India Journal 5
Thursday July 10, 2008
Yoga in the park.
A trip to the Taj Mahel.
Near my house there is a tucked-away oasis of green grass and trees called Bhagat Singh Park. Each Tuesday and Thursday morning at 6:30 am some other Hindi students and I meet there for yoga. The 5 of us occupy one corner of the open grassy courtyard. When we arrive, the park is already active with people from our neighborhood. In the other corners of grass there are 2 or 3 circles of older men doing yoga as well. When we begin our class, one of the other groups is already laying on their woolen blankets in final relaxation. Another group is rallying their friends and energy by a chorus of clapping followed by kinesthetic exercises that I remember doing in PE as a kid. Another group of men are in mid-laugh: every morning they do laugh yoga during which they let out intentional belly-bellows in rounds. There are also scattered individuals sitting cross legged with arms outstretched and eyes closed. Lined with bushes and flowers, there is a paved perimeter, that encircles the grass. Along that path are sari-clad women walking laps at a brisk pace as people relaxing on benches sit back and watch it all happening. The park is full of life and color. It is a marked contrast from the busy street that connects it to my house, whose brown and grey tones accompany the sound of horns and smell of exhaust. I always feel so good after starting my day in the park, leading our yoga session.
I have accidentally become resident-yoga-chick at the institute, thanks partially to the teachers who poked and prodded me to do it once they learned my moms profession. Which pleases me to no end, because having people to lead in yoga gives me the extra motivation I need to actually wake up and get myself to that park. But, I know, you are thinking, why in India would we not take yoga from one of the many master gurus? Besides that the nearest place is a pricey and time consuming rickshaw ride away, the classes offered at the Ashram near Rajasthan University are directed toward breathing and meditation. The other students and I are thirsting for physical exercise, because our lives are full of sitting. Sitting at school, sitting during tea, sitting at the nearest air conditioned ice-cream parlor while we do our daily load of homework. Even when traveling there are hours and hours spent sitting on trains and busses and in cars. Also sitting, are all the lentils and rice and bread in our bellies. Because of our sensitive immune systems we only ever eat overcooked food thats often been submerged in a sizzling vat of oil and smothered in ghee. And while it tastes good, I sure could go for a raw spinach and arugula salad with fresh onions and tomatoes right about now (the endless supply of fresh mangoes and bananas however are a nice substitute). It has also been difficult for me to get used to eating dinner at 10pm. Ive found that a pre-dinner nap is all that allows me to stay awake long enough to digest dinner before I fall asleep each night. And so, we have implemented a yoga class in the morning and are signing up for a Banghra/Bollywood dance class in the afternoon to try to balance the, moving to sitting-and-eating, ratio.
I am so lucky to have a whole class of students to confide in and relate to while I am so far from home. Even without them, however, I feel quite at home here. My dry skin loves the thick air and I no longer have to wear bug spray and sunscreen every moment I am outside. I have a small wardrobe of Indian clothes. Ive put up maps and an altar in my room and filled the shelves with books. In front of my desk there is a picture of me at the Taj Mahal. That part is a little too surreal and I keep chuckling that I look superimposed on the background of such a well known and beautiful monument.
The picture brings back memories of my trip to Agra where, after we toured the Taj at sunrise we beat the monsoon to a cafe nearby. Just as we sat down to order, sheets and sheets of rain came pouring down outside the window into the streets. Instantly the streets became small septic rivers. And just as quickly as the streets flooded all the children in sight ripped off their clothes and began playing in the water that reached their knees. The rain here is received much differently than in the US. Even I have begun to look outside and daydream for rain. When it comes I get wet, but I feel quenched. And when it stops, the whole city is shining. The dusty roads, after becoming muddy streams, turn into something close to settled and solid. The clouds of dust in the air disappear, the mountains in the distance become clear and the houses look as if they have just been white washed. Everything seems fresh and calm, bright and satiated. It rained a lot yesterday and I was able to sleep without drenching my pillow in sweat. I even was able to put a thin sheet over my body, which usually is one too many layers to bear. And when it doesnt rain for a few days there is a veil of tension all around, it seems that people grow anxious as the dryness and heat increases.
In this way, the connection between earth and people is inextricably a part of daily life here. The temperature inside is always comparable to the temperature outside, trash and waste is unsightly but in-sight and pigs and people pick through it for treasure and food. The ceiling in the kitchen washroom of my house is made of a grate that lets all of the rain in. In general, there is much thinner insulation from the conditions of nature. And while it is sometimes unsanitary, and often inconvenient, it is also refreshing.
Continue reading: India Journal 6
