Landing at 11:30am in Bangalore after three flights, immigration and luggage, then getting into a taxi for 3 hours more. A bit tiring, but considering how crazy Bangalore traffic is during the day, we were happy to be in a cool night (freezing really for what we were wearing), and ride smoothly to Mysore. Elena, my sweet Italian friend, put us up for the night. We just changed shifts. She wakes up at 2:15am to warm up her spine, before she goes to the Shala to practice; we got there at 3:30am, and crashed like babies.
We woke up as she returned from practice, had a fantastic breakfast, got filled up on some of the happenings in Mysore, and borrowed her scooter to go search for a place to stay as well as practice.
It was a big step to move from my comfort zone and friend circle of Gukulam, and dive into Lakshmi Puram, the older part of town, or sometimes known as the real Indian as it is not as wealthy and set up for the westerners coming to practice with Sharat. There are a few of BNS Iyengar (not to be confused with BKS Iyengar) students teaching around here, and they all teach Ashtanga similar to Pattabhi Jois. Since our new pad is right near the Mandala house, we decided to give Cidanada a try. On my last visit here, I practiced with Sheshadri in the same place, now he has grown to having his own shala. I was pleasantly surprised with Cidanada. Nice calm beginning with chanting between every sun salute, a small class with lots of attention, strong adjustments yet with lots of care. BNS Iyengar still teaches pranayama, philosophy and mudra, at the Mandala house, so I was very happy for the opportunity to study with this 85-year-old man, a student of Krishnamacharya, and a character indeed. Mostly shaved head, though it has stubble as if it is shaved only once a month, with a large patch of salt and pepper hair left on the back, a red line climbing from his third eye up on his forehead for a good inch and a half, and a thick white heavy textured elongated half circle encasing it from the bottom like a deep cup holding a red stem. He wears glasses and looks at you from above the glasses as they rest low on his nose. He wears the traditional white longhi wrapped around his waist with a long Indian style cream or white shirt, with three buttons and a small Chinese like color, with one pocket on the left side, hanging over his medium sized belly. He enters the shala with his faded turquoise three quarter helmet, takes off his worn flip-flops and moves about barefoot, in slow motion. He has a similar accent to the one I remember of Pattabhi Jois; Yeit – meaning eight and a bit of singing to his sentences.
After so many pranayama coursed I have taken I am still enjoying this one, as the study is very gradual, similar to the Mysore style, one completes a pose and gets the next one, also here, when completed with a pranayama exercise, one receives the next. And do not think of this as breathing exercise, “That is respiration” Iyengar would say, Pranayama has a whole different purpose. I look forward to sharing this in my classes and workshops ahead.
Mysore changes some, but what really is new every time, is the experiences, no matter how much the same a place may look, it never is the same, as the Indians would say “same same, little different”. Experiences are of India but also of meeting other travelers, people from around the world, observing their perspective of a new place, sharing a discussion about Israel, conflicts and finding peace, learning about the yoga scene around the world, or about life as a South Korean Zen monk. Meeting an Israeli couple traveling with their three and five year olds, finding an American in his 60’s that left the US behind and now lives here. It is the little stories, the endless firecrackers on New Years Eve, the father on his scooter stopping by to wish Happy New Year as his son smiles staring at my Keen sandals, The rickshaw that would not start, and had to be rolled down the hill, kicked into second and jump started, so it can roll us through the bumpy roads to Gokulam, to have lunch at Elena’s and friends. A young women in jeans and a pretty tight T shirt showing her healthy appetite around the waist holding her tan Labrador cub, sits on the ledge of the temple square near the market hiding behind her fathers small SUV, waiting for him to return from the market. I smile and pet her shiny fur dog, an older Indian man comes to play with the dog, but obviously knows he is not allowed to touch it, so just plays from afar, casts and hierarchies are still very visible. We engage in conversation about the need to work in Bangalore and what it means, the great city and it being so over populated, she is the new middle class generation; the ones we see coming out of really nice villas planted amongst the older homes and buildings. A daughter of a doctor I project.
