Before I left Britain, every Monday morning (in term time) for the last six years was spent in a yoga class. This was something I enjoyed very much, both the exercise and the social element. I vowed to keep up my yoga habit when I moved to India. It took me four months, but I'm back "saluting the sun" on a regular basis.
My friend Nitti arranged with her friend Parul to get a yoga guy to come and teach us in our homes. So on Monday and Wednesday afternoons at 3.10 we lay out our mats in someone's living room waiting for Ranvijay to put us through torture, sorry, teach us yoga.
The six years previous practice has certainly helped, but Ranvijay's yoga is really a world away from the yoga I did with Brigitte at the Malden Centre. Brigitte also spoke with a heavy accent, but hers was French, and her classes were yoga with a small element of traditional exercise. Ranvijay's accent is obviously Indian, and while we do some yoga (like salute to the sun, quickly, six times without stopping!), most of the class is exercise. This doesn't bother me, because while I really enjoyed the slow stretches we used to do, I'm not getting anywhere near the same amount of exercise I used to, just going about my normal day. Can't walk to school, can't walk anywhere outside the apartment complex we live in. Because it's not safe. Nothing to do with bombs, but all to do with the scant regard Indians seem to place on driving down the correct side of the road combined with a lack of footpaths. That and the cow, pig, donkey and dog poop...
But back to yoga...Ranvijay is determined to make us fitter, flatter and more toned than before. We don't always get to the end of his repetitions, or hold our pose for as long as he likes. On Monday he had us doing sitting forward bends, touching our toes. This is something I can do quite well (thanks Brigitte!). Parul found it challenging. She excused herself, complaining to Ranvijay, "LanaMam has shorter legs than I do". "ParulMam", he counters, "LanaMam has shorter arms than you do".
Indian yoga is also a lot noisier than British yoga. There's a quite a bit of chanting. Whenever Nitti, Parul and Ranvijay chant in Hindi, I stand there and rest. I've told them that until they provide written words, I'm unlikely to get much beyond "Om". We never chanted much at the Malden Centre, what with that British reserve and all. But the "bumblebee" is really rather pleasant. Put your index fingers in your ears, close your eyes and chant "Om". Go on... try it, you just might like it...
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3 comments:
Hmm the Om is probably best attempted (at least the first time) when you have the house to yourself. I suspect doing it in the wrong place in England would cause concern.
Glad you're enjoying it though, and I would have thought India would be the perfect place to work on yoga.
Not sure I could cope with not being able to walk places though. Still getting run over (or just slipping in poo) would be a bit of a waste.
Take care and keep blogging. I love hearing about the differenced in India. Oh and how are the milk bills looking?
I rather liked that Om thing. It does sound like a bee. I just love reading your blog and hearing all about life in India. Perhaps not quite what you expected? You seem to be coping admirably well.
How do you feel about other people reading your blog? I mean people whom you don't know. I would like to put a link from mine to yours, but won't do that if you'd prefer I not.
Omid Djallili, the Milk Guy, hasn't produced his November bill yet. I'm quite looking forward to seeing what he does with it. I enjoy his "abstract mathematical concepts". If the bill is too extreme I can always try to freak him out with the Om thing.
Kathy, you're most welcome to post a link to my blog on your blog. Once you're on the internet, you're not exactly private any more, so everything I write here I wouldn't mind my parents reading. Which is a good thing, because I know they do...
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