can take a breather or a potty break before alighting on your mat and starting your own practice, finding your own groove in the intensely energized room.

Of course, there are some issues that come with starting practice at 4:30. My entire day has shifted. I am trying to eat a big lunch by 2pm. A light snack in the late afternoon supplements dinner. I wind down by 6ish and try to be in bed by 8, 8:30. (This is quite a big shift for me, as I usually just get home from work at this time back home). The alarms are set for 3am. By 4(ish), I’m downstairs knocking for my downstairs neighbor, with whom I take the 5-minute walk to the shala. But the rewards are worth the changes. In one conference, Sharath said that the time between 4-6am is actually the best time to practice.

Once the gate does open, the pace is relaxed. Students mosey on in, put their mats down, take their time in the dressing room. Though people are generally not chatty, there is a sense of coming together—that somehow getting on the mat at this hour is a collective effort. There is time to exchange smiles and acknowledgements before standing at the top of the mat, samasthitihi, then internally, “ekam…”

The folks at this hour are charged. To be assigned this early morning time either means you’ve paid your dues and have been at the shala long enough for there to be space for you (and time at the shala makes you grounded and strong) or you’re just plain old advanced. I belong to the former, of course. No matter, I feel incredibly blessed to be able to share in this collective energy.

I am particularly lucky this morning. I find a spot in my favorite area, far left center (there’s no one perfect spot, everyone has their own favorite, and it seems to vary depending on the person), beside Ursula Scott, the very person who encouraged Claudia and I to make the leap and come out to Mysore nearly a year ago. She’s been my yoga idol ever since we met in the Philippines 2 and half years ago.

To top it off, when I come back from the locker room, Alex Medin had placed his mat to the left of me. Alex was my first-ever ashtanga teacher. It was Alex’s month-long course in Manila that really made an ashtangi out of me. It was there that my curiosity for Mysore really began. It was the same event that introduced me to Ursula. And though I haven’t practiced with him in a long time, I feel that the foundations he helped build in my practice keeps me steady to this day.

I felt inspired practicing beside these two amazing ashtangis and teachers, whose asana practices are so beautifully fluid. I’m proud to say I didn’t loose drishti, but it was challenging with 3rd maybe 4th series poses busting out to my left and 2nd series poses busting out to my right. Both of them have played an important role in getting me here. I felt elevated by their love and support. I felt empowered. I felt that I belonged to this moment. I felt truly present.

As for the rest of the shala, people wander in anytime between 4:30 and 5am, when Sharath finally comes out from his office, gets on the stage, everyone takes their cue to stand at the top of the mats as he leads us all in the opening prayer.

For the first time for my own practice, I am saying the prayer aloud with others. The words have weight charged by student’s intentions for their own practice. Tapping into this energy together is—so hard to explain. But it’s beautiful!

In the later hours, the room is already hot, which really helps. What surprised me at 4:30 was that I personally felt warmer, as my body heated up gradually at the same pace as the room warmed. It is subtler, somehow. Same with the energy, you get to build up to it with everyone else in the room, rather than jumping into it, tuning into it midstream.

As an added bonus, I hurl myself into Sharath as I come up from after dropping back. It’s good news because he’s there to drop me back, which makes me feel like I’m out of the doghouse after being late yesterday morning. He drops me back on the fourth round.

“Walk in,” he says. I bend my arms and crawl my fingers towards my feet. They feel like miles away.

“Straighten arms…Walk in,” he coaxes me closer. His tone is both firm and gentle.

“No Fear,” he adds. I can feel my heels with the tips of my fingers when he starts to take first my right hand then my left to my ankles. He reminds me to hold them.

I hold on and banish the old thoughts of panic from my head. I don’t fight my way up from the pose, as I have done in the past. I hold on. I hold on and I surrender.
As Sharath pulls me upright, I get my first “Good” from him.

I am beaming. He reminds me to keep breathing as I take long pauses between my inhalation and exhalation. Though intense, I feel like I’ve done something right. I don’t sense any pain in my back—which I was starting to experience a week ago after dropping back.

Finishing at dawn, the ladies locker room is dim. Mats are laid out in every bit of floor space. And the room, usually so cool with its marble floors, is almost steamy from finishing postures. It is somewhat dark still on the street but coconuts are being prepared nonetheless by streetlight—which automatically turns off just as it gets lighter.

It’s hard to believe that my biggest task for the day is done just as the world around Gokulam is waking up. It’s a blessing. There is a peace at this hour. Amruth is open but isn’t congested with their usual chai clientele. There are no rickshaws yet on the street corner. The rest of the storefronts are still closed. And the first of the morning risers are milling about along the main streets.

As I walk home to take rest, I beam with the satisfaction today’s is the best practice I’ve had thus far.

The photo above was taken before Sunday Led. It's early, so the crowd is not so big yet. Claudia is among the students in the photo.

“I’m Late. I’m Late…”

2010-12-09T10:45:00.000+05:30

“…For a very important date,” said the White Rabbit from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. That’s what I felt like this morning.

I am on my second month. I feel stronger but my body is tired. I am starting to tighten, here and there. I am starting to feel the strain of back bending.

And for whatever reason (probably practice related, I am not the only one) I can’t sleep. Or at least, I can’t sleep much. For a few weeks now, I toss and turn in bed for hours, mind raging with a bevy of thoughts (and here I was thinking yoga would quiet my mind), from imagining life back home to visualizing a positive approach to my “problem” asanas to fearing being late to practice. Ah, the law of attraction!

I was bumped up to 4:30am start Tuesday morning, an hour earlier than when I started. And despite the time, I was stoked, excited to share in that early morning energy, to recite the prayer with everyone, to be in the room with so many inspiring practitioners.

And then today, for the first time, I overslept! Despite two alarm clocks, I woke up two and a half hours later than I was supposed to. I stared at the clock willing the short hand to swing back somehow, perhaps I’d developed a time-altering sidhi while I slept or at least read the clock wrong—but to no avail.

At first, I was panic-stricken. Then I realized there was nothing else to do other than gather myself and just get to the shala. There was no point in beating myself up about it and further delaying myself.

With lightning speed I get to the shala before 6am, trying to meld into the lobby full of timely students. What I did not manage was to sneak into the shala without notice.
Omnipresent as usual, Sharath eyes me suspiciously as I approach at his “One more!”

“What time are you?” Damn, his memory!

“4:30,” I say.

“Why are you late?”

I fess up, “I overslept,” I mumble. I expect the worst, his disappointment.

“You pay fine,” he says, I like to think, good-humouredly. I’m comforted.

I take my place in the back and try my best to put the mishap behind me and practice as best as I can. My body is cold, my limbs are stiff, my morning bulk uncooperative. Still, I plow on.

People say the second month breaks you down. And my body sure does feel it. Beyond the physicality of it, it feels that the practice is wearing away at my efforts to be “perfect” – the so-called ideal student that my borderline OCD behavior often desires. Today was a lesson. I’m far from perfect. Which is OK. Normal. Not everyday is going to be a good day. Something may falter from one day to the next, whether it’s my body, my drishti, my breath, my intention, my ego, or my ability to wake up to my alarm clocks, plural. I just have to deal with it.

And like Lewis Carroll’s character, I too must make my own way down the rabbit hole and accept whatever chaos may come of plunging into this wonderland called Mysore.

Moon Day Escape: Melukote

2010-12-07T08:19:00.000+05:30

I was coy in approaching this last moon day weekend, potentially the last I'll have on my trip here. I imagined myself chilling out in my new single pad. Or shopping in town. Or lazing by the pool. Or hand-washing laundry--more out of necessity rather than desire for this one. But on Friday, upon realizing that so many folks planned out of town excursions, day trips to overnight stays, I felt remorseful. Oh, why didn't I plan!

By the end of chanting class, a grand plan was hatched for Jungle Safari, email addresses were exchanged and Ysabel braved the travel agent. Unfortunately, these spur of the moment things cannot be planned out between 6-7 people over the internet. By Saturday morning my hopes to see "lions and tigers and bears (are there bears in these parts?)oh my!" were history.

More than anything, I itched to make make use of the "long" weekend -- in Mysore-speak, a 2-day stretch. I wanted to see something other than Gokulam. I wanted to experience something that reminded me I was in India.