At the restaurant, enjoying the Indian food, Dosas and Idlis, the Thali meals, we sit in front of a man and woman, she is wearing a sari, black hair oiled and pulled back tightly, wearing a big nose ring. Him, wearing western like polyester pants and a light color dress shirt, having red color spread with a finger up his forehead tells me the importance of eating with the hands “Food tastes better you see, feeling the food, there is a connection”. They are lawyers and come the Mahesh Prasad a lot, “it is the best restaurant in the area,” she tells me. We speak of tradition, of the great necklace she wears to show the world she is married, the toe rings a married woman wears to stimulate her uterus, and that she needs not do yoga since she still squats to wash cloths in the bucket, washes dishes by hand, climbs the stairs, and in general uses very little machines. “The traditional life style takes care of me,” she says with a big smile and shiny black eyes.
Life in Mysore has its own pace, and I am greatly enjoying it. Even though much of life here has beautiful picture moments, I did not take out my camera yet. Maybe because I have been here many times before, it now feels like home, and thus I just smile at these moments, taking them in, but not recording them in pixels.
The street, the flavors are all part of one big live canvas, the amazing papayas that don’t even need extra lime to make them taste good, the walk through the colorful market, the intense smell of incense and flowers threaded together as necklaces, sold on the street or worn as ornaments on the ladies’ hair, blended with intense sweat coming off a group of men in line to make photocopies, dust and rickshaw pollution, smiling faces nodding their head from side to side, greeting hello, the colorful saris wrapping full bodied women, the smell of spices riding up the steam of milk from the small tea cups, the fruit carts on the side of the streets, the back and yellow rickshaws waiting at every corner to take you to your desired destination, and the cows.
No wonder the cows are holy, they symbolize the patience and endurance of life here. They go about slowly, eating around all that they find, sometimes being touched for a blessing, sometimes hit to move out of the way, and they, in their very nonchalant way, just move about, never getting angry, not violent, just surrendering to what life has offered them, grazing on the fields in front of them with no aspiration to become a cow of the Alps.
Showing posts with label Ashtanga. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ashtanga. Show all posts
Monday, January 3, 2011
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Guruji passed away, his tradition keeps living here in Palo Alto
Sri Krishna Pattabhi Jois, known to his students as Guruji, passed away yesterday, May 18th at the age of 93. Guruji was a student of Krishnamacharya in Mysore India, where many students including myself went to study and experience life in a different culture. Guruji was a person of dedicated practice, of joy and love for sharing. He was still helping students in backbends at the age of 90! As Guruji would say: “Practice and all is coming".
I celebrate all that he has offered us, and I am grateful for all that he shares with us beyond his body. Guruji's teachings shall live on and keep inspiring more students on the path of yoga, of union, of teacher and student practicing. I am grateful for the tradition we inherited, and the seeds that have been planted. We can see the flowers booming in many new traditions of yoga from power to Jivamukti through most Vinyasa flow classes out there.
Since March I have had the privilege to teach in Guruji’s tradition here in Palo Alto. Early morning Ashtanga Mysore classes 6 days a week and even some afternoon classes. I am blessed with dedicated students and a body that allows me to be of service to others. The classes are filled with the sound of breathing, of bodies moving on the mat pose after pose, like waves, flowing one after the other in a calm rhythm finding the connection to the great ocean of life.
As I write I look over my screen to see a beautiful vegetable and flower garden. It was such a treat to see how hard earth can be tilled and worked, and how with the aid of water and sun small plants grow to become flowers and lettuce. It is a miracle to watch. Very much like the miracle of students practicing finding growth in their body, mind and spirit. It is a gift to have the time to garden and feel the earth cover my hands, a gift to be able to cook my own food and eat it in a clam and beautiful setting of this garden with a fig tree bearing signs of fruit over my head. As a city boy I find so much pleasure in this small-contained farm setting. I balance it by going to a superb 5 rhythms dance class on Monday nights, a class of mostly free form dance, of allowing the body to flow in its own rhythm, connecting with beat and other dancing souls on the wooden basketball floor. Dance is liberation for me, a compliment to my Yoga practice, from form to no form; breath is always present filling my lungs and heart with oxygen, fueling my energy.
