HEY 19


Everything hurt when I awakened at 4AM - everything.

And I couldn't go back to sleep.

I resorted to watching bad TV - HBO, Hallmark Channel, Disney Channel - for an hour, and tried to go back to sleep.

No luck.

SInce there was hot water at 5, I decided to take a bucket bath. Finally - hot water to wash the hair.

But still the body was in pain.

I drank the morning beverage of hot water with lemon. Nothing.

Hoping that I wasn't getting sick, and thinking that I was dehydrated, I drank a gallon or two of water.

I had a cup of chai, brought to my door by the wonderful night manager, Sanjeev.

Still I was in pain; the back hurt, an old shoulder injury was cropping up, everything ached.

Plus it was pouring rain outside.

I decided to practice anyway, thinking I could sweat out whatever was ailing me. Plus I always feel ill when I don't do ashtanga for a few days.

I rode to the shala in a downpour, and parked the scooter. It was still raining, and there was no sign of Beck, the coconut wallah.

Inside, the floor of the lobby was full of seated bodies; apparently everyone is scheduled for 8AM practice.

I sat down and waited as all of the others were called in (usually you go in the order in which you arrived in Mysore. Sometimes people are "moved up" to an earlier star time when a lot of people leave Mysore. Advanced students also usually practice earlier. I'm Ok with starting at 8 - actually it turned out to be 8:40 - since it makes for a reasonable bedtime... although by the time I finish Sharath has left the building).

The shala has that monsoon smell, meaning that everything is a bit mildewy and overripe. It was quite humid. My spot was behind the woman who accused me of stealing her "NEE-kuzz-ah" (knickers) two years ago. She has not spoken to me since.

I was like the Tin Man, working his way through the primary series. Everything hurt like hell and the body was stiff and weak. I haven't had a practice like this in eons. But I did it. The focus was fairly good. Twice I was told to move my mat to a spot closer to the front of the room, to make way for Saraswati's students (who practice after us, pay rs 2000/month and receive tons of adjustments).

I did not see Guruji during practice.

After five rickety backbends, I did the counterpose and made my way to the frigid ladies room to do the closing sequence. No need to belabor the backbends today, I thought.

The body only began to feel a bit better during the inversions of the closing sequence. But it was still not quite right.

Afterwards I visited the newspaper seller, who asked when I'd arrived. Then I went to the Green Leaf for iddly (to settle the stomach), kesari bath (a warm, sweet saffrom-flavored confection) and chai. Then I headed to Loyal World grocery/department store, which has been rearranged and is expanding next door. I found everything I was looking for - including nail clippers, a sponge and a new thumb drive (the old one gave up yesterday; I create these posts in my room, on the MacBook, save them on the thumb drive and then bring it to the browsing center. There's no wireless yet in Chluvamba Agrahara (my neighborhood), althrough the Three Sisters say they'll install it soon ).

I was driving home in a jetlag haze, stopping at a red light at a major intersection when I noticed a man in khakis and white cowboy hat gesturing towards me. "Oh no," I thought. "Ticket time."

I joined the queue of two-wheelers that had been pulled over. The scooter's papers were in order. But mine were not. Apparently you can no longer get away with having an Illinois driver's license ("D.L.") in Mysore, but now must have an international DL. I smiled at the police officers. I spoke to them in Kannada: "Have you had your breakfast?" It didn't work. Rs 300 (around $7.50) fine. Later I learned that the ticket is "good" for 24 hours, then they can fine you again. And again. And again. I was told to avoid that intersection, which is near the police station. Despite five trips here, I still get lost all the time. ARGH.

I returned "home" to good news at the Kaveri Lodge; my old room, #19, had been vacated. Vishwunath, the manager, smiled broadly as he handed me the key. "Your room ready, Madame." And it has a TV in it. Which is actually bad news.

I spent the next hour scrubbing down the walls. One was filthier than the others; it was the wall I DIDN'T wash back when I scrubbed everything down in 2004. By the time I'd gotten to that wall, I'd run out of steam and gave up. This time, I washed it first.

Later K.U. and I went to lunch at Three Sisters - I figured that their healthy taken on South Indian "meals" - rice, vegetables, chapatti - would revive me, and indeed it did. Zoe-from-NYC was also there, and it was lovely to catch up with her.