I was not alone. Kylie from Sydney recruited me for Coorg, which went bust as well with no room at the local inn. Together, at Anouki's for breakfast we hatched up a new plan. The not too far was Melukote, a temple a top a hill with several sacred pools and only about 90km away from Mysore. We could leave after breakfast and be back before dark. Chris from Virginia via Japan was happy to follow on his motorbike. We called Krishna Murthy to hire a car and driver. He was happy to oblige and had one ready for us within the hour (Rs1250 total). Soon we were set.

After a month in Gokulam, the distinctly suburban streets with its menagerie of animals (semi-domesticated dogs, cows, ponies, goats, and sheep) wandering the streets, starts to feel commonplace. Once we were outside Mysore's city limits, we were sure we had made the right decision. It was good to see the countryside, it was good to experience different visual input, even at the cost of risking out lives to haphazard Indian driving--which I think is definitely worse than Filipino driving, if that says anything. We appreciated the change in scenery and landscape. We saw fields of sugar cane, and we overtook many a pair of oxen hauling freshly cut cane. You could smell the sweetness in the air as we sped by. We saw various creative ways of stacking cargo atop trucks. Some, seriously defying gravity. Some, downright lopsided.

Once we arrived, we were contacted by Chris who beat us on his motorbike and had already conducted a quick mini-tour of the area. He met us at the large pool where people bathed (supposedly for religious ritual) and washed clothes (supposedly for cleaning though the water was murky). We moved on from there, taking the path that our driver pointed out, which was supposed to go to the temple. Though the path would eventually lead us further and further away from the temple on the hill, it just kept on getting smaller and smaller, we were happy with our walk around. Here the air was clean and crisp. And the view of the valley bellow was stunning. Huge boulders and large rocks dotted the landscape. And to complete the pastoral, a small flock of sheep grazed on the grass as their faithful herder slumbered deeply atop a flat bed of rock on the edge of the cliff. The way he was sleeping, with his hands in prayer tucked underneath his cheek made the rock seem as cozy as sleeping a top a half dozen fluffy mattresses.

We retraced our steps, finally making our way to the entrance which we easily bypassed at the start of our walk. The stairs lined with beggars was not as pretty a path as our original way. We made our way up the temple, which in itself was lackluster. And as with many of Indian monuments, there are no signs explaining the history of the temple and its surroundings. However, the view from up top was truly stunning. In the windows of the temple, colorful bracelets hung from the window, left by pilgrims.

On our way down, we stopped for coconut milk. Chris deposited the last of his change to the beggars. One boy treated us with his most un-harmonic performance, yelling quite out of tune as he pumped indiscriminately on his instrument (which looked much like an accordion), for which I rewarded him a ten note.

Hungry, we walked into town, which pretty much consisted of one main street. After passing a number of run down shacks with pots of food in front of them, none of which had signs, I was starting to wonder if this would be one of those Indian food adventures gone wrong. Well, at least we would have Sunday to recover, I thought to myself. We finally settled on a run down "hotel" (meaning restaurant in these parts), It had a sign for "Veg." We would at least be veg safe here. Not knowing what to order, we went for the obvious choice, 3 thali lunches. It was the classic more than meets the eye moments as it turned out to be one of the best thali lunch I've had in my time here in India. The sambar was incredibly tasty. And the veg cooked two ways were also very lovely a top the rice. We ended up having a vada each as well as two bowls of the sticky sweetened rice. We paid Rs. 40 each for our lunches.

After a spot of chai at another restaurant down the road, we decided to explore the twin sister pools that Chris has found earlier in the trip. There, a devotee tried to convince us via pantomime that we should scoop up the water from the pool and first, splash the water on our face, then take a second scoop over our heads, and a third scoop into our mouths. She was unsuccessful in recruiting us. I didn't feel so bad, when some city-dwelling Indian tourists also appeared to decline her suggestion.

Slowly we walked back to the temple, taking in the funny wares sold at the souvenir shops along the road. Along with the the prayer beads and pictures of gods, there was an unusual variety of plastic toys, many of which make quite scary presents.

Though Melukote is a favorite religious spot for pilgrims, it was very chilled out when we were there. I could see why it is considered a holy place, I felt quite at peace the few hours I was there. In the end, the three of us went home happy with our mini-adventure. We got to see a different Indian landscape from Mysore, breathe crisp fresh air (the weather was nice and cool when we went), and we were able to appreciate some quiet time in the country-side.

For car transport & accommodations, call Krishna Murthy. In fact, his office is called "NEEDS" which pretty much covers everything, from internet to ordering purified water.
0821425878586
+919880265622

Final Art Update

2010-12-06T19:58:00.001+05:30

I forgot to post the final installment of Claudia and Shoaib's art collaboration, all finished in golden splendor! Here they are:

Together they painted at least 7 paintings. I've lost count! So far, 2 of the Claudia/Shoaib art pieces have been sold.

Met a new student at the shala, another artist, who has met Shoiab. I suspect more collaborations to be forthcoming!

Lady's' Dilema

2010-12-01T17:09:00.000+05:30

Sorry in advance to any of the male species reading this. If you're not particularly keen hearing about the crimson way, you may want to stop reading right here. If you do go on, I promise to not get too graphic.

If you're a girl and you practice ashtanga, that special time in the month that we refer to as Lady's Holiday is either treated with much contempt or with much relief.

At home, I'm quite happy to take a break. Sleep in. Eat chocolate.

But here, where every practice is so eventful, so action packed, so full of promise, spotting can be a horrifying revelation--as if you'd given birth to twin alien babies! At least this is true for me, first thing this morning. I tried not to panic. I did the math. The general rule is that you do not practice for the 1st 3 days. Wednesday to Friday would be gone. Saturday is a rest day. Sunday is a moon day. Five days. FIVE DAYS!

After taking a couple of deep breaths, I dealt with it like any person who wanted to deny this fact to be true, I swept it under the table. I performed my morning routine as if it were business as usual. I got dressed up, I packed my mysore mat into my bag, I put on my sweater, and moments before heading out the door, I went to my new roommate hoping she would say something to support this denial of nature, perhaps she could offer me a loophole to this 3-day rule. She did not. My bravado broke down. I felt suddenly guilty, then remorseful.

I took a deep inhale, exhale, resolved to be respectful of my own body. I consoled myself by rolling up into ball and taking my butt back to bed.

I still feel sad about it. And this feeling seems wrong to me. And I'm trying to work through it.

In many ways, some of us get addicted to the practice--perhaps all of us are addicted when you think of the maniacal way we commit to it, get up in the morning, let all other activities get ruled by this 6-day a week practice. For some, missing days can have disastrous effects on our mental and emotional well-being. When ever I think of the number of days now (5) I feel an irrational tightness in my chest.

At breakfast today, someone said that it was an opportunity--to rest, to give my body a break, to be good to my system. She's right too. In truth, I know my body is happier when I take the 3-day rest. I know my body is stressed when I don't take the 3-days off, the cycle lasts longer. By a lot. It's positively epic when I don't heed the guideline.

Some may not find it necessary to take that break, but I for one am coming to grips with it. That for me, at least, it is an opportunity. It's called "Lady's Holiday," not "Lady's Punishment," so I am resolving to enjoy it, to treat it as such, a vacation from the daily grind, a happy mini-break arranged by the mechanisms of my female body.

Smoothie Withdrawal

2010-12-01T16:32:00.000+05:30

No Anu's today. None until December 19. It's a happy occasion for Anu and Ganesh as they celebrate their daughter's wedding with family and friends over the next two weeks. For us Gokulam-based yoga students, however, the joyful event comes with some serious drawbacks.

For the next two weeks plus, we're going to have to make do without Anu's delicious vegetarian lunch and dinner buffets, internet access, and of course divine smoothies and vegan chocolate cake.

For the last 2 weeks, I have been living off these smoothies, which can be vegan upon request. The liquid nourishment is made from a frozen banana base which gives it an ice-cream like consistency, curd (or water for vegans), and a selection of all-natural mixes (date, almond, cashew, dark chocolate). Their smoothies are light yet filling, and thoroughly tasty--it's hard to believe that they are healthy. They are to die for! And I will be dying for them until they reopen.

