Enough

I've seen enough.
I've smelled enough.
I've bought enough.
I've eaten enough.

I've certainly felt and experienced enough.

I'm ready to be home.

I asked a friend earlier if he was "Pune weary." He has been here a month longer than me. His eyes answered yes, but he was still smiling. Weary does not do my feelings justice. I am, to a certain extent, a more active, fiery personality. I'm fed up. I feel like my whole time here, is a lesson in tolerance, amazing patience and the biggest sense of, "oh well, it's India" ever. Not a day goes by here when that phrase does not get run through my head at least 500 times.

I have been reading a book in my spare time here. A thick book. A gripping, amazing, involving book called Shantaram. It is a true story about a man, Gregory David Roberts, who escapes Australian prison and flees to Mumbai, India. At the beginning of the tale, the main character recounts how all of his new Indian friends tell him he has to "surrender to India" and "give himself to India."

The other night as I lay over a bolster in Prashant's pranayama class, he was asking us to examine the emotions of the inhale and exhale. They both felt tight, stifled, uncomfortable, almost fearful. I cannot surrender and give myself completely to India. Even in the most relaxing moments, I am still holding myself a little bit above the vast ocean of this experience.

It's not that the streets are filthy. It's not that this is an immensely over-populated country where the poverty and suffering is a visible, tangible part of every day life. No matter who you are, or where you go, you will see something that you wish you did not. It's not the language barrier, the smells or the odd looks I get for my white face and tattoo coverage. None of those things really bother me too much.

It's the dogs.

Even if they are untame wild beasts who may rip my leg open, in my eyes they still have the helpless innocence of a creature that is a victim of human negligence. Some of them, I know, see my heart. Just this morning, a big, sweet goofy dog walked right up to me and began whining. There were other people milling about, but he pegged me for the sucker. And he chose correctly. I bought a package of biscuits and put them on the pavement for him. As I walked away, he followed me. He had a limp, patches of hair falling out, and black, sad eyes that stared deep into me.

Each time I see a dog, it is a knife in my chest. Some of them look amazing healthy. Most do not. I have seen dogs that look like walking skeletons, dogs with no hair, dogs with one eye; I saw one poor beast this morning so ravaged by fleas that all his hair was gone and he could not walk properly because of all the scratching he was constantly performing. I could continue this post for lines and lines and lines describing the everyday canine horrors that I have seen and heard. I am chosing to spare both you and myself the agony.

I feel like animal suffering is not something that I should de-sensitize myself to. Do I want to be the kind of person who can look at a helpless creature suffering, feel nothing and not be moved to help? I do not think that I do. So, until this conflict within me reconciles, I cannot give myself fully to this place.

Sunday Off

I am a firm believer in resting.

A day off can work wonders.

Yesterday, after the morning class, my legs were shaking, my back muscles spasming out and I was cursing the Iyengars for over working all of us. When I showed up for the afternoon open practice session, the hall was practically empty. Little by little, some folks trickled in, but the hall stayed relatively open.

When I came out of rope headstand, my legs gave out underneath me and I very nearly buckled into a heap on the floor. I was exhausted from 3 weeks of listening and working so intently in the classes. This past week of classes was all backbends. I love and enjoy backbending, but after a whole week of pushing myself mentally and physically, I was pooped.

This morning, I woke up and had a liesurely morning. I sat on the little balcony that's covered with hundreds of tiny ants. I watched them move in and out of the apartment with some ant purpose of some sort while I drank coffee. Then myself, Steve, Sara and her really fun Australian friends took a rickshaw to a restaurant for a proper breakfast of fine South Indian food. After that, again into a rickshaw for a trip into the chaos of Laxsmi Road.

Rickshaws are funny little 3 wheeled vehicles that run on lovely smelling diesel fuel. They sound like sputtering airplanes with a nasal toned horn. Most of the rickshaw drivers do not speak much English at all. They drive with a remarkable sense of confident contentment as they weave in, out and around all of the many moving obstacles on the streets. It's like a very smelly, dusty roller coaster ride. For some odd reason, I actually find the rides relaxing.

Laxsmi Road is sort of a down town type of area. It's a sprawling, noisy, chaotic show of shops, food vendors (deadly to my fragile American digestive system) and people, people, people.

I saw an elephant, a three legged dog, a water buffalo, 20,000 motorcycles and 100,000 saris.

I returned back to my lonely apartment; quiet and barren since my Israeli roommates went home yesterday.I realized that my legs were no longer quivering from exhaustion and a scowl with a sound of disgust did not escape me when I re-counted the classes from this past week. I plopped down on some pillows and smiled to myself.

