- Preamble -
I'm on a writing kick. My goal is 200 words or more a day. I'm going easy on myself when it comes to quality. That doesn't mean you have to, you can shit on my dreams if you'd like you made-up internet people. Just saying, I'm going to be publishing a lot more and much of it will be unedited, self-expression crap. You've been warned.

- End preamble -

I went to a Yoga class for the 2nd time in my life this morning. The first time was 12 years ago. I was living in Northampton and I went to the joint underneath the no-neck gym around the corner. There was a fruity white lady in her late 30s leading me in nasal Sanskrit chants... I dunno, I'm not some hard-core avenger of cultural appropriation. If anything, white folks doing Yoga has caused a renaissance in India - a good thing I suppose in the net computation. Still, it annoys the fuck of out me, and when I was 20 and feeling my "identity oats", it kinda turned me off to the whole thing.

Vini started bringing home a Yoga teacher home when we lived in Delhi 5 years ago. That was awesome. He was a fat guy with a kind whistley voice, round coke-bottle classes, a bowl cut and a thick black mustache that seemed a second or two behind the rest of his face. He used to say "See inside" a lot. He never really demonstrated anything impressive, but there was a humble grand master kind of vibe around him that if he wanted to he could probably shove his foot in his mouth and pull it out his butt while standing on his head.

Anyway, I practiced for awhile, first just on Thursdays with the guru and after awhile when I sprained an ankle and couldn't go play ball, I started doing it daily. The daily thing lasted about a year. Pretty impressive considering I was drinking and smoking pretty heavily throughout.

Well, then fatherhood happened, several sports injuries happened, a stressful job is still happening. I doubt I'll get back to daily status, or even silent joints status, but since I'm nursing a sprained ankle, I figured I should try.

The class today (Bangalore) was with props. It was 25 (mostly overweight) aunties and me in a circle around the room. I had 3 bricks supporting myself at various extremities, a messed up fuck-face and stunted breathing throughout the hour. It's a good thing I'm a parent. Pride is one of those things you give up when you have someone screaming at you to come wipe their ass multiple times a day. Not giving a damn is pretty much my greatest asset now.

The teacher was a younger guy named Sandy (Sandeep). Also a little portly in the belly, but undeniably strong and agile. Notable was how there was almost no religious or ceremonial overtones and what was there was purely opt-in and unobtrusive. The class was mostly Sandy talking through a charming parental smile and doing something totally unnatural and amazing while pretending not to notice the group giving him that unique expression of disgust, envy and fear. Following that, reluctant popping of joints, grunts and the occasional flop. Switch legs and repeat.

Torso straight, breath open, shoulders back. I don't know how I can live without this, let's see... Discipline... Discipline... Discip..zzzzz


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