Plain banana smoothie is Rp40. Rp10 for additional toppings which are mixed in. Anu's is located at 367, 2nd Main, 3rd Stage.

Sending Claudia Off

2010-11-27T16:06:00.000+05:30

As I see Claudia drive off on her way to the Bangalore airport, the first leg of her 24-hour journey home to the Philippines, I am trying to recall the yamas, particularly aparigraha or non-attachment. I so want to be cool about all this.

Still, it’s hard to see Claudia go. I feel it in my chest and in my clouding vision. We set off on this journey together, deciding back in January the exact date, filling out our KPJAYI registration forms in June, and taking the trip together here a month ago to the date.

I remember when Claudia first came to class, nearly 3 years ago. She was a tourist then on Boracay. Her and her husband Deivis were probably the most advanced practitioners us beginners had seen. Up to that moment, I’d only been up to navasana. I was totally unaware that there was actually more. A lot more! Our yoga teacher stopped the rest of us and had them continue. It was awesome and inspiring.

When her family returned the following year, permanently, it was a total blessing. The universe provided me with a knowledgeable practice partner, spurring me to get on the mat in the morning for self-practice.

To experience this month with her here in Mysore, taking classes at the shala, living together and supporting each other throughout the motions has been incredible. I feel so blessed to have a friend here that I get on so well with, who is so easy to live with, who is even-minded and grounded. I am so grateful.

The last week was perfect, easier going than the previous weeks. The manic-ness of settling in, seeing sights and shopping died a natural death. We ate at all the favored breakfast nooks, had our lunch thali, and finally ate Thursday Taiwanese lunch buffet at Viviane’s.

Yesterday’s led was the first day we didn’t practice in the same class. I got bumped up to a 5:30am start when I re-registered for month two, which means I practice with the 4:30am group on Friday. A prelude of the fast-approaching future, the change foiled our plans to get up early and stake out near the entrance so we could get a spot beside each other during the led class.

(Claudia's class turned out to be a historical moment at the shala. Claudia told me when she got home that Sharath led the opening prayer then quite off-handedly turned the floor over to Todd, an advanced student and yoga teacher, who led the class. It is the first time a westerner led a class in the shala. Sharath had a puja to attend during the class but was back by closing prayer. Todd had led them in "Om..." then paused, causing many students to wonder if after the entire thing he had forgotten the closing prayer. Turns out Sharath would finish it off. Claudia said it was a great class too! Todd was applauded for his efforts by everyone in the shala. I got goosebumps when Claudia recounted the story. These are certainly times of change! Positive ones, I feel).

We enjoy a good Indian breakfast at Sri Durga after Claudia’s class. Take a leisurely trip into the city to hunt down some recommended Bollywood titles at Sapna’s bookstore, then have tea and cake at the picturesque Green Hotel before going to kirtan with James in Gokulam.

We decide to cap the monster day by dragging Jaja (a friend from China, whom we met in Boracay) to meet other friends at 6th Main for dinner. For KPJAYI students this makes for a wild Friday night: dinner after 7 and more than one cup of chai after 8! Wired, we are all glad there is no practice on Saturday!

At home, Claudia and I throw caution to the wind and share a bar of chocolate. (From Truppti’s!) She has a surprise for me, a hand-painted bookmark, another bar of chocolate (my favorite too, dark chocolate with peanut butter), and a clay Ganesh that she also painted herself, under the guise that it was a present for Deivis-—In hindsight, I did find the hot pink and shiny orange a strange color choice for her kite-boarding husband!

“The remover of obstacles,” she said.

So for the last time, in our extremely comfortable Gokulam living room, we laugh and chat about our month-long experience. She gives me a good farewell pep-talk, reminding me to conserve my energy and to keep focus (she knows me so well!) Like a big sister, she checks up on my headspace, making sure I maintain a healthy perspective—that I don’t get caught up, that I simply enjoy the practice. I will so miss her steadiness!

In the morning, after a good lay in, we head to Anouki’s—the designated farewell breakfast. Friends who started at the shala around the same time as us gather round the table. It’s one of those long, lingering dos. Lots of laughs, exchanging of photos, email addresses. Continuously, Claudia is being accosted for not having a facebook account.

Instead of goodbyes, there are a lot of “see you later,” attached with the hope that it will be here, same place, sometime next year. Saying that makes us all feel better, that returning here in Mysore with all these brilliant and loving people is something that we can all look forward to!

Claudia’s Art Calling

2010-11-27T15:19:00.000+05:30

Whenever I take a peek into Claudia’s room, she is almost always at her desk. At first just sketching her own creative creatures or the iconography of Hindu mythology (a requirement for her class), later ripping up local new papers and painting canvasses with bright, sparkling colors—inspired by India.

Her trip, which is fast coming to a close, is one of yoga and art, art and yoga, both seamlessly going together. Painting is her sitting practice, her meditation.
In fact, at every turn in seems Claudia is being drawn to the world of art here in Mysore: first by her traditional Mysore painting teacher Anand and then by Shoaib.

Coming to the end of our third week, another happy coincidence pushes Claudia further into her art exploration. (I suspect that the universe is trying to tell her something!)

By chance, we meet Akhilanka in Sudha clothes shop in Gokulam. On hearing of her background as a photographer and artist, he invites her to see his studio and his intriguing creative method (Sunday, November 21). The following is Claudia’s third Mysore art encounter, in her own words. I was not present for this trip. However, she came home so inspired by what she saw, I felt we should include the experience…

Akhilanka is a painter specializing in color meditation with singing bowls. Sounding the bowl he lets the vibration and sound guide his subconscious to choose color and form. The results are vivid, sparkling colorful works in mixed media, using acrylic, oils, sometimes burning the canvas.

Akhilanka also conducts singing bowl meditations. We ourselves are vibrations. By placing and sounding singing bowls around and on different parts of the body, the vibrations change. Blockages can be removed, we can release and open.

After a photo session in Akhilanka’s studio of his works and method for his website, he offers me to try out the singing bowl meditation.

Wearing a white gown I lie down on a white sheet with crystals and singing bowls placed all around the body. Akhilanka strikes them one by one, then many at a time placing them on different places on the body. It is a deep and special experience hearing and feeling this concert of vibrations all through the body.

A small bowl in the heart center has a high clear sound and trembling vibration, then it is replaced by a large heavy bowl with a deep shaking sound shaking all through to the core. A myriad of sounds, vibrations, emotions. A very special experience.
Akhilanka

Singing Bowl Meditation & Color Meditation
+919902641555

The meditation that Claudia experienced was 45 minutes long.

Day Tripping at Bylekuppe

2010-11-27T14:54:00.000+05:30

Saturday, 20 November

Beep, Beep!

In my motion-induced sleepiness, I imagine the translation, “Hi, Hello!”

Beep beep!

“Excuse me!”

Beep beeeeeep beep beeeeeep beep!

“I’m COMING up BEHIND you!”

Beep beep!

“Thank you!”

On an Indian road, there is going to be honking. Lots of it. It may seem rude, this sound assault. But in India, we’ve been told, that it is more of a means of communication, giving a pedestrian or fellow driver a…heads up. It is not a sign of offense as it would be in the west where a honk is equivalent to a middle finger. Large trucks even ask to be honked at. Many have politely painted on their rear end, “Please Honk.”

Today Claudia and I are on the road. Taking the path of least resistance, Deepak the driver and a hired car speeding at 100km an hour, with two really lovely students at the shala, Tom (from the UK) and Jen (from Canada).

With full moon on Sunday, the shala closes for a staggeringly long 2-day stretch. Time is like dog years around here. You live a lifetime in a short space of a moment.
Some students would use this extra time to soak at the pool or have a later than usual night out (dancing or maybe bowling). Other students would satisfy the itch to get away from Gokulam, planning trips to places like Coorg—at least one student made it all the way to Kerala.

We are en route to Bylekuppe.

Bylekuppe was the first Tibetan Settlement in India after the Chinese invasion. It was set up in the early 1960’s. Displaced Tibetans were given a parcel of forestland by the Indian government, and since then the Tibetan people have continued their cultural practices here in Southern India while waiting for the time that they can finally return home.