A day off can work wonders.

Guru Purnima

Yesterday was Guru Purnima. It is a holiday where Gurus themselves and the concept of gurus is honored. So many people packed into the main hall, easily 300. Those who came late and could not cram themselves in poked their head in through a door way, sat on the stairs, or watched the proceedings on a television monitor outside in the courtyard. We were packed into the main hall so tightly that we barely had room for our knees as we sat in simple cross legs. Anytime we had to move a leg, or change position, it was understood, our neighbor was a part of that process. My back got bumped, my hair pulled and my right leg was a knee support for the lady next to me for a time. It was all fine. None of these actions was done out of violence, or even heedlessness, there was simply no other option because it was so crowded. We were all there for the same reason: to pay our respects to Guruji Iyengar, to hear him speak, to be in his prescence and as Zubens put it, "to associate ourselves with him."
Zubens is a lovely individual with a fabulous smile. He was one of the teachers who accompanied Geeta to Portland, Oregon for the teacher's Convention in May of 2010.
Zubens was given the task of orating and basically running the evening function that was Guru Purnima at the Institute.  He said something that really resonated with me.

" A guru is not someone who gives us answers, but rather, asks us more questions which encourage us to seek the answers."

That simple comment really had a profound effect on me. It made me examine everything that I feel and perceive here in India, in Pune, at the Ramamani Iyengar Yoga Memorial Institute.

Guruji( Mr.Iyengar) and Geetaji(daughter of Mr. Iyengar), with Zubens statement, became more realistic and tolerable in my eyes.

They are both horrifying and welcoming.
Rude, yet amiable.
Fierce, yet polite.
Cruel and compassionate.
They are everything and nothing simultaneously, they do not hold back.
They do not hold back in their criticism and demands of us, the students; but they also do not hold back their own humanity.
Geeta comes into the hall to teach us, knees wrapped, neck in a brace, coughing, with a water bottle to keep her throat from drying.  She allows us to see these things without fear. Perhaps she hopes that we will look at our own shortcomings with a more realistic, and less dramatic eye.
Guruji to me seems full of energy. It's endless. Forget about wishing that I have that much energy at 94, I wish I had that much energy now, at 39.
During his talk to us for Guru Purnima, he told us that we are all tamasic, dull ,lifeless. He told us that we have come to use props as a way to give ourselves support for our laziness, rather than use the props to teach us something about our bodies and our intelligence.
He said all of these things to us with a big beautiful smile on his face. He was not speaking to tell us how impeccably fabulous or disgustingly horrible we are. He was speaking, hoping that we would learn something from his words.

Our guru brings us face to face with the greatest of dualities.
I am strong; no, I am weak.
I am courageous, no, I am terrified.
I am calm; no, I am a nervous wreck.

To gain strength, I have to discover the weakness.
To be brave, I have to fear something first.
To calm myself down, I certainly first have to know what an un-calm state is.

I want to be as close to them as possible, while at the same time, I am horrified by simply being in the same room with them.
Being in the prescence of the Iyengars puts me in a storm of emotions. If  I do not work to make this storm subside into a reconciliation of calmness and surrender, then it's over, I'm lost and God only knows where you'll find me.

After the function, the talks of Guru Purnima were concluded, we are given the chance to pay our respects to Guruji and Geetaji.  I stand in a small line of people waiting to do this. To each of us, it is of individual importance, and no doubt means something different and yet the same to all of us.


I touch my chest, my heart, I put my hands in prayer position and bow before them as I say thank you. Both Geetaji and Guruji bow in return with the brightest smile in the world. Then I go to my knees and put my forehead on their feet. Geetaji placed her hand on my head as I bowed before her. Such a soft, gentle gesture from such a fierce lady. I love her.

 The Iyengars bring my consciousness so close to the breaking point that I have no choice but to heave myself up over the cliff's edge, stand tall and receive their teaching. In the moment it is harsh, painful; but only moments later, breaths later, it is liberating and I experience a freedom and relaxation like nothing ever before.

Hmmm

Mr. Iyengar is very demanding.
No shock there.

When he starts to yell, a growling quality takes over his voice. He sounds as if he is completely disgusted with us.

You are not doing it!
What's wrong with you?!
Why did you come here if you are not willing to do the work!?
You are not listening!!