Today I wish to thank all my teachers along the way, for my life as it is today, and my teachings are a long necklace containing their pearls of wisdom.
I celebrate all that he has offered us, and I am grateful for all that he shares with us beyond his body. Guruji's teachings shall live on and keep inspiring more students on the path of yoga, of union, of teacher and student practicing. I am grateful for the tradition we inherited, and the seeds that have been planted. We can see the flowers booming in many new traditions of yoga from power to Jivamukti through most Vinyasa flow classes out there.
Since March I have had the privilege to teach in Guruji’s tradition here in Palo Alto. Early morning Ashtanga Mysore classes 6 days a week and even some afternoon classes. I am blessed with dedicated students and a body that allows me to be of service to others. The classes are filled with the sound of breathing, of bodies moving on the mat pose after pose, like waves, flowing one after the other in a calm rhythm finding the connection to the great ocean of life.
As I write I look over my screen to see a beautiful vegetable and flower garden. It was such a treat to see how hard earth can be tilled and worked, and how with the aid of water and sun small plants grow to become flowers and lettuce. It is a miracle to watch. Very much like the miracle of students practicing finding growth in their body, mind and spirit. It is a gift to have the time to garden and feel the earth cover my hands, a gift to be able to cook my own food and eat it in a clam and beautiful setting of this garden with a fig tree bearing signs of fruit over my head. As a city boy I find so much pleasure in this small-contained farm setting. I balance it by going to a superb 5 rhythms dance class on Monday nights, a class of mostly free form dance, of allowing the body to flow in its own rhythm, connecting with beat and other dancing souls on the wooden basketball floor. Dance is liberation for me, a compliment to my Yoga practice, from form to no form; breath is always present filling my lungs and heart with oxygen, fueling my energy.
Today I wish to thank all my teachers along the way, for my life as it is today, and my teachings are a long necklace containing their pearls of wisdom.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Dublin, Ireland
As the bus rides into town from the airport, my view out the window seems like Brooklyn to me. The same type of brownstones with a front garden and metal fence, the same size sidewalk, the local Irish pub (really local here…), and a bit of rubbish around. As we get closer to the center I feel like entering Manhattan, with wider sidewalks, some older buildings mixed in with newer architecture, lots of people on the streets, and the sense that its alive. I cannot see up through the bus windows, so I skip the fact that the buildings are not trying to reach God.
My first few days are filled with street roaming, between shops and some parks, soaking the holiday feel coming up. St Patrick’s day is Tuesday, and Dublin knows that this is a big day. I felt a big day already Saturday as it was a double celebration of Birthdays, triple really, for Tony, Fiona and their Dad all celebrated in a big gathering a t a French restaurant. Tony and Fiona are my hosts to their native land, friends I met in the US thanks to Yoga. Tis such a small world, the Ashtanga community. Tony and I got to practice Ashtanga with Luke in Temple Bar (down town Dublin), and even though the first moment Luke asks me if I’ve practiced Mysore style before, a bit later he comes and asks me if I am the photographer. We both were practicing in Mysore, India at the same time, and it is not long till faces meat again on or off the mat.
I notice how spoiled I am with the abundance of organic produce in California when shopping for dinner. Last night I cooked dinner for Fiona, Betty and Tony, a grand veggie feast. It was lovely. Rich roasted parsnip and carrot soup with scallions, butter head salad with blue cheese in balsamic / lemon vinaigrette, whole wheat baguette, zucchini mushroom lasagna in red wine tomato sauce, and for desert, drunken plum in wine and whiskey over vanilla ice cream. I am always happy when people scrape their plates and ask for more, even when the lasagna has no meat or béchamel sauce. Bon Appétit!