After two hours of dare-devil driving—I felt safe mind you with Deepak, such is the nature of two-lane Indian highways, in which fluid driving means overtaking other vehicles at lightning speed despite on-coming traffic—we reach the Tibetan settlement, apparent by the colorful Tibetan prayer flags flapping in the wind.

One sight that seemed uncharacteristic of our Tibetan expectations was a building with high walls and threatening barbed wire on top. As we sped by we see the words “NUNNERY.” Of course, high security for the nunnery! And past the nunnery went we to the Namrolding Temple compound.

At the juice bar (the, because there is only one) we are greeted by a friendly Tibetan, born and raised in Bylekuppe. He takes it on himself to be our welcome wagon. Shares with us some history, tells us about the current reforestation of the area. He says with total conviction that their goal is to return the land to India as they first received it. When they can go home.

In a world of cynicism, I am struck with his absolute faith , that they will return to Tibet and that it’s just a matter of time. There is no anger in his statement. Only hope.

After having smoothies and a quick turn at the shops outside the temple , which appeared to be promising, we walk towards the complex, which houses the monastery, the high school, several temples, the debating hall and other function rooms.

We are drawn by sound, which takes us to the temple’s music room. These first few moments are a delight to the senses: the bright splash of colors in the architecture and art, the strange haunting music. Class is in session. Young monks in their mustard shirts and maroon robes are in two rows, facing each other, instruments in hand. There is a random mixture of sound. There is the tinkling of bells, pounding of drums, and blowing of horns and conch shells. The sound is almost eerie.

We all stare into the room, through the doors, which are roped off but open to visitors.

Some monks stare back, quite benignly, they don’t appear bothered by the intrusion, a dozen pair of eyes taking them in as part of the scenery, this Tibetan montage in the totally wrong climate and landscape, cameras clicking.

It must be odd to be a tourist attraction—which turns out to be us at some point, particularly fair and bright-eyed Tom and Jen, who become highly sought after for photos with the Indian tourists, who insist on including them in their snapshots. Claudia too. I get thrown into the mix here and there by default.

The morning vibe is calm within the walls of Namrolding as our party shuffles casually among the other tourists also taking in Tibet’s culture, exiled yet safeguarded in India.

The pace is easy going between the four of us, we hardly plan or communicate the hours spent in our synchronized wandering. There are a few moments where we do speak up to make vital decisions. Right or left?

The buildings themselves are not particularly old, nor pretty, but the Tibetan traditions, which are intrinsically wrapped up in all the colorful wall murals, the statues of Buddha, the monks of all ages going about their daily routines, make the experience. You feel the culture continues to thrive outside its own country.

For lunch, we indulge in traditional momos, steamed vegetable dumplings, and noodle soup outside the compound, just right of the gate. The meal, unfortunately, is not stellar. And after a brief second turn at the shops, we re-converge at the entrance where Tom has found out the exact whereabouts of the prayer wheels along the perimeter of the temple walls. We set out, spinning them and repeating the mantra Om Mani Padme Hum, Om Mani Padme Hum, Om Mani Padme Hum, while many monks and nuns overtake us with their speedy praying efficiency.

Before we head to the highway, we stop at the local market area. It’s a small and simple affair, a couple of Tibetan craft shops; the rest are convenient stores, general stores that sell electric goods, tailors, second-hand clothes stores and a handful of run down inns for overnight guests.

Drawing our attention is a food vendor with his propped up table. We see one local after another order bags of his tasty looking treats. Tom, a chef, is most interested. Though we cannot understand each other, the vendor doesn’t speak English, we feel it is safely vegetarian.

I order a dry one, while Tom orders the wet variety. My round of unidentified noodle wrapper is slathered with red chili paste, drizzled with sugar and what he calls salt. The shape of the crystals is more consistent with MSG (we’ll ignore that today). He finally sprinkles either tofu or gluten pieces on top. The entire thing is rolled then cut into inch-long pieces and served.

Tom’s is rolled first and cut into thin noodle-like strips. He sprinkles the same mix: sugar, “salt,” soya/gluten and the chili paste. Then he tops it with garlic water and soy, creating a cool soup.

The noodle-thing is slippery and cooling in the mouth. The flavors salty and fresh and very yummy. We like it so much, we order a second round. This time I have mine wet and Tom takes his dry. Claudia and Jen share a dry one as well. Each order is an unbelievable Rs10 each.

This little snack (name, anyone?) seems to cap the trip off nicely. With full bellies, we pile into the car, sleepily making our way back to Mysore, then to Gokulam, then to Anu’s where we are greet by Ganesh, who we happily pay for the hassle-free experience. Taking our dinners/smoothies at Anu’s we end the day satisfied with our adventure and happy that Sunday is a moon day, allowing us to lie in and dream a little extra of the peaceful Tibetan settlement, not up the Himalayas but only a couple of hours away from Mysore.

To hire a car for out of town trips, such as this, and for airport transport, call Ganesh: +9845279513. You can also book a car at Anu’s Café (3rd Stage).

Singing Praises for The Bhagavad Gita with James Boag

2010-11-21T18:55:00.000+05:30

Mysore is a hotbed of yoga activities for even the most discerning of yoga enthusiast.
There are chanting classes (now a requirement, actually, at the shala) and Sanskrit. Some take cooking classes; there are several home cooks that offer their services to students. Some take anatomy courses. Some—like Claudia—pursue art as a meditation and sitting practice. Some take classes on yoga philosophy, studying texts like the Yoga Sutras, Bhagavad Gita or Hatha Yoga Pradipika, which is also taught at KPJAYI.

Some of those who don’t study at KPJAYI take asana classes with more than one teacher in other schools throughout the city. (We have signed away that right in order to study at the shala. The punishment for those that make a breach is expulsion.)

So far, I’ve been most drawn by chanting, kirtan and the study of the Bhagavad Gita with James Boag, a Brit studying Sanskrit in Mysore.

Most things happen by word of mouth in these parts. More than one person had mentioned kirtan with James as being an experience, which inspired a trip with with Claudia and Jaime our first week here.

James started by explaining what kirtan is. We were impressed by his eloquence and understanding. A teacher, he explained his knowledge in an easy to understand way.

Then he started chanting—

It was quite an experience, his wonderful voice, his style of leading kirtan—maybe more serious than I’m used to (back home, we’re usually led as if singing ‘round a campfire accompanied by Mo-ching Yip’s harmonium or Clayton Horton’s guitar playing) but the solemnity reminds me of church, and the Catholic school choir-girl in me was secretly delighted.

I was sold on taking up the 2nd chapter of the Bhagavad Gita with him.
I first read the Gita with Alex Medin when he came to Manila more than two years ago. Yoga was still very fresh for me then. It was this undefined space, brilliant and full of possibility. As I read the Gita in English, I felt like I was coming home. Many of the themes in the poem seemed to verbalize so many ideas that were brewing in my head. In Mysore, I looked forward to digging deeper.

The course is a wonderful combination of East and West. As is tradition we chant each verse, slowly building our store hold of the Gita. Chanting itself creates this amazing energy, vibrations. And with each new verse we learn to chant, James unlocks the meaning of the text, what each word means and the different nuances of each. I even feel that I am slowly building my vocabulary.

I half expected to be lost in esoteric stuff. Instead, what I’ve learned seems so practical to both my daily asana practice and to my life in general.

Some lessons that stand out:

Like Arjuna, we are warriors. James refers to Virabhadrasana. In the pose we have to be steady. Once grounded, we are able to expand, he says. As Arjuna’s fight is to be steady in conflict, it is also our role to fully interact with this crazy world, but with a steadiness, with greater discernment.

Or how Arjuna is a fit vessel to receive Krishna’s lessons of yoga when he falls silent, when he empties himself out and becomes still…

Or how the external battle is a metaphor for the fight within, how the true purpose of life is to recognize pure consciousness…

Truly, James explains it all much better. I really feel like I am getting a lot out of the course. The study of which feels like a perfect compliment to my asana practice, and visa versa. The lessons from the Gita class is helping me process the emotions and experiences of daily practice, it is reminding me to be more present and to find more ease in my own practice, it is inspiring me to reprogram my thinking, to take my practice beyond the mat and into the world at large.

