Learning My Lessons

Mysore – Week Three

The weeks here are flying by, which seems funny considering after practice I have no responsibility whatsoever. But a wise yoga teacher told me that it's “easy to busy yourself up” in Mysore, and I have to say that she was certainly right.

My practice is continuing to grow under the watchful eye of Sharath and his assistant teachers. And although the work is intense and I'm really beginning to feel it, I can see the opening that is happening – both in my body and my mind. It has been a difficult transition, I will admit, coming from a completely different style of teaching and practicing and having to adjust to the method that they use here. At first I really felt as though I didn't know what the expectations were, what I was supposed to be doing; little things are different in what could be described as Ashtanga's “traditional alignment” – a point of the toes there, a touch of the chin here, position of your heels, or your fingers or your gaze. As it turns out what I'm supposed to be doing is surrendering – to the practice, to the teachers, to the idea of possibility - and working to my edge in every posture, every breath, every morning and then seeing where that can take me. And with Sharath's first-time addition of assistant teachers in Mysore practices, as well as much smaller class sizes, we are all receiving more personal attention than I would have ever imagined and I think this is having a large and positive impact on all the students who are here.

The led classes, though less focused on adjustments have their own set of benefits. I try to listen intently to Sharath's count and his much repeated mantra “don't hurry.” No rush between chatarunga and updog, no speeding out of difficult poses, and the painfully long counts in things like Navasana (boat pose), Sirsana (headstand) and Utplutihi (lifting the entire body up while seated in lotus), build strength, stamina and patience. This need for less speed is translating into my Mysore practices as I work to slow the breath and remember each position of the count, I'm noticing that my sequence is now taking close to two hours rather than the usual one and a half.
Each morning after practice I come home and spend the morning in my own way – having breakfast, this week enjoying fresh papaya, pineapple and pomegranate in my fruit salad – doing laundry, calling home.

My morning walk continues to be my ritual, time on my own to explore my little world of Gokulam, turning right or left whenever the urge strikes, going down alleys or streets whenever a sign or a house or an interesting person catches my eye. This time also lets me reflect on what happens here, the changes that are occurring in my practice, the transformations in my heart and mind. Walking through the town helps me to put things in perspective, to see the world and myself from a different vantage point. Some days it's mundane, overhsadowed by the soreness of opening hips and hamstrings, thrown off track by loud engines and honking horns. Some days, though, like this morning, it's downright magical, making my way through the streets as the sun rises and city begins to stretch it's arms. With far fewer rickshaws and motorcycles the streets are now filled with bicycles and pedestrians, sleeping dogs and munching cows. This morning I watched as a milk delivery man adeptly steered his bicycle, carry two huge open buckets, parked and went door to door, pouring the fresh milk into waiting containers. I had a beautiful interaction with a man selling flowers, who took the enormous basket down from his head and fastened me a bracelet and necklace of jasmine before heading on his way. I stood, fascinated, as women with steady hands sprinkled chalk dust along the road, marking out the intricate design that will decorate the gateways to their home until the next rainstorm. And on my way back home I discovered one of many tiny temples, tucked in backstreets among houses, and went in to experience the silent beauty. I ended my walk at the corner coconut stand where Guru, the proprieter, poured me a steaming glass of sweet chai, and I sat on the hill and watched Gokulam come to life.
The afternoons are often filled with social things – lunches, shopping, trips into town. A highlight of this week was lunch at Aunty's House, a tucked away restaurant in the loosest sense of the word. It is quite common here for women to open their homes for lunches and dinners and call themselves a restaurant. Aunty's House is exactly this. Aunty lives tucked away in the back corner of a housing complex near one of Mysore's many palaces. The only way to find it is to go with someone who knows. My friend, Victoria, who was introduced to Aunty by another friend of hers, led me down a tiny corridor and into an equally tiny room that is the entrance to Aunty's. We sat at her miniscule table with three young Indian boys, already enjoying Aunty's lunchtime meal, as Uncle napped happily on the floor beside us and Hindi soap operas played in the background. Aunty brought us plates and warm chapatis and then individually offered us the preparations of the day – cabbage, green beans, eggplant sambhar, rice – all of it delicious and made with love. We ate with our hands, as is traditional here, and spoke what little we could with the boys, mostly about cricket, and once we had cleaned our plates, we thanked Aunty and headed home with full and happy bellies.

The evenings for KPJAYI yogis are quiet affairs, as the 3:30 wake up is prohibitive of much nighttime fun. However, this week we had a moonday holiday as well as our regular Saturday off, and so we enjoyed both of our free evenings as much as possible. The first we spent eating microwave popcorn and watching the pilot episode of True Blood, and when we emerged into the dark from my apartment for an evening walk the full moon was glowing brightly in the sky. The second free evening was spent down at Gokul Chats – a local hangout for snacks and tea and fresh lime sodas. We ate veg noodles, drank chai at a second stop and then strolled the main street admiring the lights and marvelling at the amazing talent of an Indian boy who cuts potatoes for hot chips into a bubbling cauldron of oil at the speed of light on an incredibly sharp mandolin.

Of course, when you wake up at 3:30 in the morning you're quite tired by 9:00 at night, and so it does tend to make our evening come to an end a little sooner than we might like, but hey, that's the price you pay to practice yoga at the source. In my humble opinion, it's worth it.

I've only got 10 days left in Mysore, and I'm already starting to feel a little sad. However, I'm determined to make the most of it, both inside the shala and out. This experience has been wonderful and though I tried to come without expectation, I think that it is turning out better than I could have hoped for.

I'll be posting again before I leave, so don't think the journey is over. Quite to the contrary, I'm beginning to realize. This trip is perhaps just the start down a path – and I'm looking forward to seeing where it leads.