Transitions

Mysore, India – Week One – This blog is an amalgamation of my first week of practice and life in Mysore

It's 3:45 a.m., and all over Gokulam alarms are going off and lights are switching on. It's the commencement of the new session at K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute and the little yogis and yoginis are crawling out of bed, wiping the sleep from their eyes (assuming, of course, they got sleep) and preparing themselves in anticipation of this morning's 4:30 Led Primary Series. I too am pulling myself from my bed, gathering my mat and my keys and my coconut funds and heading out the door.

It's a 5 minute walk from my house to the shala, just enough time for me to realize how stiff my body is from trains and planes and beds that are, for some reason, as hard as rocks. It's enough of a walk for me to gauge how weak my body has become in the past few days from some sort of sun-sickness, a fever, chills, dehydration and an inability to eat. Yet still at quarter to four in the morning I am more than willing to pull myself from beneath the blankets, to walk out into the dark street, nodding and waving to the other crazies who have also paid to be tortured at ungodly hours, and make my way to the shala gates. We remove our shoes, and silently take our spots in the room. Laying out our mats in strategically chosen places, not too close to the stage, avoiding the doors, or the seams in the mats.

I sit on my mat and take in the room around me. From every wall I see the faces of the Jois family, the lineage I've come here to follow, looking down on me as I practice. An honoured picture of Pattabhi's teacher, Krishnamacharya hangs high above the others, commanding attention and respect. Up on the stage, taking his rightful place at the head of the room, is a picture of Guruji, himself, in his glory days of Ashtanga, strong and powerful in Samastihi, the intensity shining from behind his eyes. As I sit, waiting for Sharath to emerge and begin today's practice, I can feel my body start to soften. The stiffness from the days before melts away, absorbed by the mat and the room and the energy of this place starts to take over.

Before I know it, practice is beginning, and I'm making my way through the Sun Salutations, my body remembering the movements it knows so well, even in unfamiliar surroundings. We work ourselves through standing, arriving at the balancing poses. Much to my surprise (and fear, and horror, and excitement) Sharath is next to me as we move into Utthita Hasta Padangusthasana and as he takes my right ankle to lift my leg higher, I inhale with the pain that I know will follow, as I'm still battling a bit of an injury and some severe tightness in my right hip. But, I came here to learn from him, and in one breath I convince myself to surrender and as my leg goes higher than it ever has before there is no pain, only stretch, and a warm and friendly smile from Sharath as I come up from the fold and take my leg to the side.

We transition into seated postures, and as we do I notice how my vinyasas feel heavy and clumsy, a by-product, I'm sure, of the weakness I've been experiencing or perhaps an apt physical manifestation of how I'm feeling inside as I transition from traveller to local. I make a mental note to try to eat and drink more over the next few days, attempting to build my reserves and get myself back to normal practice levels. My flexibility, however, seems to have only increased since my arrival (emotionally I haven't got a lot of choice), and my forward folds come more easily, chin reaching shin in poses that for months have seemed impossible. We reach Navasana, and I know that I am not the only one who is struggling to not allow the boat to sink. “Straight legs” Sharath demands from the front of the room, but my body is refusing, and I'm terrified that he's going to stop me (and conversely, almost hoping a little that he'll stop me so my tired body can rest, but shhhh...that's a secret). My legs and core shake as I try, without success to straighten at the knee, every time I lower down to pick up in Lolasana it's a blessing and a curse, trading aching legs for aching arms. Obviously the three weeks of travel have taken a larger toll on me that I had anticipated.
After what seem like innumerable breaths we're moving on, reaching Bhujapidasana and then the Kurmasanas, my worry point of this practice. Bhuja goes alright, but as I transition out and then jump my feet around my arms again for Kurmasana and Supta Kurmasana, a lump forms in my chest. If I'm going to get stopped, this is likely where it will happen. I “go flat” as Bill would say, into Kurmasana, and then begin to work my hands back. My fingers touch without problem, and so I walk my feet towards one another, tucking my head down. The right foot inches forward a little, the left foot inching back, and with a little maneuvering – tada – feet are crossed! What?!!? Feet are crossed?!? My feet don't cross. Not on my own. They touch, they mingle, they think about crossing, but they don't do it. Until now. Each day since I began practice in Mysore my feet have crossed. And though they're not really behind my head, with assistance I can feel them getting back there, my shoulder tucked deeply beneath my legs – no pain, no resistance. It's like magic!