My response is to buck up and bust my ass to do what he's asking. Almost, with an "I'll show you, I can do it!" attitude. This attitude is what keeps me away from thoughts like, "oh, what a vicious monster" or "oh for the love of God, get me out of here!"
I think he gets just as exhausted as we do. By the end of class today, by arms were shaking from so much work. New actions and untouched regions in headstand and shoulderstand made me lift up taller than ever before. I'm feeling it now, even with just the simple actions of typing these words.

The interesting and quite lovely thing, is the end of class.
Savasana.
Mr. Iyengar lays over the backbending bench as he tells his granddaughter Abbi how to instruct us in Savasana. Seriously, in only 60 seconds, I felt more deeply relaxed then ever before;especially after doing so much physical work all through class.
In Savasana, the instruction was to let the root of the tongue at the back of the jaw become as thin and soft as the tip of the tongue. At first, my brain rebelled. "What the #/&*?  How can I possibly make the root of my tongue thin and soft?" Then I relaxed, brought my attention to the root of my tongue and began to just relax there, and soon thereafter, my jaw muscles relaxed, my eyes felt completely soft and passive while my whole physical form began to settle down to the floor. Then my mind became completely quiet and receptive to even further depths of relaxation. Hmmm. All from listening to the teacher.

City of Vrttis

Pranayama class at the Institute is very interesting.
This city, Pune, is a very loud place.
The second floor of the Institute, where the classes are held, has a whole wall of wide open windows through which the noises from below, above and beyond float in to asault your ears.
When I laid down over the bolster at the beginning of pranayama class, I was ready to welcome the sense of calmness and yet alertness that working with  the breath and feeling its affects can bring. Instead, I found my brain setting to the task of identifying and classifying the noises from outside.

A jack hammer from the construction on a house just next door.

A lady sweeping the sidewalk below, constantly.

Several horns from a wide variety of vehicles being blown off continuously.

So many people shouting.

Dogs barking.

The birds, oh my God, the birds. I like to listen to the differences between the crows and the hornbills.

How much time went by before I realized Geeta was instructing us to do something? What was it? I am sure it had nothing to do with what was going on outside.

Be with your exhalation.
Feel what happens to your arms as you exhale.
Let the exhale be smooth- dog fight. What's that about? Is it any of the dogs that were out there earlier, I hope- stop. Right, exhale.

As you inhale, feel the inhale and the energy move up the inside of the trunk.
Be on the inside of the trunk only, do not lift the shoulders -a cat started wailing. Was it that cute calico cat I saw just before class started? Is it fighting with another cat?  -stop, right, inhale.

This process went on for probably about 30 minutes. Each time a noise intruded, I had to make the effort to stop the train of thoughts that would become a rambling story.  I had to train myself to simply hear the noise and make that be the end of the process.

More dogs barking-Intrusion.
Two ladies screaming at eachother- Intrusion.
car horns, truck horns,  motorcycle horns- Intrusion.

At last, I came to a place where the sounds were existing and I was existing, but I was with me, not them. What was the need really, of labeling and classifying these inconsequential sounds?

Then I realized that everything makes noise, nothing that is alive is completely silent.
The sound of my breath was like a gentle breeze. My body made little noises as different areas released and settled towards the floor. My eyelids released towards my eyelashes, and a small sound escaped the flesh there as they became smoother. Little by little, the noises from outside me and inside me began to join together. There was no more distinction between the barking dog and the releasing eyelid. It all came together to produce a vibration that I used to further relax myself.
This may be so simply because I had no other choice. What was I to do? Lay there, classifying odd fragments of city sounds with an occasional in breath for good measure? What good is that? Certainly not worth the cash I laid out for the plane ride over here.
At one point, I thought I couldn't do it. Surely, I thought to myself, I should just get up and dash out of here before Geeta has a chance to yell at me. There were a few moments like that; where I tormented myself with indecision and lack of confidence.
Not only is Samshaya(doubt, fear, loss of hope) miserable, it's boring. Tapas(self-discipline, burning desire to improve yourself) is so much more exciting.