Also seen in and around the shala: Peter and Jude (who leave today, I think), Eddie, Jocelyn and Lily ( who arrived today, I think), Wendy and Chris and their girls, Joseph, , Bill-from-New Zealand and David and Simi Roche.

I'M HERE NOW

I went to bed at 10 on Saturday and awakened just before the 5AM call to mosque on Sunday; then I crashed again until 8.

At first I was disoriented; Why am I here? Isn't it a bit selfish to keep coming back to Mysore?
But then I called down for chai and drank some lemon water while I waited, and sniffed the air and realized that I'm exactly where I should be right now.

The chai came just as I finished the jala dhauti.

After a very soft home practice I visited the Three Sisters, who had kept my trunk for me; it turns out that some bugs infiltrated some of my clothes-bags. I went on the roof of the Kaveri
and shook them out; ick.

After changing money (41.7 rupees to the dollar. In 2002 it was 48), Ammu and I went to lunch at Desprakash, a huge restaurant/hotel with fresh, excellent thali (meals with rice, curd,
vegetables, sambar, rasam, chapatti, pappad, etc) - where Joseph and Jeff-from-NY were also dining.

Then we drove to Gokalum to pick up the scooter. The Honda Activa I usually drive has been sold, and the new one is a Scooty Pep -an Activa copy that works just fine.
After chai at Chakra House I went to the shala, hoping to register and attend conference with Sharath.

Guruju was behind his old desk at the shala, looking fit. Sharath was behind his adjacent desk, looking a bit beefy. I tried to chat with Guruji as I filled out paperwork. He laughed when I said
"Josti malay" ("Lots of rain" ; it's been pouring like crazy on and off all day).

Sharath talked for a long time during the conference (Guruji was nowhere to be seen). He was quite funny, and said many important things; also he never lost his cool, despite being badgered rather rudely with an avalanche of questions from a female student.

Among other things:


-When you do this, you build strength. But it's not like the strength you build at the gym. It's internal strength. The body becomes very light, but strong. It purifies the system, healing
the body and mind. The mind is very important. If the mind is not healthy, you cannot do anything; it is not possible to achieve your goal (the goal being of course self-realization, although he didn't aspell it out).

-If your teacher does not have the correct foundation, how is he able to teach students (he then gestured towards Wendy (I think), who has been coming for 15 years and has the correct foundation. "Faith is important." Some people come for six years, create their own kind of yoga and put their name on it. The shastras do not say that. It's important to follow the Yamas and Niyamas (ethical roots). You pratice yoga as a spiritual practice, not in order to become a teacher. Yoga should be like eating very day; it should be like, without yoga you cannot survive.
Many yoga teachers say they don't make enough money teaching yoga. "Then do something else." It is your karma to do. Don't expect anything from it.

-In the olden days, nobody had any money. Krishnamacharya lived in a small house. His grandfather (Pattabhi Jois) begged for money. They were very poor, very simple. HIs grandfather doesn't even know how famous he is. As simple as possible, that is the ashtanga tradition. Everyone wants to compete. If you have a good heart and faith in what you're doing, you will get everything. You don't have to worry.

-When your thinking is always on good things, the mind is very clean and becomes strong. It will help your daily life and practice also.

-There is only one goal of yoga - to realize what we are; to become enlightened; to connect with the supreme god, the supreme self. If not in this lifetime, then maybe the next if the karma is good. The body is like a set of clothes, but the soul does not die. Do good in this life so the quality of your next life is better.

-Then he took some questions. "Sensible questions," he reminded us. One woman with a fairly thick accent kept hammering away at him about diet and whatnot. She'd hit him with a followup question even before he finished talking about the previous one, but he never took offense.

He was asked about the importance of Dristi, and said that it improves concentration and can also be an important kriya in the form of trataka - which can be done in headstand. He said that there is meditation in the asana.

A longtime student from Florida asked about breathing, as in, How do you know when a student is breathing correctly? Sharath said that breathing deeply is correct (and demonstrated it). Then the heat will increase and make the body flexible. "I can tell when a student is not correct." If a student is not breathing correctly in backbends, they will get pain in the lower back. It will eventually go away. Then he told a story about when he was working on Eka Pada Kapotasana, when he was 23 (he's a rather gifted storyteller, by the way). Guruji was helping him and he told him Guruji he could go further, further. Then there was a pop in the upper back, near his shoulder. He could not raise his arm after that. But he was scheduled to give a yoga demonstration at a college the next day. Guruji wanted him to do it anyway. Amma (Guruji's wife) scolded him: "You will kill my grandson." But of course he did it. After one month there was more pain, and he cold not lift the arm. He could barely do half primary series. Guruji told him his breathing was not correct. Finally the pain went away. The body changes with time. It will not be the same now as it was a few years back. Every body has some limit. But you have to keep trying.