If you’re interested to join, the course is designed so that you can drop in at anytime. James also has plans of offering other courses either on Ch. 3 of the Gita or the Yoga Sutras after this one. He also leads Kirtan twice a week.

Bhagavad Gita, Ch. 2
Monday 2-4:30pm
Thursday 2-4:30pm
Recommended donation: Rs500

Kirtan
Sunday 1:30-3:15pm
Wedensday 2-4pm
by donation

Located at:
"Vibha Dhara"
Saraswatipuram
Small street off main street
Landmark: Behind the Palace Honda Showroom
Tel: 9591135031

Good Karma

2010-11-21T16:21:00.000+05:30

(Friday, November 12)

Soon there were more than twenty beggars, mostly women and children, sitting in a long circle outside the Lakshmi temple near Mysore Palace. I distributed leaf plates. Two male volunteers at the temple distributed the rice, sambal, and chicken curry. The cook, Devi, her best friend and Claudia, saw to the distribution of the food from the large pots and canisters. The food that Claudia and I speculated to be “so much,” for there appeared to be few beggars at the temple when we arrived, was fast disappearing. The hungry came out of the woodwork. All were very calm, they waited patiently at their plates to be served. They were grateful when they were finished.

I came to stand beside Claudia. We were both stunned by the scene. It was upsetting, and moving and inspiring all at once. It is not everyday you go to feed the beggars. She leaned into me and whispered, “I don’t know how we can go shopping after this?”

This had all started with our desire to go shopping.

(Regardless of our shopping requirement, Devi would have fed the beggars. She was committed to doing it as an extension of their puja, when they fed 120 of their family and friends, including us a week and a half ago.)

Claudia sought the assistance of Devi, her painting teacher’s wife. She was happy to accompany us but with one condition, we come with her to feed the beggars. It was more auspicious to shop after such an act, she said.

In the west, we do not put the two concepts together. Feed the beggars = go shopping. Doesn’t make sense, right? But today, I feel like my way of thinking is wrong. There is a beauty in the Indian way, you give, you receive. Good deeds, good karma.
As the women complimented Devi on her superb cooking, getting her to fill the last of her tasty sauce in their plastic containers, I was struck by the bigness of Devi’s heart. Her family isn’t rich, but they are comfortable enough. They live simply. And when Anand is successful with his painting, they go out of their way to share.

In the end, Devi and her friend, had given away all the food—except a couple of bags of curd and a bowl of cucumber slices. We were munching on cucumber slices when we were approached by a group of adults administrating to the feeding of the school children. While we fed the beggars, they had cooked a large pot of veg rice for busloads of touring school children and nuns. They had left over food and were offering us some.

At first, Claudia and I were embarrassed. It didn’t seem right to eat at all after such an experience. We were so pressed, that in the end resistance was futile. A bowl of rice was delivered to our party. Plates were rinsed on our behalf. We sat down where the beggars were eating earlier to take our own meal.

As we ate, Devi explained to us, “This is god food.” All the food she’d prepared was given away, yet we had not eaten ourselves. And here was new food, still hot, and very tasty provided for us. I felt a part of this strange (strange, to a westerner anyway) and beautiful cycle. I dropped my embarrassment and enjoyed the food.

In the rickshaw ride back to Annand’s, I felt this so blessed to have taken part in such a kind act.

We even went shopping. After dropping off the pots and pans, Devi and her friend took us to buy long tops. We then wondered into a fabulous little sari store where Claudia, completing the giving cycle, bought Devi a sari she had her eye on. At the tail end of our shopping excursion, I bought all four of us a round of badame milk and a box of sweets.

On our way back, we took a side tour of Devi’s best friend’s family’s homes—I guess we were the attraction, “the foreigners.” At each stop, the ladies proudly took out the sari to show to family friends.

It was already a full day: Friday led class, beggars, and shopping. And we weren’t done yet. The rest of the evening was a blur of good vibes—that was part of the giving cycle too. We headed out once again to Ashadayaka Seva Trust Fundraiser, where the orphan kids were so lovely and warm at the door. Students at the shala offer their time and energy for the Trust, which exists from private donations.

After the time at the temple, it seemed that this was now a good time to pay things forward with raffle tickets. The show itself was fabulous, the flute player, the ensemble, the kirtan with the children was so hearty and cute, if not loud. Most importantly, the event raised roughly Rs40,000 for the care of those beautiful children.

But it was what came after that truly capped the night for me, after the show was done and more than half of the yoga community had departed, there was dancing. Really fun-loving dancing! The kind of which you do not see everyday, children and adults, moving together with such heart-felt abandon, like it were the grand finale of a big Bollywood film. It felt good to be in the throes of it. And while the dancing would be short-lived, our partners were children after-all and needed to go early to bed, not to mention the neighbors would likely complain about the loud music, the spirit of that amazing day and evening would continue.

For more info on the Trust and how you can help, please check out Ashadayaka Seva Trust on facebook.

The Breakdown

2010-11-16T12:04:00.000+05:30

If being a KPJAYI student were a ready-to-eat food (I’m imagining something like a power bar), I think it should include on the back its shiny plastic/foil packaging the following:

Daily Nutritional Value:

Exercise 90%
Hard Work 110%
Patience 100%
Concentration 92%
Mental Stability 85%
Humility 350%

…and, of course,

Practice 99%
Theory 1%

Daily, we are nourished by this dynamic practice. There are so many benefits to the body, mind and spirit.

There are also some side effects, however. There should likewise be in big red letters, a warning:

DANGER: ASHTANGA CAN BE AN OVERWHELMING EMOTIONAL EXPERIENCE

The energy is so strong here in Mysore: the practice so deep, the people so interesting and diverse, the place so magical… On the best of days, I can do nothing more than thank my lucky stars. Then there are also “other” days—days when all this energy is just too much, everything and everyone buzzing at these too-high frequencies. No one does it on purpose. It just happens. And, quite suddenly, being here becomes extremely overwhelming.

It happened to me yesterday, and after an amazing day. It was a Sunday and we had led class at 4:15am. We met our new friend Richard for his lovely birthday brunch, complete with pressie, tons of food, quite an open and intimate conversation and, of course, birthday cake care of the waiters at Regalis Hotel (a.k.a. Southern Star). This was followed by lounging at the hotel pool, which we would have stayed at forever where it not for 4pm conference with Sharath. (More on this later!).

After conference, Claudia and I went to Anu’s—must’ve been a good idea, because many students also flocked there. I’d eaten already by the time the place filled up. So many were squeezed around the 3 tables. It would normally not phase me, coming from a country whose people know not the meaning of personal space. But somehow, I felt, out of sorts. The sound levels increased. I suddenly felt overpowered by this incredible white noise. I said my quick goodbyes, paid Ganesh and bolted. Halfway down the road, I could my emotions bubbling up. Two-thirds of the way to the flat, my eyes started to water. By the time I’d shut the door behind me, I was crying. Emotionally, I was overwhelmed.

Apparently having a good cry is quite normal hereabouts. Since my own breakdowns, I've heard of others. Some cry quietly at the shala in the middle of practice, some echo their grief in the marble-lined dressing room, some go home and have their weep in the privacy of their own homes. There are always different motivations for these emotional outbursts. The one unifying factor is that the depth of the practice here boils up the emotions. Back bends especially open the heart and unleash whatever is trapped there.

As for me, I was tired. We had class at 4:15. We’d had two and a half weeks of practice by then, each morning being so deep. Though it was really nice, excessive sunbathing might have added to the fatigue. It’s been non-stop activity since we arrived.

And the people! You meet new ones everyday. Everyone is so interesting, coming from so many different places and backgrounds. At first, it’s exciting like the first days of college. You meet, you chat, you make connections. You move one to the next stop, whether it’s at one of the fave breakfast haunts, waiting outside the shala, or having a drink at the coconut stand. And then process repeats itself. It’s fresh! It’s fun! But when overdone, it’s exhausting.

Sharath’s advice makes sense. Two weeks ago at Conference, he advised us to stop dawdling at the coconut stand after practice, “Go home and rest.” (Claudia's correction: "Go home and study." My subconscious must want it to be "rest")

I believe that meeting and connecting with fellow students is an important part of the process too. It’s just too easy to get caught up in this very social international atmosphere, however. It’s like a vacuum. It can suck you right up.

