Authentic, 100% Shacky Shala Chic

If you came here thinking Mysore was some kind of zen place for yoga, and the experience would be a mystical retreat, with beautiful views, healthy food served three times daily and beautiful instructors and music, you’d be wanting to take another look at that brochure.

This post is part 2 of Yoga Tourism, Am I being Duped?  I think I have been duped about coming to Mysore to deepen my yoga experience, if you go on the physical practise alone. But I'm staying on. This has more to do with refusing to be beaten by India, when a slim chance I may prevail still exists.  Score: Sue 4, India 123. It's all about the long game, I tell myself. But sometimes you have to surrender your shit, literally and metaphorically. Not like this guy, who is chipping away day in and out on this amazing rosewood table and still has a smile to light up a room. Humble pie.

chip away

2 nights ago I made a deal with myself.  I did the tally in my head and sat up in bed as it dawned on me.... Oh. I am being screwed!! And not in a good way.  The teaching is virtually nil, there's no philosophy or context for ashtanga yoga from the school built by the founder;  shalas are overcrowded, adjustments are light-on, Saraswati has been away for a week, there's been 4 moon days and rest days - nearly a week of no practise...and there's no refund. No contract. No guarantees. I've come a long way for this.  OK. So that's the tally of all the stuff that is not working for me (like India cares). One more session on the mat and if I still feel this way tomorrow I'm on the next bus to Bandipur National Park to hike with the elephants and tigers.

If paying an organisation for a month of 'yoga experience' was subject to market feedback, say Trip Advisor no-one would come to KPJAYI -  but the reality is the Jois family are not in tourism nor on Trip Advisor.  Ashtanga yoga practised daily is not a tourist experience - it's exactly the opposite of how travellers inquire, move, expect and search for the next exciting  thing. Yoga is a lifestyle, at the heart of Indian thought and philosophy and religion. It's immersive, repetitive, inward, restorative, requiring both effort and stillness. It is characterised by no guarantees, lots of unknowns and nothing is ever the same. So trying to come to grips with the Mysore yoga experience through a tourism lens, is not helpful. There is no brochure, no promise of a good time, results and great teaching. Having a good time is optional.  While I'm a bit underwhelmed with the 'KPJAYI experience', I was expecting to be a bit disappointed before I came. And here it is.  I didn't buy an experience I bought an opportunity. That's it. The rest is kinda up to me, like, hate, show up, don't show up. My problem. Oh it's a tough lesson. Welcome to India and suck it up.  Sue Lee 4. India 124.

how to go with the grain

On the second coconut after class (“Make mine a double!” cries Alicia from New York) three of us stood around the coconut cart sharing random thoughts. Cincinatti is new in town and asks, “So, who’s bed is that in the shala?” And we all laugh cause we’ve seen it too. As it gets busier we are told to do yoga in offices, spare bedrooms, upstairs. The shala is like my dad’s old beach shack, the bathroom is a bit grotty, there are dodgy lace curtains, the floor has grit on it, and there’s mix n match bedroom furniture and chenille bedspreads don’t forget the fluro lights! Indians LOVE the fluro lighting. No mood lighting here, it’s full-on on or off. Welcome to Saraswati’s shala. And she’s not even here! We all chuckle at the absurdity of it, there’s no way you’d get away with this kind of 'service' at home, so why here? There’s not a lot you can do when you are here and acknowledge this creeping feeling that you’ve been ridden, a little bit, in a very endearing, head-waggle way.

So what is the 'authentic Indian tradition' anyway? Someone on the staff said, "this is your shala, you've got to love and respect your shala," and everyone was nodding saying Yeah! Yay! We love our shala! And I'm thinking Um, no it's not my shala. I'm not responsible for that bathroom.  Telling someone what they must or must not feel is like asking the sea not to be salty. I'm waiting for something 'authentic' to kick in.

being incensed

'Authenticity' is a marketing thing in tourism used to differentiate one tourism experience over another.  It's so people can choose experiences that give them insight, not just surface tacky commercial experiences.  Generally tourists pay more for authenticity to get away from the myth/stereotypes and learn about the culture they are in and themselves.  Like walking tours of the backstreets of a place. Like funny stories about how essential oils are made, including natural amber (which smells AMAZING)  that is apparently vomited by dolphins and formed in oceans.  I don't even care if it's true, I'm sold. A lot of people are naturals at tourism, authenticity is not something you can fake.