My first few days are filled with street roaming, between shops and some parks, soaking the holiday feel coming up. St Patrick’s day is Tuesday, and Dublin knows that this is a big day. I felt a big day already Saturday as it was a double celebration of Birthdays, triple really, for Tony, Fiona and their Dad all celebrated in a big gathering a t a French restaurant. Tony and Fiona are my hosts to their native land, friends I met in the US thanks to Yoga. Tis such a small world, the Ashtanga community. Tony and I got to practice Ashtanga with Luke in Temple Bar (down town Dublin), and even though the first moment Luke asks me if I’ve practiced Mysore style before, a bit later he comes and asks me if I am the photographer. We both were practicing in Mysore, India at the same time, and it is not long till faces meat again on or off the mat.
I notice how spoiled I am with the abundance of organic produce in California when shopping for dinner. Last night I cooked dinner for Fiona, Betty and Tony, a grand veggie feast. It was lovely. Rich roasted parsnip and carrot soup with scallions, butter head salad with blue cheese in balsamic / lemon vinaigrette, whole wheat baguette, zucchini mushroom lasagna in red wine tomato sauce, and for desert, drunken plum in wine and whiskey over vanilla ice cream. I am always happy when people scrape their plates and ask for more, even when the lasagna has no meat or béchamel sauce. Bon Appétit!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The gift of NY - the people
Front row of economy class, sitting with extra leg room in a metal tube, flying west.
Walking the streets and avenues of the city I know so well, observing the people, the greatest gift of NY; such a marvel of demographics, of color and accents. I watch as the moda of the 80’s creeps as zippers on jackets, as scarves, big necklaces and sunglasses adorn skin and clothes, adding accents, color, and design to already somewhat bright colors.
Leggings are everywhere, covered by tight super short skirts or dresses, like a stretched long T-shirt, paired with a pair of boots that either fold down as an accordion without sound, or have an extra long flashy zipper from bottom to top, like a seem on a hosiery on the back of the leg
Seems like so many have a fashion statement of a sort. Most women are wearing boots and heels, leaving me a sense of joy and glory at the beauty of the legs. Being a teenage in the 80’s I cannot help but be nostalgic. I admit it looks much sexier at my age and without adding the 80’s hairdo much prettier.
Like my artwork, like my life, this trip unfolded as an exploration of body and mind.
Silence and concentration as a young handsome man does a one-hand handstand on a little pole, splitting his legs apart, to the joy of the crowd. He wears little and white, exposing skin that is being stretched by muscle work and veins.
A hula-hoop master feels like Betty Boop, and a blond and a brunette fly up high in the open space of the striped blue and yellow tent flexing hips and extending legs, flying in coordination. The beautiful tan long legged brunette hanging off the bent leg of the petite blond. Living life to its fullest, flying with no security net.
Desir, a show at south street seaport hosts an exposition of body possibilities. Physic and concentration make this a Cirque de soleil wanna be.
Saturday at the Zen temple, sitting silently doing nothing. Breathing happens. Feels like home, so many familiar faces. Sharing lunch, I meet smiling faces that were in residence with me either at the temple or the monastery. The still body, the tired body from not sleeping much, the joyful mind, the space, the…
Halloween night (yes, this is not in order…) is a night of covering up, of new identity, a night to wear another layer of masks, to make believe, to bring desires to life, or hide. A night to allow one to be free from social codes, or is it?
As Lisa says: “A time to let what needs to die –die, and a chance to recreate that which has died and needs a rebirth.”
No masks for me, just a layer of urban elegance to cover up, as I join Tamar for a quiet night at BLT fish, a beautiful gourmet fish restaurant. Outside the remaining of the parade is still walking around, 5th avenue moves slowly. The Tuna tartar arrives on ice, with home made chips. Good touch of lemon. My swordfish was marinated in curry and then topped of with salsa, light with hint of spice, leaving the swordfish to still have presence. We sit at a corner table right by the open kitchen.
The wine is smooth, red, with fruit and a medium body. Enough to leave legs on the glass, but light enough to match the fish. “Should we drink White” Tamar asked.
I realize I have no more “shoulds” in life. Only being honest and sincere with what feels right. And red felt right in the cold NY eve.
The cab ride home flowed slowly through the busy east village, where the land of dress up seemed to be most at play. At this hour it was like a wax museum of humans standing at the curbs, freezing…waiting.
