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.