Skip to main content

Getting Hold Of Yoga

Cargo pants, a cell phone and a bike. That's the new age yoga teacher, and mine too. A few years ago, I had gone to enrol myself at the only yoga school somewhere in the vicinity and the teacher who met me then at the government school where the classes were conducted, was a typical, dhoti clad, long haired guru mouthing everything in a language (perhaps Sanskrit) I half understood. He was so miffed at my turning up late that he yelled at me. I never returned to his classes. You see, I am not a morning person, and as my sister would say, every mother-in-law's nightmare too! Anyway, the fact is, I am glad I fhave found a flexi yoga teacher who has spared me all the morning rigours.

I am into my third week of yoga and I feel my joints are getting well oiled. I run twice a week but looks like these weren't enough. All these stretching exercises and yoga asanas make me realise how unfit I was. It's too early to tell the benefits but it helps. Not an exaggeration this. One morning I got up with a bad back and it was gone by the time I finished yoga that day. Yoga is one never ending series of exercises, but I am focussing on a few areas. And breathing is important too. By the way, I think I can also croon now because it's not funny how my lungs, nose and throat are all getting their dose of exercise.

My yoga teacher is my best find in recent times. He is quite funny. A 20-something lad, who grew up in Rishikesh, one of the best yoga centres in India and the world, he knows his stuff. Just that our sessions are interrupted by too many querries from my end. He is so fed up (am sure), which is why he has promised to get me a book so I understand what I am doing more well. And he keeps egging me on with "one more didi, one more time..." Best was when after 10 push-ups I wore an expression which prompted a comment from him, "Yoga is for your happiness." The sentence in that typical UPite accent made me burst out in laughter.

My sister and my friend tried out the session but after the first day, they said "screw it." It was too tiresome for them. Looking good! OK that's my biggest challenge now. It isn't the worst thing, really!


Popular posts from this blog

A Mad Man Or A Boor

What does one do when one encounters a mad dog? Or what does one do when one encounters a man with pre-fixed notions about everything in life, most specifically of women who live alone and give him some importance? The two are equivalent to me and basic intelligence says avoid the paths they tread like plague. But I chose to tackle them head on. I almost got rabbies. The mad man said [sic] " You sound like a very desperate person. A single and frustrated woman who is looking for anyone to leave a comment on your blog so much so that you wouldn't even spare a spammer ." Spammer being, the first comment on the previous post is apparently a spam, an advert for T-shirts. Bummer! I thought it was a handsome Spaniard or Latino, so I had replied "Hi Rodrigo", hoping to take the conversation forward offline. Anyway! All this the mad man found out. I didnt. Sure, I dig comments because I love the spontaneity and intelligence of my friends. And I didn't invite the ma


Two million people at the National Mall in Washington alone. The world watched too as Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. So did I. I rudely cut roomie's soap operas and switched to CNN to witness history being created. Some day I may live to tell the tale of how Barack, the much touted Afro-American President of the United States, stumbled with his swearing-in oath. I was a bit disappointed as I watched the man who had run the most successful of election campaigns, the man who Americans were pinning their hopes on, take his oath. Clearly, he was under too much of a pressure to be the best. So before Chief Justice John Roberts could complete the first sentence, there was Obama abruptly breaking out into his first names... " I Barack Hussein Obama.." and then waited for the judge to complete the sentence.. The next line was even taxing. He stopped short after two words... " That I will excute ..." and then Justice Roberts cont

Good Girls Don't Drink?

I have been disturbed by the news coming out of my region – the northeast of India - where a teenage girl coming out of a bar at 9:30 pm was molested and beaten by a group of 20 men. The news has even found its way down under for the shocking nature of it. Tabloids and even TV have carried the news. I have always prided myself in belonging to a region that is known for its high tolerance and where women are generally safe and independent. But I have always felt a bit squidgy about Guwahati unlike the rest of the seven sisters. The place is so like the rest of India in many ways, dirty and claustrophobic. That explains why bars are looked upon as sleazy places and women going there beaten up as with the recent case. Just 150 km away is Shillong, the place where I grew up. Night clubs thrive there and till date there has been no case of attacks against women. Reading the news, I am appalled by some of the reactions. “But the girl was drinking,” or “only prostitutes visit that