I could not help but notice that most female costumes, no matter what they were, were very sexy and seductive. Nurses with tiny little white outfits and large red crosses, super woman in a super short mini skirt, cats and cat women, being more like sex kitties, angels, fire women, sexy devils…or is it just my perception?
I smiled, enjoyed and watched, like swimming in a moving yellow aquarium with windows. Noticing how at every red light, people intoxicated leaning, falling, fighting for the impossible cab.
Being in NY as a visitor has such beauty and freedom. Apart from dropping off an art piece at a gallery in the lower east side for a show in December, all else was open. I realized that my favorite things to do are wonder the streets, watch people and flirt with some fashion stores, taste new flavors, do Yoga and see a few friends. Only what time allows. Staying with Jen in Carol Gardens opened a whole new flavor of NY to me. The larger homes and smaller buildings, the trees and little gardens, the sidewalks that have room to walk, and invite a slower pace.
Brooklyn is rich in many little moms and pops shops and restaurants, a delight of creativity, a feeling of a neighborhood and friendships.
I went to a variety of Yoga studios n the City. All ones I’ve never practiced at before. I attended Kirtan at Jivamhukti and Dharma Mitra Yoga, but have not practiced Asana there.
It was a delight to taste new flavors, Practice with new teachers, and reaffirm that the way I teach feels right for me, and is surely my way. A unique way, that stands on the shoulders of my teachers. Inspired by many great, and synthesized into a truth that flows through me, like many rivers into an ocean, where the drops no longer belong to anyone.
I practiced at Eddie Stern’s studio in the Soho, and got to see some friends from NY and from Mysore, India. The Ashtanga community is a small one, where a similar face always appears.
Yoga Sutra, on 5th and 42nd, across from the NY public library, and half a block form my old office at Tahari, is a whole floor of 3 yoga studios. It is sweet to see how NY is now floured with Yoga on every corner, the need to balance the work life with some peace.
I must say though, that most classes I’ve taken have felt to me as creating more Vata imbalance
(Vata being the air and space element, the movement aspect in Ayurveda), strong classes for A type people, Lots of distraction, music, words, fast pace…I always leave a Yoga class feeling good because of the body work, but only sometimes do I leave levitating thanks to a graceful teacher allowing space for grounding, for connecting with the breath, permitting surrender and letting go.
Wearing my new black hoody with extra silver zippers cutting the cotton in an angle, I leave NY. I feel gratitude for the entire people roaming this city. For all those that shared moments with me (even if I have not mentioned their names here), for the generosity of my host, and for random encounters that make NY such a fabulous place.
Walking the streets and avenues of the city I know so well, observing the people, the greatest gift of NY; such a marvel of demographics, of color and accents. I watch as the moda of the 80’s creeps as zippers on jackets, as scarves, big necklaces and sunglasses adorn skin and clothes, adding accents, color, and design to already somewhat bright colors.
Leggings are everywhere, covered by tight super short skirts or dresses, like a stretched long T-shirt, paired with a pair of boots that either fold down as an accordion without sound, or have an extra long flashy zipper from bottom to top, like a seem on a hosiery on the back of the leg
Seems like so many have a fashion statement of a sort. Most women are wearing boots and heels, leaving me a sense of joy and glory at the beauty of the legs. Being a teenage in the 80’s I cannot help but be nostalgic. I admit it looks much sexier at my age and without adding the 80’s hairdo much prettier.
Like my artwork, like my life, this trip unfolded as an exploration of body and mind.
Silence and concentration as a young handsome man does a one-hand handstand on a little pole, splitting his legs apart, to the joy of the crowd. He wears little and white, exposing skin that is being stretched by muscle work and veins.
A hula-hoop master feels like Betty Boop, and a blond and a brunette fly up high in the open space of the striped blue and yellow tent flexing hips and extending legs, flying in coordination. The beautiful tan long legged brunette hanging off the bent leg of the petite blond. Living life to its fullest, flying with no security net.
Desir, a show at south street seaport hosts an exposition of body possibilities. Physic and concentration make this a Cirque de soleil wanna be.