Many more questions were asked, and his answers were well thought-out. I've removed them from this post, as I'm trying to sort out whether or not posting everything Sharath said connotes a form of stealing (yogis are supposed to practice asteya, or non-stealing). If you would like this information, please consider coming to the AYRI yourself or studying with a direct student.


Then he spoke about the Sri K. Pattahi Jois charitable trust. They raised 170,000 rupees at Guruji's birthday party last week. There will be a live auction soon, featuring a signed, framed photo of a young Guruji in Samasthith. There are also t-shirts for sale. For more info click here.

AIR INDIA, YOSH CHOPRA AND RAINBOWS:
A RETURN TO MYSORE ITSELF

It was like it was all brand new - like I’d forgotten all of Caca’s Rules of Overseas Flight.

I didn’t take out my contact lenses before leaving the house.

I didn’t eat dinner at at the massive food court before going through security.

I didn’t stake out a seat in the lounge as close to the gate door as possible.

Instead, I focused on updating the blog. I got so involved in it that I jumped when a woman tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Is there an alarm clock ringing in your bag?” There was indeed a ringing alarm clock in my bag. Clearly it had been driving her and the others nearby quite mad.

Once on the plane, I was still in my beatific fog.

I didn’t put in earplugs.

I didn’t remember to chew gum.

I didn’t even scan the in-flight magazine to find out which Bollywood movies they’d be playing.

In fact I’d forgotten there’d even be a movie.

I guess I was in the moment. Talking to my seat-mates and whatnot.

And the ears didn’t pop once despite not taking proper precautions.

When I finally noticed that I was on a plane, and that the movie had started, I found out that my armrest was dead: no movie sound, no light, no pushing the red button to call call the air hostess to complain about it.

No problem; the lovely woman next to me allowed me to plug into hers. “I saw it last week,” she said. It was quite funny. I never did get the title. It may have been The Krazzy Four. As in, four mental patients get leave for a day and all hell breaks loose.

My seat-mates and I were quite a trio; the yogi-in-training with the tiny bladder on the aisle, the kind corpulent woman in the red headscarf the middle, and the skinniest NRI IT worker in the world on the window - a man so thin in fact that he could slide past the middle woman to get to his seat. Of course there were crying babies everywhere. The bathroom was trashed in no time. I loved it.

Midway through the flight I remembered again how to fly, and inflated the neck pillow and put on the eyeshade. They didn’t help. It seems the so-called Ambien that the pharmacist in Mysore gave me last year had either expired or was in fact a caffeine pill. Between that and the endless gyrations of my too-big neighbor, not much sleep was had. Oh, well.

In the Frankfurt the bathroom I put on the glasses and used the neti pot while scores of women watched.

Then I gave the Indian phone card a try; it worked, and I was able to text my friends in Mysore.

Four hours into the Frankfurt-Mumbai leg of the trip, the large seatmate disappeared and was replaced by a thin postdoc from Bangalore who now lives in Germany. She and the young IT fellow seemed surprised when I didn’t want to borrow the headhones for Om Shanti Om because I’d already seen it. She looked at my red-and-black Punjabi dress. “You must like Indian culture?” Yes, I said, Very much.

She spoke Hindi (as well as Kannada, German and English) and agreed to hang out with me at the Mumbai airport, where last time I nearly missed my connection because the gate was never announced.

In the jetway I got a whiff of that wonderful, indescribable incense-burnt-damp smell that I love so much. Slightly different than South India - a bit fainter - but quite similar.

In the so-called lounge, during the interminable wait for the gate, we talked about how difficult it is to get halal meat and good vegetarian food in Germany. At one my new friend lit up and gestured towards a man walking nearby, and I said, hopefully, “Did he announce the Bangalore gate?”

“No - it’s Yash Chopra,” the famous Bollywood film director and producer, who is so well known even I know who he is (which surprised her). There he was - a small grayhaired man, making his way through the airport at 1:30AM like it was no big deal.

We arrived 45 minutes late at the brand spanking new Benglaru International Airport. The pilot - a woman - made apologies about the tardiness of the flight, but said that it was understandable in light of the “recent tragic events in Bangalore.” I wondered what she was talking about.

