dating yoga

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.