And how are we to successfully discover our selves through all this yoga, if I spend all my spare time enjoying ambling walks and lingering meals with new friends? Love those around you. Have space for yourself. Everything in moderation.

Claudia and Shoaib's Art

2010-11-16T11:32:00.001+05:30

Here are the products of Claudia and Shoaib's last art collab. The glue hasn't quite dried yet...

Mysore Creative Spirit

2010-11-13T11:07:00.000+05:30

Phosphorous, burning plastic, and singed canvas tickles my nostrils. Claudia and Shoaib are igniting little fires to start today’s art experiment.

I get a bit ahead of myself. I should explain. It started a week and a half ago, on a shopping expedition to Badsha’s Bazzar, the one across the vegetable market. (Highly recommended by the 3 Sisters for saree cloth, which Claudia was buying for a friend.)
We’d been to one shop and were unsatisfied, everything seemed more expensive than it should be and we were a little put off by the car-salesman tactics. To demonstrate the waterproof aspect of one silk, he poured a glass of water onto the textile, which then rolled around the cloth in droplets. It was cool to see, but didn’t entice us to buy. (Glad the fabric wasn’t flame-resistant. I would have hated to see him wield a blowtorch.)

We asked for elegant designs in purple and he turned out one after another befitting Barney in drag. Purple dragon meets Priscilla Queen of the Dessert. I reiterated that we wanted to see something “simple.” He looked at me incredulously and explained that what he was showing was quite simple already by Indian standards.

We slowly backpedalled out of the shop. The sarees he was showing us ranged from Rs1500 to Rs2500. Jaime had said that you could find an average saree at Rs200at the
cheapest. Hmmm.

The moment we walked in to Badsha’s we were greeted by Shoaib Chadkhan, a Mysore local (and artist—we find out later), who in an instant read us like a book. “You are yoga students?”

We affirmed his suspicions and asked to see some sarees in the elegant but not too pricey range in purple and orange. He got us straight away, pulling out these beautiful sarees (silks were also available, but were not in the budget), tastefully adorned. Within 5 minutes, Claudia has settled on a stunning orange saree with gold and aubergine detailing for around Rs500. We dared for more and asked to see their selection on shawls—our new uniform to maintain modesty’s sake.

Shoaib stepped into his element. He gave us a good look, surmising our type: western, yogis, travel, budget, and even took into account our skin tones and the colors we were wearing at that time.

Over the course of our shopping expedition, we established several connections, an unusually long list of mutual friends (all yogis of course, turns out Badsha’s is a favorite among them) and a love for painting and art. He asked Claudia if she wanted to collaborate. They swapped numbers. Then a week ago, an afternoon at Shoaib’s home/art space turned out three diverse art works filled with Claudia’s imaginative little creatures and Shoaib’s abstract ink blots and sweeping painted waves. As they swapped canvasses, I wrote snippets inspired by Shoaib’s recurrent theme: waves, of course.

In a lottery, we each took home a canvas. Shoaib’s will be traveling to the US with a yoga student friend, who asked for the piece.

Today, Claudia and Shoaib have graduated to bigger canvasses. More familiar with each other’s strengths, they launch to the meat and bones (or for the veggie lovers: potato and cauliflower). Shoaib burns canvas, takes scissors to a shawl, slathers paste on different mediums. Claudia lays out her paints and pours forth her darling creatures slinking out of Shoaib’s burn marks.

(I am busy making observations and writing this blog. I too come prepared with my own tools: my trusty laptop.)

Today’s work is different from last week’s. They settle into a groove, quicker than before, one-legged ink beings slither out of a hole in the canvas, a wave-like net await a fresh catch of creative monsters. The total effect is a mixed brew, a dark stew, abstract and textured.

Looking at them, absorbed in their occupation, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Today, things are being created. Though this is true for every moment of every day, it is so good to see it in action. It’s a good reminder that we should all be creators in our own way, in ways that makes sense for us.

Images of the current collab between Claudia and Shoaib to follow. Still need to upload from Claudia's camera.

To see more of Shoaib’s work and the work of other Mysore artists, visit his blog: shoaibchadkhan.blogspot.com

So Sharp Sharath

2010-11-12T10:23:00.000+05:30

I mean no disrespect, quite the opposite really.

I know the title makes him sound like a quick drawing, gun-slinging character from the wild west. Billy the Kid. Buffalo Bill. Doc Holliday. So Sharp Sharath.

At any given time, the shala easily holds over 100 mats, likely more than that. The shala itself is like a revolving door, one student out, one more in. “One more!”
There are at least 200 hundred students at the shala at this point. Probably more. And every morning, Sharath’s eagle eyes preside over the room, keeping a watch on his students’ progress, attentive to when he is needed. (And, yes, I have broken drishti to make these observations, but such things can’t be helped at times). He appears the master multi-tasker. He assists a student and simultaneously takes a second to scan
the room.

In his way, he is all knowing. Sharath may not know everyone’s names, but he knows faces. And he knows the times in which these faces are supposed to show up.
I imagine that his brain goes all Bionic Man. Each person is measured, faces are recognized, stats come up like on his internal eyeball computer screen—in Sanskrit no less.

I know he doesn’t know my name, but he knows that my face is linked to Claudia’s. He’s asked me where she was before, “Where is your friend?” She is also nameless. Claudia observed last Thursday that he scanned the room after he saw her, and then settled back on her face unsatisfied.

Did he come up short in his mental roll call? Had he figured out that I was missing that led class?

The following Monday, I was in ardha baddha padmotanasana. From behind me, I could see him purposefully coming my way. By the time I was right side-up, he was before me. I felt like a kid in trouble.

He coolly asked, “Where were you Thursday led?” (Friday was off for Diwali)
If this were a country western film, this is the scene where fingers twitch, itching to unleash pearl-handed antique gun, dust is flying around the shala, tumbleweed rolling across the background…

“Ladies’ Holiday, first day,” I answered concisely, surprised by the question. But I too was armed with a legitimate excuse.

His face lightened. He didn’t exactly smile, but tension seemed to evaporate. He nodded and walked on.

I continued with my practice with the knowledge that I wasn’t forgotten, that somehow I counted among the countless number of students. It made me happy, of course. The second emotion was wonder at how very sharp and perceptive he is. It’s amazing that he noticed my absence at all in a room packed with people. The third (lesser) emotion was inevitably worry, what else had not managed to escape his bionic supervision? My miscounting? My tired vinyasa?

Word to the wise: don’t mess with So Sharp Sharath, the Sherriff of the Shala, the fastest pair of eyes in the land.

Back-bending Chronicles

2010-11-07T12:35:00.000+05:30

November 5, Diwali, the Festival of Lights celebrating the Hindu mythology of Rama and Sita, was yesterday. All of India was riled up, lit up in their special way. Fireworks and crackers have been going off all day and night. The streets are littered with cracker confetti and there is a smell of smoke in the air. It was a special day off with the shala. Two days off, really, as today November 6 is a Saturday.

The week has been a quick blur. On Monday, my time changed from 6:30am to 6am—Claudia to 6:15am. It is normal for times to move up with students coming and going. And though feeling quite random, Sharath announces it without ceremony as he calls you into the room the morning, “You, 6am.” It feels like it also fits with some grand plan.

There is more waiting at 6am than 6:30. At least that was last week. There are more and more students coming everyday. I come in 5:45 and already there is a line. Earlier times go first. He calls out, “5:30…5:45…6…” The moment you walk into the lobby, it’s a game of memory. You try to remember the order in which you came, who was there before you and who arrived after—you recognize those with the same time and give way to those who have earlier times.

Personally, I like it that there is a queue. It’s a good time to orient your self, making that transition from your rest time at home to practice at shala. You get to warm up in the lobby, where you can feel a little of the heat of the room. It’s nippy in the morning at Mysore—not at all humid like the Philippines. If anything, the weather reminds me of the fall Berekely weather. I also get to watch, peek into the shala doors, see the advanced acrobats who are finishing.

The daily self-practice is deep. The heat of the room—it’s like steam rising off of student’s bodies at six in the morning—and the collective energy of at least a hundred students breathing and moving in ashtanga-like meditation makes for such a special practice. My body is instantly warm. And when I focus, it feels like I simply slip into a stream of constantly flowing water. I am on my way.