Saturday at the Zen temple, sitting silently doing nothing. Breathing happens. Feels like home, so many familiar faces. Sharing lunch, I meet smiling faces that were in residence with me either at the temple or the monastery. The still body, the tired body from not sleeping much, the joyful mind, the space, the…
Halloween night (yes, this is not in order…) is a night of covering up, of new identity, a night to wear another layer of masks, to make believe, to bring desires to life, or hide. A night to allow one to be free from social codes, or is it?
As Lisa says: “A time to let what needs to die –die, and a chance to recreate that which has died and needs a rebirth.”
No masks for me, just a layer of urban elegance to cover up, as I join Tamar for a quiet night at BLT fish, a beautiful gourmet fish restaurant. Outside the remaining of the parade is still walking around, 5th avenue moves slowly. The Tuna tartar arrives on ice, with home made chips. Good touch of lemon. My swordfish was marinated in curry and then topped of with salsa, light with hint of spice, leaving the swordfish to still have presence. We sit at a corner table right by the open kitchen.
The wine is smooth, red, with fruit and a medium body. Enough to leave legs on the glass, but light enough to match the fish. “Should we drink White” Tamar asked.
I realize I have no more “shoulds” in life. Only being honest and sincere with what feels right. And red felt right in the cold NY eve.
The cab ride home flowed slowly through the busy east village, where the land of dress up seemed to be most at play. At this hour it was like a wax museum of humans standing at the curbs, freezing…waiting.
I could not help but notice that most female costumes, no matter what they were, were very sexy and seductive. Nurses with tiny little white outfits and large red crosses, super woman in a super short mini skirt, cats and cat women, being more like sex kitties, angels, fire women, sexy devils…or is it just my perception?
I smiled, enjoyed and watched, like swimming in a moving yellow aquarium with windows. Noticing how at every red light, people intoxicated leaning, falling, fighting for the impossible cab.
Being in NY as a visitor has such beauty and freedom. Apart from dropping off an art piece at a gallery in the lower east side for a show in December, all else was open. I realized that my favorite things to do are wonder the streets, watch people and flirt with some fashion stores, taste new flavors, do Yoga and see a few friends. Only what time allows. Staying with Jen in Carol Gardens opened a whole new flavor of NY to me. The larger homes and smaller buildings, the trees and little gardens, the sidewalks that have room to walk, and invite a slower pace.
Brooklyn is rich in many little moms and pops shops and restaurants, a delight of creativity, a feeling of a neighborhood and friendships.
I went to a variety of Yoga studios n the City. All ones I’ve never practiced at before. I attended Kirtan at Jivamhukti and Dharma Mitra Yoga, but have not practiced Asana there.
It was a delight to taste new flavors, Practice with new teachers, and reaffirm that the way I teach feels right for me, and is surely my way. A unique way, that stands on the shoulders of my teachers. Inspired by many great, and synthesized into a truth that flows through me, like many rivers into an ocean, where the drops no longer belong to anyone.
I practiced at Eddie Stern’s studio in the Soho, and got to see some friends from NY and from Mysore, India. The Ashtanga community is a small one, where a similar face always appears.
Yoga Sutra, on 5th and 42nd, across from the NY public library, and half a block form my old office at Tahari, is a whole floor of 3 yoga studios. It is sweet to see how NY is now floured with Yoga on every corner, the need to balance the work life with some peace.
I must say though, that most classes I’ve taken have felt to me as creating more Vata imbalance
(Vata being the air and space element, the movement aspect in Ayurveda), strong classes for A type people, Lots of distraction, music, words, fast pace…I always leave a Yoga class feeling good because of the body work, but only sometimes do I leave levitating thanks to a graceful teacher allowing space for grounding, for connecting with the breath, permitting surrender and letting go.
Wearing my new black hoody with extra silver zippers cutting the cotton in an angle, I leave NY. I feel gratitude for the entire people roaming this city. For all those that shared moments with me (even if I have not mentioned their names here), for the generosity of my host, and for random encounters that make NY such a fabulous place.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)