Yoga is a terribly old Hindu spiritual tradition that involves practices intended to develop mental and physical discipline for a spiritual path. The word yoga, “to yoke,” refers to the yoking, or connection, of the person to the divine. It is an experience during which one can connect to their body and bring their physical form into a deeper relationship with the sacred.
I'm not 100% sure on how tightening your buns and abs comes into the equation, but tomato, tomato (let's just pretend that works in text).
Generally, the form of yoga that Americans follow is Hatha Yoga, during which practitioners use postures and movement to eventually deepen meditation (or, in Westerners' case, to make you super flexible). Tonight, Pratima took me and the other volunteer in the house to a women's yoga session. They're free all over the city, and luckily we caught the first and easiest of the sessions. She drove us to a nearby sector (Chandigarh is arranged in 1km sections) and dropped us off at a house which, according to the sign, belonged to an advocate.
Pick a rug, sit down. There are five of us, plus the teacher, and I'm still getting those curious glances everywhere I go. Immediately, I know that this is not the yoga I would recognize. This is a whole different animal, but with no signs of downward-facing-dog.
OOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
It begins and we're sitting cross-legged, chanting OM (AUM) on the exhale, and the sound will never end. I can't keep it going as long as the others, and eventually begin to count. Twenty seconds. Quite impressive. Aum, the divine word, its vibrations deep in our throats manifest the divine. After a short period of this, they're chanting a prayer. I think I hear the word shakti, which would make sense since it is the divine feminine energy and the philosophy behind yoga and the chakras is based upon a concept of energy flow.
It's mostly light stretching and breathing. Nothing super strenuous, but all terribly relaxing. The instructor later tells me that an asana (posture) is only valuable when it is done with relative ease and competence, so I don't expect to find many people here in a wobbly scorpion pose.
Like meditation, the breath is everything. “If you control your breath, you control your mind,” the teacher tells me later. One of the practices simply involves sitting cross-legged and controlling the breath, the left hand in one mudra (thumb and index finger making a circle), the right hand mudra (index and middle finger down) is used to block one nostril at a time.
I've got to say, I think my favorite was the bumblebee song. This is just like the OM chanting, but involves making a long buzzing noise on the exhale. A close second involves looking at the top of your nose, sticking out the tongue, and making a “ha!” sort of noise. I imagine that we all looked like cross-eyed version of the fierce goddess Kali.
Picture: Madmeg.org
It's getting dark as we leave, and we shuffle past shops and restaurants and dart through traffic (an ordeal only a guide's presence allowed me to perform. I worry about us walking alone at dusk, but my housemate waves-off the idea; she's Indian, but lives in Africa for most of the year. Chandigarh, she tells me, is one of the richest cities in India. The crime rate is quite low. She hires a rickshaw, a bicycle pulling a small carriage. The fifteen minute ride proves to me that there is no need for amusement parks in India, and the man only asks for about 50 cents.
More delicious homemade Indian food. After my hostess frets over what to feed me, she learns that I will not tolerate anything other than what they normally eat. She gives me a penetrating look when she questions me on my ability to take the spice of the dishes; I can honestly say that they're perfect.
I've still got my share of exhaustion, but it's the best kind. I think I can really feel all the lingering vibrations from that buzzing bee song.
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