The Simple Things

When I got to the main hall for practice this morning, it was jammed full of folks. So crowded! I found enough space to put a mat down, although I had to keep it folded in half. I was able to work in this small amount of space for most of my poses. When I was doing leg lifts, my feet were landing just above someone else's legs and with my arms over head, my hands were situated underneath someone else as she did standing poses. Despite this, we all managed okay.
Practicing in a room with this many people is kind of like the heavily trafficed roads here in India. You must be calm and alert at all times, watching out for those around you while staying in complete control of your own movements. If you space out for even a moment, disaster may occur.
About half way through my practice, I was seized by the urge to urinate. The bathroom at the Institute is pretty nasty. There are 2 stalls, one with a regular American toilet, the other with an Indian squat toilet. The floor is wet with a layer of water mixed with pee and the whole bathroom smells like pee as well. They ask that you wash your hands and feet after using the bathroom, but there are no soaps or towels provided to do so. This means that once you have relieved yourself, and splashed your nether parts with water, rinsed your hands and feet off with water, you are a sopping wet mess. Hands, feet and pants are all wet and they like you to try and dry off before you trek back upstairs into the main hall. This whole process could take up to 10, maybe 15 minutes.
Knowing all this is in store, I decided to see how long I could hold it. Finally, wanting to practice more abdominals meant I was going to have to suck it up and use the restroom. By that time, I was about to wet my bloomers. I rushed downstairs to the bathroom to find a line of 4 people. No way.
I dashed across the street to my apartent, thankfully drained my bladder and finished my practice in my bedroom.No worries.

Where Am I? Here I am.

I flew from Atlanta to Newark, from Newark to Belgium, and from Belgium flew to Mumbai. Then from Mumbai, I got in a car and rode for 3 more hours onto Pune. On the ride over, I saw some cows milling around the street, lots of dogs almost get flattened by traffic , a few people sleeping on the sidewalk and some men pissing on the street while all of this went on around them.
India.
I arrived in Pune at 3 am India time. I am still adjusting. Jet lag symptoms for me are fatigue (obviously), nausea, dizziness, light headedness and nervousness. Jetlag brings upon me the feeling of being isolated and outcast in a strange place where I will find no help, no comfort.  Not to mention an overwhelming feeling of emptiness at being apart from my husband and animal family.
I feel like I am settling in a little bit now that a week has passed by. My body is very aware that it is on the other side of the globe. Sleeping when it should be awake and walking around, trying to function when it is normally slumbering. Connecting with people, especially folks that I know from other workshops, etc, really helps me feel like I am not a lonely freak, wandering about a chaotic, unfriendly land. It seems that most folks go through an over all feeling of discombobulation after so much traveling.  The great thing about dis- combobulation is the re- combobulation.

I have run into some fabulous folks who have helped me out with simple things, even though they met the world to me at the time. My friend Collin, who I met in Louisiana, gave me a cable to keep my phone charged up and his friend Larry, witnessed me in a major panic the morning I arrived. I could not get my phone to work, and honestly, being sleep deprived and just plain out of sorts, samshaya  had completely taken over. I was imagining my family at home wondering about me, waiting for my call that never came. Larry calmed me down, fixed my phone and in general, was just a sweet, helpful individual in a moment of crisis.

Classes have begun and my sanity is beginning to return. I do not think I will ever stop marveling at the simple power an asana can have over me. This is the week of standing poses. So far I have had one brilliant class with Geeta and another brilliant class taught my Mr.Iyengar and his granddaughter, Abbi.
The major theme of both of these classes has been the work of the legs. In both classes we have been instructed to not allow ourselves to get carried away with the arms or trunk before stabilizing the legs properly. It's great. A simple thing like working the legs leads to major freedom in the rest of the asana and the entire body.  My legs were actually sore when I got out of my flat India bed this morning.
Here's the sequence from the class taught my Mr. Iyengar and Abbi.

Adho Mukha Virasana- we actually spent about 20 minutes working on this pose. This is where they began to establish the work and stabilizing of the legs.

 Adho Mukha Svanasana- heels down! inner thighs back!!

 Uttanasana

Trikonasana- we did this pose several times. First the instructions were about the legs. An emphasis was put on pushing back strongly with the top of the back thigh. As we did the pose more and more, another action was added, untill we were finally able to experience how the work of the legs made all the actions that followed available.

Parsvakonasana- with an observance on how the torso is more extended than Trikonasana

Trikonasana- now trying to keep the torso long like Parsvakonasana

Prasarita Padottanasana

Sirsasana
Sarvangasana
Paschimottanasana
Uttanasana- feet apart, eyes closed

That's it, no Savasana, just that eyes closed Uttanasana, which was effective. There are not many poses at all in the sequence, but there was so much teaching, so much information and we did Trikonasana several times.

I am typing this post on a very old and crochety computer. It's true role in this world is not to send emails, but to cultivate patience of those wishing to send emails. I feel lucky that it has allowed me this blogging time. Hopefully, I'll get lucky again.