Dolphin vomit

100% pure essential oils

So if authenticity is non-engineered experiences, then by this definition the Shacky Shala and all it's grimy, gritty, fluorescent charms are also 'authentic'. Authentic shala grit. Plenty of that going around. Grrr. Sue 4, India 126. See how this goes?

Now it's kind of a game wondering what is going to happen in the Shacky Shala today?  Each day I navigate the wall in front of my face, the bendy Euro guy with a dude-bun and something to prove, the argumentative American yoga teacher in a verbal stowsh with Saraswati, and a grunting Asian woman somersaulting into my head. What I'm learning here is I can practise anywhere, anywhere, and get some benefit. My shala, your shala, shakky shala, the locker room, my kitchen. I don't really need a shala, but I won't deny, it's nice to have somewhere to go at 6.30, because I don't really need another excuse to stay in bed.

God or Guru?

Being a Hindu place with a God for every occasion you'd think there'd be plenty of opportunity to explore ideas of God, but it's harder than it looks. I'm no newcomer to religion and not uncomfortable with God as an experience. But if you do yoga, do you need to believe in God? If you don't believe in God, which I'd say statistically would include most people who do yoga, then is the next best thing to treat your teacher like a god? Is the guru a substitute for God?

Religion is an ordinary part of life for locals by what I see in daily routines, but the only people doing the sweating are the westerners. And the only people I see us worshipping are teachers and the images of gurus past and present. So then, is a guru/teacher the western replacement for God?

'God' is up there with 'strategic', 'love' and 'spiritual' as an over-used and abused word, used with either great caution or too much definition. But knowing God is one of the 8 limbs of ashtanga; after self study comes studying God.  If you're into yoga then at some point, you may start checking out what you believe about god, or spirit, whatever term you use.

God is a pretty big topic to stomach before 8am. Hard to tackle between your mat, millet pancakes and eco-friendly date-shake. But if you're not 'going in', or thinking about where god is in all this sweating and concentration, then it's a workout in a place with coconut trees.  But I didn't come to India for a workout.

Visiting a temple recently I was a spectator, and more interested in the silverware than the ritual, which what I could see involved taking money from lots of poor people, pushing them through a small doorway past a dirty concrete statue of something for about 2 seconds and then pushing them into another doorway out into sunshine yelling at them to hurry up the whole time. God On The Run.  Drive Through Religion.  But you can't be a tourist if you want to find God, standing on the sidelines and waiting for the entertainment.  God happens inside, by what I know.

Coming to India to find out about God is not a bad place to start. But you wouldn't want to be lost and searching, cause there sure are a lot of them and there's no text book.  A prison is another place you would probably be wondering if there's a God. Or at war, or in intensive care. Often dealing with my housekeeper I am muttering to God.  A yoga mat is a pretty soft place to be, really. It's hard to find and fight for real love when there's been little adversity, or suffering, or motivation. In many ways we don't need God, until wham! Suddenly we do. Even this guy will do in an emergency.

Ganesh remover of obstacles - quite a busy elephant 

Pattabi Jois (died in 2009) is/was  Guruji for many people who learnt ashtanga yoga from him. I not sure I'd call him that, in any but the true meaning of the word - a teacher (guru) of great affection and respect (ji).  Worshipping gurus seems odds with what we are being taught in yoga - to be self sufficient, practise daily, find our own sense of spirit and be become better people over time by being conscious of our crap. If you don't believe in God, I guess your guru is the next stop, but worshipping humans - apart from boy bands when you are 14 years old - is a little fraught if you want to call yourself an adul

But I see it, the gushy adoration of gurus. It's sad how we are so willing to give ourselves up, give our power away to another human being, putting people on pedestals when they are just people whether our bosses, politicians, teachers, rock stars.  It's one thing to trust but another to worship a teacher. I think you are always free to say no, to disagree. It's not arrogance to back yourself up, test out your ideas. Even if you are wrong. It's not superiority or smugness.  I'm sure Pattabi Jois bugged his wife, left his wet towels on the bed, told bad jokes, forgot to get the milk, argued...whatever.  I like to think about this version of the man in his ordinary-ness, but also with his talent as teacher, father, husband, person.