Focusing, however, can also be challenging. With so little of it, space is an issue. And the quality of these students practices—wow! Sometimes, you can’t help but look on with admiration—sometimes, envy—at their amazing feats. But rather than feeling inferior (by a lot, potentially) they are inspiration. And believe me, the energy they create in the room is shared, so the best thing to do is buckle up, do my best and throw some good energy into the room myself.

The practice is unobtrusive. You are allowed to get into your own flow and are adjusted in poses only when absolutely necessary.

You do feel the watchful eye of Sharath scanning the room. He appears to be constantly vigilant, surveying the room, his hawk-eye keeping track of so many students. I was rolling up my mat last Wednesday to move to the dressing room (for finishing postures—to clear space for newcomers), when Sharath caught me out and asked, “You do backbend?” I nodded, as I am mostly dumbfound when he speaks to me—I swear he has this affect on me that results in me acting completely stupid. Maybe its nerves or just complete awe. Another time, he asked me where my friend was (meaning Claudia), I also couldn’t speak but pointed bobbing my head to the figure beside me. Good that she was near, I would have hated to gesticulate to her across the room.
Anyway, I digress. “You do backbend?” I nod.

But maybe he’s doubtful, he asks, “Who drop you back?” I look around frantically. I do not know the girl’s name. Finally I spot her three rows ahead. Again, I do my stupid point/head bob. He must think I’m part mute by this point.
He half grins and mutters in passing, “There is no escape.”

Little does he know, I would never think of it!

Gulp. So that is where I am at in my practice. I have to work on my backbends. I know that doesn’t make me special, everyone is working on their backbends. But on a personal level, to know that they know that this is where you are at…feels good.

Backdrops are deeper than ever before, no doubt. In the days that I have been practicing at the shala I keep inching closer and closer to my heel. And there have been a few attempts by Sharath’s assistant students to get me to hold my ankles, but to no success. My brain ceases to work properly, my motor skills totally tweak and my hand goes soft, gooey. It’s like I have no command of my fingers, they simply cannot grab, even when my hand is directed to my ankle. There’s a fear there. It’s irrational. My mind says my left side hurts. I can feel it, but there’s no real pain. I panic. And come up regretful that I couldn’t hold it.

Sharath himself is totally gentle. He holds on to my hips and directs me to come closer and closer. I had his toes once. I was panic-stricken as he said repetitively, “Not my toes, not my toes.” My walking fingers scrambled in I don’t know what direction, trying to find my heel. It is a comedy of errors.

Claudia too feels this immense disorientation when upside down. But slowly she feels that soon she will get it. I have often wondered at why Claudia struggles with dropping back and coming up. Her practice is beautiful. She is seriously strong—stronger than myself. She is seriously bendy. She has a regular practice. There aren’t any impediments, I think, except the ones in her head.

Her back-dropping adventures with Sharath seem to prove it. On one of our first days, he comes to her mat, “Drop back three times?”

She shakes her head and quietly responds that she cannot.

He seems to look at her oddly then. Then jokes, “No? You pay a fine.” He then attends to assisting her up and down.

We’ve talked about his joke at length. And maybe we’re just being crazy ashtanga students, over thinking and decoding every dialogue into some secret message. But we think that he thinks that she can do it.

Regardless, I think part of our responsibility as students is to be sensitive to all the cues, whether it’s an adjustment, an advice, or a joke. Maybe at this point, both Claudia and I have to simply start believing in our selves too, approach our backbends with an openness of mind and heart as well.

Last Week's Conference

2010-11-07T12:26:00.000+05:30

Sunday, 4pm, shala time—15 minutes earlier than ordinary Indian time—all the shala students gathered for conference with Sharath. This is my first conference. I have heard of stories: Guruji sitting with students, being asked questions, him dropping his trademark gems of wisdom that are now everyday sayings for the ashtangi.

We are all sitting in front of the stage. The red chair, the throne-like seat in which I imagine Guruji would normally sit on stays empty. In front, another chair is pulled up. Sharath walks slowly to it, sits, appears to think upon a list he’s prepared in his head.

First he shares some observations, reminders to the students in general on good asana practice: the importance of alignment, a demonstration of proper foot placement and length in trikonasana, the benefits of certain poses, ashtau as the state of an asana, the necessity of deep and steady breath, an endorsement for oil baths, particularly castor oil bath on day’s off—as lubrication for joints and bones, helping in better flexibility.

Then, he takes questions. There is some hesitation to ask, but they come eventually. There all sorts from the bandas to the shat karmas—which he says are unnecessary if you maintain a consistent asana practice, which is already detoxifying one daily.
One particular response struck me the most. One student asks, what makes a good teacher. Sharath answers: a good teacher must be a good student. He explains that it is important that a student has a teacher, that a lineage is important to the development of a student and thus creating a good teacher who can continue to share that lineage.

I feel that this answer is directed to me. I have come to be a student. Yes, to become a better teacher too. But beyond teaching at all, I am here at Mysore to be a student. I am registered at the shala to follow a lineage that those who have taught me ashtanga have followed before me. I am getting up every morning, laying down my mat at the shala to find my teacher…

He has good news: that Stanford University (my alma mater’s nemesis! Go Bears!) is launching an ashtanga program. Sharath is particularly proud of it. Despite my long-standing dislike for Stanford’s mascot "The Tree", the program is definitely something to be proud of, especially in a university of Stanford’s caliber. There is a light in Sharath’s eye as he says yoga should be taught to children!

He also has some bad news; there is a reminder for women to be diligent in appropriateness of dress due to cases of women being disrespectfully grabbed. Dangers lurking at night. Women to walk with friends. And a request to not loiter at the coconut stand, the students’ favorite hangout. Hmmm.

Getting Up Early and Giving Thanks

2010-11-07T11:52:00.000+05:30

Last Sunday…31 Oct 2010

There are two days of led classes at the shala. The first one we experienced on Friday at 5:45am. The following Sunday it was at 4:15am. Sharath’s classes are split into 2 groups. The first batch goes early on Fridays. The later batch goes early on Sundays. Fair enough, but still hard on one not used to getting up at 3am (ahem, such as myself)…

Getting up wasn’t too bad, but practicing at 4:15am in the morning takes, I am hoping,
getting used to.

Overall, the practice was hard. My mind, I fear, played tricks on me. There was that shadow lurking in its shallow crevices, being bad, being defeatist. I finished worn out, tired. The class required alertness and strength, both were a challenge to call up so early in the morning—for me at least.

We were home by 6 in the morning. I went directly to bed, I took savasana there which was followed by a 3-hour nap, in which I awoke much like 6 hours earlier: still tired.
No matter, we had a full day ahead of us.

We were invited to a puja by Claudia’s painting teacher. A thanksgiving feast organized to celebrate the sale of Anand’s paintings—an entire collection. Waking up to a similar time as ourselves, Anand’s family had gone to the temple, chanted, made sacrifices and then slaughtered a goat, which they were cooking in a huge pot when we rocked up to the house around 1:30pm. In fact, there were several large pots stewing on the rooftop. The smells were divine.

It was a lovely gathering of Indians. Mysore natives and even family members from Bangalore were in attendance. Claudia, her classmate Arancha and myself were the only foreigners.

They cleared out Anand’s studio, laid out mats along the wall on which people sat, cross-legged mostly. In front of each person was placed a plate made out of dried leaves stuck together by bits of toothpick. We were in the process of wetting our plates as instructed when we were informed that vegetarians would eat separately downstairs—a custom, it turns out, to keep veggie food from being spoiled by any meat—maybe that ends up in the air. We happily obliged.

It was a delicious meal of spiced rice, sambal topped the rice, curd rice, string beans with lentils and a dessert that seemed like overcooked noodle in a soupy sweet concoction—all served by Anand’s lovely daughter. In fact, the family served the entire time, as is custom. Before we dug in, we each were spooned prasad water into our right palm, which we drank. It tasted a little like milky roses.

Later, Anand would proudly tell Claudia that he and his family fed 120 people that day. What a beautiful gesture of gratitude their whole effort made—to celebrate their good fortune by sharing it with friends and family.