I wish I could say I sailed through the rest of the practices, but the honest truth of it is, each day I'm fighting for poses, I'm fighting for vinyasas. In the led classes the final pose, Ut Pluihi, is insanely hard and Sharath nearly diabolical in his excessively slow ten count. As we all attempt to lift our weary bottoms off the floor, to not let him see if we drop down for fear of disappointing him, and ourselves, but I've been told it gets easier – that the 4:30 start time begins to feel normal, that your body will adjust and perhaps even enjoy. The new week begins tomorrow with Led Primary, so I guess well see.

We finish practice each day by around 6:45 and it's immediately out to the coconut stand. Coconut water has not really been something I tend to enjoy, but when the coconut man hacks the top of the coconut off with a machete, you stick in a straw and drink that luscious 10-rupee nectar after an early morning practice, nothing seems more nourishing. The coconut stand is our water cooler – and it's also the social calendar for each day. It's where we make our plans; who'll have lunch with who and where, will we go to town, to the market, to the palace? What time did you go to bed last night? How was your practice this morning? What poses are giving you trouble? How many mosquito bites do you have? Do they have this thing at Nilgiri's or do we need to walk to Loyal World? In Mysore, our universe is very small.

We actually live in what could be considered a suburb of Mysore, called Gokulam. A tiny town of sorts, that really seems to revolve around yoga, both Ashtanga and other styles, and the town caters to the students. People are friendly and helpful. They are accustomed to our confused faces and know how to direct us to one of the 5 or 6 yogi hangouts, or to the shala. Occasionally we surprise them – getting Idly (spongy rice cakes doused in curry sauce) for breakfast, or getting packed up samosas or other snacks from the bakery. But there are places that definitely know us, and know what we want. And it doesn't take long for all the yogis and yoginis to discover the many wonderful secrets Gokulam has to offer, like the hand-made chocolate bars sold from the tiny class counter of the literal whole in the wall “convenience store” on 7th cross. The amazing flavours like cardamom and ginger, hazlenut paste or peanut butter, will keep us flocking there for the month.

It's easy to treat yourself in Mysore, and for me, it helps to battle the homesickness. Going out with a few US dollars worth of rupees in your pocket will allow you to return with all manner of goodies. Bangles and fresh flower garlands, lemons or pomegranates, chocolates or other treats, stationary, stickers, decorative dishtowels – all can be had for so little, and they can bring a lot of enjoyment, sprucing up often sparse apartments.

And then there is the experience of the walk and the browsing and buying. Different depending on whether it is day or night, the shops offer up a variety of products. However it's the tiny stalls and carts that always seem to draw me in. A man selling glass and metal bangles on the street, the women with their piles and piles of beautiful yellow, and white and orange flowers. The smells of the freshly baked or fried foods mingling with the sweet aroma of jasmine. All set to an orchestra of bells and horns and Bollywood soundtracks blasting from rickshaws. India is nothing if not alive and a feast for all of the senses.

Today especially things have a frenetic energy to them. It' the Gauri Ganesh festival and last night and this morning, in preparation for the festivities, the streets are bursting with people, sellers and buyers, families and singles alike. A group of young men were decorating the Ganesh temple with fresh flower garlands, the stray petals dotting the tops of their heads like snow. Whole families man carts filled with flourescent painted Ganesh statues: pink and orange renditions of the deity finding their ways into homes all over Gokulam (including mine). Women are wearing flowers in their hair, and young girls don fancy Indian dresses. They're even setting up palm thatched buildings and covered dais to house Ganesh statues all over our little town. It's quite a sight – and walking around the city you can't help but get caught up in the excitement and anticipation of it all.