I think of all the everyday people who do amazing things, saving lives and negotiating conflict, doing the plumbing, trash collecting, teaching children, and keeping company of elderly people preparing for death and who cares if you can back bend?

I don't think you need a 'guru' to worship,  but you might need one to help you study God and know the difference.

Fancy Pants

My first led class in Mysore was not as easy as I thought it might be which goes to show, you can never get complacent with your practise, or anything in India. This is the place to have low expectations – you just end up hot, cranky and dissatisfied.

Led class is a 'called class' by Saraswati, where all the students at the KPJAYI shala practise together, breathe together, a pretty awesome experience to be in a sea of bodies moving and later singing together.

I know I'm a little late as I can hear the opening chanting start as I approach the shala and kick off my shoes on the stairs. An American woman Alyssia, is soothing her howling child out the front, who doesn’t want to be left alone. We enter the room together and it is packed. No real room anywhere, 5 cm between mats. I’m not a particularly ‘sacred’ person when it comes to tiptoeing around, how can you be in this place, where ‘personal space’ concepts seems so ridiculous! Leave it at home. So I walk over a few mats to get to the change rooms and then we are directed by David to the front, where there’s the only room left, on the stage, next to where Saraswati is sitting and calling the first postures. I am right next to Saraswati’s feet. OK. There goes the plan to blend in at the back and take it all in. My modus operandi is screwed. Again. 

Earlier in Take it or Leave it, I wrote about what is appropriate to wear in Mysore both on and off the mat. Today I decided it’s gonna be cranking hot in led practise, I’m wearing short-shorts and possibly I’ll get a disapproving comment if inappropriate, or it’ll just go unnoticed among the throng. But up on stage, next to Saraswarti, there’s no hiding now. God has a sense of humour all right. If you are worried about it, it will probably happen. That’s my lesson.

I feel a little self conscious and talk myself around. This has been a real benefit over the last 4 years of practising, learning to self soothe. Hey Sue, it’s not performance. I am on a stage but out of necessity. Don't perform yoga. Do it how you would at home. For me. Noone cares but me. It doesn’t matter who is looking and what they see, it is not our problem. I am a student and allowed to make mistakes and look after myself. Get focused. Go in, go in, go in, I tell myself. Use the dristi. Don't try so hard. Just do what comes next. I think of my teacher at home, who taught us dristi and am grateful as I realise what a powerful tool this is right now. Dristi are the focal points in each asana for the eyes to be steady, when the mind is getting agitated, to help keep calm and carry on). Perfect timing with my fancy pants paranoia, a room full of strangers, wondering eyes, performance anxiety among a lot of new-to-yoga students in the room, and All That Jazz.

The practise is hot and intense and sweaty, just what I’ve come to expect. How many times Saraswati has called that class, I cannot start to know. The count flows off her tongue like prayer, interspersed with corrections to people across the room, “Straight leg! You make it straight.” She calls the count in Sanskrit as my teacher does so I enjoy the familiarity of her voice keeping me connected to my experience and the present moment at the same time. My heart sings! As people are getting tired, she stops the beginners to sit through until backbend, watching others. “You rest. Stop! Stop. You stop.” She has a great memory and sharp eyes.

I remember being a learner – it was full of frustration, doubt, agitation, restlessness and moments of oh, wow! I did that? So... what else is possible? Hmm, sounds familiar even now!

Yoga Stoned, Squishing Ants and Grumpy Friends

A breeze comes down the street, through the coconut trees and into my apartment cooling everything. Did my first practise today at the main Shala – ‘the big one’, with all the portraits and history on the walls – and now I’m in my apartment, just feeling so great and a little overwhelmed and relieved I don’t have to have expectations anymore, of what this place is like. Now I just have to get out of bed every day and go experience it. I’m a bit yoga-stoned and everything is going slow, but feels great to not have to catch a train, make a phone call, get on with the report, or feed the dog. A cold shower, coconut oil massage, breakfast, coffee. Slowly.