For Art Lessons, contact:
M.S. Anand
9448246694
Tanjore & Mysore Traditional Painting Class
Srichakratraditionalart.com art_by_anand@hotmail.com

A Posh Hotel, a Grand Ole Pastel Palace, and 3 Sisters

2010-11-05T10:04:00.000+05:30

Day off! I love days off. Claudia and I sleep in. By the time Jaime returns from her class, we are up and about contemplating breakfast. So we go off together to sample Regalis’ Saturday breakfast buffet.

On the way there, I spot a vendor on one of Mysore’s main avenues. Hanging from rope was a familiar site, a mysore mat in colorful stripes much like what I’ve seen from friends—reportedly from Mysore. We ask our auto-rickshaw driver to stop. We each decide to buy one, haggling the mats down from the original R180 to R500 for 3. Were it not for strict weight restrictions, I would have bought one of each style!

Despite an endorsement that Regalis was a hot spot for yoga students on Saturdays, we are the only western yoga students there. Regalis, formerly the Southern Star, turns out to be a plush hotel. It’s dining room stylish and modern, the likes one would see in 4-star hotels in Manila. For less than R300 each, we indulge in a selection of Western and Indian food. The food was delicious and truly value for money. Though easily twice, three times, even more as much as we could spend for breakfast, it was nice to have the full service and the choices.

The pool is also open to members. And like everywhere, membership can be arranged with a copy of your passport and 2 passport photos—usage for pool is then R200 per use, per person. (Make plenty of copies of passport and visa as well as a stock of passport photos. I am on my last 2 pieces and will have probably have to take more as everything seems to require a photo: the shala, SIM card purchase, even pool membership).

Having full bellies, we continue with our “tourist” excursion to Mysore Palace. There I am amazed at the quantity of Indian tourists. They are so many, that as we file in and out of the rooms and galleries it is as if we have joined a thick soup of people as we pour in and out of rooms.

The biggest shame is that photographs are not allowed inside the palace. The colors and details really tickle the eyeballs. It is the same sensation of the flavors of India on one’s tongue. Foreign, fabulous, and far out! Soft turquoise columns lead to bright stained glass ceilings, picturing peacocks, feathers ablaze. The marble floors too have patterns and colors, while the walls display murals picturing the Maharajah of Mysore’s past dignity and stonework have carvings of elephants and lions, gods and goddesses. Everywhere there is detail. Everywhere there is color.

Quite visually worn out after a tour of the palace and two adjoining temples, we decide to scout out the 3 Sisters, a place we’d heard about from friends who had made the trip to Mysore before. Here we’d heard, we would be able to experience a castor oil treatment, one that is highly recommended by the shala, for removing the heat in your body and lubricating joints. We also hear that they serve food and juices, so with an address, tel no and a map drawn into my notebook we are off. The rickshaw driver still gets lost. I show him the map. We ask for directions. As a last resort we call and still manage to make it the long way around.

And it’s no wonder we don’t see it. We pull up in front of a blue door. There is no sign. There are, however, three sisters. They lead us into their simple abode and into a small room where 2 students who look familiar from the shala are already sitting.

Amidst the simple setting me meet the nicest Indian siblings. Harini, is the yongest—and she says bossiest. She is the expert in oil massage. Is a yogini, a student of Pattabhi Jois himself who is in the process of building her own yoga shala. The third sister is the master cook and juicer. We order a juice each. Claudi and Jaime take the beet, carrot and ginger. I ask them to hold the beet for mine. Super yum!

We also make appointments for this castor oil massage. Castor oil treatment is pricey at Rp1800. But we were given advice to try it 3 Sisters first then after seeing how its done to purchase the necessary ingredients ourselves in Loyal World Super Market and doing in ourselves at home.

While we are there, it starts to rain, giving Harini the chance to tell us stories of the old days, of Guruji, and of the old shala in nearby Lakshimpura. She gives us tips on where to buy cloth and where to we can visit a silk factory.

On the way home, we make a trip to the Rama Krishna Ashram, we browse through a pretty serious collection of books, many of which are devoted to Swami Vivekananda.

Exhausted and tired from all of the day’s varied outputs, the posh hotel, the colorful palace, the three sisters and the yoga bookstore, we grab a simple dinner at the Green Leaf Canteen—where I have a tasty masala dosa duo for Rp30 and a banana lassi for R30. Dinner at R60—the cheapest meal so far!

* Regalis is also known as the former Southern Star Hotel
* 3 Sisters is located beside Hotel Keval in Mysore, tel no: 08212522788

The First Led Class

2010-11-05T10:00:00.000+05:30

(Aside: Still in the long process of sorting out my own internet at home, it's been hard to keep up with postings. this is from last week's led class, October 29, 2010)

There is something about being so fresh here in Mysore, particularly in Gokulam. Everything is a new discovery. Every new piece of information is a gem. Each moment is an adventure. It feels a little like college; going away from home for the very first time, meeting new people, seeing a new place, figuring out all the cool hangouts.

Today starts earlier than usual. We have led class at 5:45am. There are 2 batches. We are the later. By Sunday, we will switch and we will be practicing at 4:15am!

We arrive early, quietly waiting at the steps as the previous group continues through their led class. We hear Sharath’s steady counting. He takes his time. I brace myself.
We are allowed to shuffle in as the first group packs up, place out mats down and throw the rest of our belongings into the dressing rooms before the opening prayer, ready, get set, go…

The led class is a good pace. In fact, Sharath’s repeating line is, “Why are you in such a hurry?” He advances when we are all synchronized. I am grateful for all the visiting teachers on the island this year, particularly Govinda Kai and John Scott—I feel prepared for this pace. I try to be alert. I try not to get too speedy.

He fixes my Supta Padangustasana, which I know I get away with through flexibility not strength. He moves my leg away from me, placing his foot on my opposite leg, forcing my weight down. It is then up to me to lift my upper body to my leg. I know now that’s something I’ve been able to get away with—again, try to break habits. Also, here the toe points.

I felt that I managed well enough until uplutih. My arms by then were exhausted. He had been taking rather long breaks between counts throughout the finishing sequence. My arms shook as I tried to lift myself up….10 ½…

Savasana lasted no longer than a minute when we were told to take rest at home. A short rest at the dressing room and a coconut after, it was truly over. I was pooped, but I’d survived it. Mysore might not break me after all…

Gods & Gold, Mysore Art

2010-10-31T11:22:00.000+05:30

As I write, Claudia draws and draws and draws. We are at the private residence of a local artist, Assand, who specializes in a Mysore style of painting deities. The flat, two-dimensional paintings are colorful, almost cartoon-like. They are images of the Hindu pantheon and mythology. They are appealing with its embossed gold leaf. They are very Indian.

In fact, for the first time in this trip we are surrounded by Indians. The artist, his assistant, the four fine older ladies in their colorful saris speak the local dialect while working. The ladies are painting their masterpieces, intricate pieces, so incredibly detail oriented its hard to believe that it will take them only one month to finish it. This will be Claudia’s secondary “occupation” for the next month.
He has started her in sketching key Indian iconography: the lotus, Shiva linga, hand mudras. She even has homework. For me, most importantly, her art classes put us in touch with Mysore locals outside the world of the shala.

It’s awesome being at Gokulam. The streets are orderly. The people are friendly. Westerners seem to instantly share a bond, however tenuous sometimes. We all love yoga. We’re all here for yoga.

Still, life in Gokulam is a bubble. And it’s nice to venture outside of it for the day. Already, we are invited for Sunday puja and to share a meal with the artist and his crew of mid-aged ladies. Claudia has been invited to a wedding—Assand is also a wedding photographer. And since Claudia herself is a photographer, he has invited her to help out. After Claudia’s first 2-hour session, we wander down the streets of Mysore. Have a chai at a corner store. Visit the city’s art gallery, which hold’s an impressive collection of Mysore painters and historical artifacts from the days of the Maharaja. By the time we get home, we are tired and hungry. We agree in unison a repeat at Tina’s—which was even more delicious than the day before. We rest early to prepare for our first led class with Sharath at 5:45am.

(Today’s Lesson: Make sure the rickshaw driver puts on his meter. This saves time haggling and being cheated an extra Rp10 or so.)