We all have our own story, our own legends. I am remembering my first trip to Mysore. India had not been on my travel radar but I was serious about yoga and so when an article on yoga popped up in Vanity Fair my grandma clipped it out and gave it to me. I was so excited to see anything "yoga" and at the time there were not many books or magazines like there are now. You kind of had to know what you were looking for in order to find it.
I read through the article and a few pages in there is a spread on Ashtanga Yoga and how it comes from Mysore, India and Pattabhi Jois is still there, an octogenarian, teaching. And I thought to myself "well, that's it... I have to go" and nothing else mattered. The image was like looking back in time and I had no idea that I could be a part of that. I asked my teacher for travel advice and in his typical fashion, he gave none because that's what they all had to do. Just arrive and discover. It is part of it. Okay. And in a way, he was very right.
Another teacher put me in touch with someone based in Mysore. Once I bought my ticket, he gave me advice on a taxi and that I should stay in a hotel for the night (because you fly into Bangalore which used to be four hours away) and then head into Mysore where I'd stay for the first week at his bed and breakfast. So I get my visa to travel to India which at the time meant that you had to go to the Indian consulate and it was my first introduction to what it would be like in India. The rules, not rules. The feeling that absolutely everything would not be fine and then it would be totally fine don't worry except for those few times but that was magic too. And I skip the shots because I only have catastrophic health insurance and I don't even know where to begin to find that kind of doctor and I'm sure it will be fine. There wasn't Pinterest either. I have no idea how I knew what to pack.
I arrive in India around 3am. I later learn that this is normal. And so will be being fully awake at that time. Not just from jet lag.
I arrive in India around 3am and it is just me and a bag or suitcase I can't remember. I must have had some rupees because I walked outside into the dark completely unable to identify which cars were taxis. I didn't know what a rickshaw was. I had the name of a hotel that I was to stay at and the driver took me there. I paid for a night even though my car was picking me up in just a few hours. I didn't even have a watch. No phone. The hotel was over the top colonial - white with red textiles and gold trim. I am escorted to my room. I am exhausted. As soon as the door closes behind me I run toward the huge massive pillow cloud of a bed, leap into the air, and completely back flop onto the hardest, thinnest, best disguised mattress I have ever experienced in my life (up until that point). I groan myself to sleep.
Even jet lagged and pretending to sleep in Bangalore I didn't know if I would be able to practice at the shala. Back then it was called the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute (AYRI). There was a website and the application was simple: you mail a letter explaining why you wanted to come practice and include a photo of yourself. The AYRI would write to you if you were not accepted. Otherwise, you show up. I was so worried that maybe my rejection letter was lost in the mail. That I had come all this way... And maybe it was and maybe it wasn't. I got to my bed and breakfast. I registered for classes. I looked for housing. I had no money as my credit card and debit card were not working in the ATMs. My banks had shut them down.
That first month was very difficult. Friends I made would tell me that I should probably go home. "Some people just weren't made for Asia." They are probably still right. But being in the shala, practicing with Saraswati and Guruji and Sharath... it felt like home.
No comments:
Post a Comment