The last two mornings I've been watching the young boy next door do his morning rituals outside his parents’ back door. Sometimes he stops and looks at his yellow dog lying at his feet, teasing the boy with his hairy yellow belly ripe for a scratch in the warm morning sun. A man’s voice calls out from inside the house and the boy gets focused. He has a single thick string slung diagonally around his neck and chest that religious men wear. He lifts a small bowl and sprinkles water above his head and turns around underneath it, lips moving, and crosses his chest fast a number of times, tapping his head, shoulders and chest so fast, that water splashes lightly on his fleshy brown-boy skin. It’s 8.30 and the sun is up, the neighbourhood is awake.

Typical house colours in Mysuru

I’ve been up restless since 4am waking every half hour and then finally up at 5.30 to get ready for class completing my own rituals that now set me straight.

I stepped into the shala at 6.15am full of  50 - 60 breathing hot, sweaty bodies, taking in their heat, the steam, the focus and feeling pretty excited. No anxiety, well not mine anyway. The heat does it's work on me. It's gonna be a sweaty month in here!  At home in muddy water – yeah! Feeling like this is just what I want to be doing.

I walk past a tiny woman with dark eyes, it's Saraswarthi – small but a big voice and sharp, sharp vision. She doesn't miss much.  I look for a space in the room and one opens up at the back, perfect for keeping my head down and going for it.  The woman on my right is doing second series, the young man on my left seems new to primary series. Before I finish standing postures I'm sweating all over my mat, it's slippery like never before but I just keep going. Later I realise I forgot a few asana, and after backbend, I go blank about what comes next. It's funny how familiar things  can slip and slide, too. But no-one saw me, and I think that's the trick. Don't draw attention to yourself, know what you're doing and practise with lots of gusto. Oh, and wearing shorts is fine. (See earlier posts)

I got 3 adjustments the whole practise - normally I get about 5 sometimes more from teachers back home.  Just shows with so many people not everyone gets the attention you can get from a good teacher in your home town. I wouldn't want to be a beginner here, it could feel very frustrating. There is no doubt they are selling magic here, the place is packed and it's not even peak yoga season.

I don’t need to be busy. I don’t need to sight see. It’s such a relief. I don’t feel right now like I need to meet people. Although naturally when travelling you meet new people all the time,  and it’s in my nature to strike up random conversations with strangers and it seems to me Indians are also expert at it too. Talking to other yogis is not very interesting actually. I'm a bit of a snob about it. I just don't want to get into analysis. I would rather talk to locals like I have been about directions, what kind of kitchen sponge to buy, who got the best deal, why a coffee filter needs so many useless parts. I had a conversation with the housekeeper who can't understand any English, about ants who raided my almonds and she proceeded in sympathy to help me squash ants on a plate, squatting together out on the balcony tutting in annoyance together. She was of course, just avoiding housework, and quite right too.

Sanir my grumpy middle-aged married Indian neighbour downstairs has offered to put me in touch with a local woman who homecooks veggie food daily for 100 R for yogis that you can eat at home. Fantastic. I could devour a yogi or two. I'm not vegetarian and quite hungry and lazy. Going out to eat twice a day every and being stared at by local men is a bit much, already. I’m going to have to find an answer to getting a decent feed because eating cereal for dinner probably isn’t it. Many of the places I’ve googled are closed, the tourist places are expensive. Sanir could be my new best Indian mate. I like his grumpiness. Somehow it makes it easier to trust a person who is not so keen on your affection. 

I'll tell you a secret. It's nice to be here alone, middle aged, well travelled and comfortable in myself. To have money and not suffer, or apologise for it. This is the perfect time to travel, in my view. Don't let cliches about middle aged women travelling to India to find themselves turn you off! It's great, do it, it's life, not a Top 10 list of Things I did that Others Thought Were OK. Let's face it, that list could be quite hard to complete.