This time when I walked down the plane steps, I sniffed the air and knew exactly where I was.

It was still dark at 5:45AM. Many men in yellow reflective gear were standing around awaiting orders as we walked towards awaiting shuttle bus. The new airport is spacious and as of yet unfinished. Three stories. Shiny escalators. There were scores of officials working the Customs area, and we got through quickly. Of course I tried speaking some Kannada with my agent. He was amused at first, then seemed a bit annoyed. Luggage claim was also a breeze.

And Ammu was waiting for me at the gate, flowers in hand (it was my birthday after all - although he didn’t know that. Yet), He was accompanied by his new driver, Manju - whom my friend Jammu describes as an international man of mystery.

On the way out of Bangalore we stopped to visit Jammu, an authorized Chicago ashtanga teacher who has been living here for the past four months while she awaits papers saying that she can take home the Indian baby she’s adopting. The baby is utterly adorable, and even let me hold her a bit. We went for breakfast, where I feasted on masala dosa and iddly-wada-sambar. Just the thing for a cloudy, coolish day.

From them I learned about the 9 explosions in Bangalore the previous day. Apparently some group had detonated them all at once. Somehow, only two people were killed. (On Saturday, there were 16 explosions in the Gujarati city of Ahmedabad ).

Then it was on to Mysore. The drive was interminable. At one “intersection” (there are speed bumps in villages, which force vehicles to slow down) we stopped and picked up a garland of fresh fragrant jasmine. I wanted to place it around the Ganesh statue on the dashboard, but apparently it was too late. “You have already smelled the flowers,” said Ammu. Apparenty you must take your pleasure AFTER offering it first to the deity. This also seems to apply to food and everything else.

In Mysore there is more traffic than ever. It seems that everyone has a Tata Indica car these days (including Ammu). My old room at the Kaveri Lodge was taken, so they put me across the hall in 17, which has a three beds, an Indian toilet, a TV and no running water in the bathroom sink. Within an hour I’d had a bucket-bath (there was still some warm water left in the tap despite hot water lasting from 5-11AM) and organized my things and had a 25-litre bottle of water delivered my room. Then it was time for a nap. They were out of topsheets, so I used the newly-gifted silk sleeping bag liner under the grey wool blanket (it’s cool here today) and went down for three hours of deep, dreamless sleep. Amazing.

I was still in a numb, jetlagged, half-asleep state, organizing my things, when I got a text message from Ammu: “Pls see towards chamundi hil rainbow u can se”

I went down the hall, walked out into the roof and looked towards Chamundi Hill. There was indeed a HUGE rainbow that I could see. Wonderful.

After reorganizing my things - it took awhile to remember where I’d put the wad of cash I’ll need to convert to 27,530 rupees for the shala fee - we drove up Chamundi Hill, where it was too cold, windy and foggy to wait in line to visit the temple. We scurried down, and dined on set dosa and corn soup at Saptagiri. Then we stopped at Nilgiri’s grocery and picked up some things (soap, cereal, soymilk, cleaning products (the room is a bit filthy even for me), washing powder, cashew biscuits, chikki, bananas, lemons).

Since my room doesn’t have a hook for a mosquito net, I stopped at the little shop on the corner and got a plug-in Odonos, a chemical solution to the maleria problem. The teenage shopkeeper and other shoppers were amused by my attempts to say “Sakoo” (“Enough”) when he asked me if I wanted anything else, and he had me say it over and over again. Finally I resorted to Hindi - “Bus! Bus!” - which caused even more giggling.

Back “home,” I said hello to the owner and the night watchman before going up to my room and cleaning up and changing into my PJs. Then I called down for a topsheet.

It was brought up by the former night manager, Manju. Apparently he no longer works here but wanted to say hello (he’s the one who picked up the phone when I made the reservation the other day). He was out of breath as he handed me the sheet. He looked at me, concerned.

“Why looking so dull today, Madame?”

No birthday could possibly have been more complete.

***

On Sunday I will try to register at the AYRI. Apparently there are 400 students here - this is a HUGE number for monsoon season - and who knows if they’ll have room for me. There’s a conference, too. Hopefully they’ll let me in.

GRATUTIDE

 

This is the emotion that's dominant, as I sit here at the airport typing this.

I'm grateful that the white and red Air India plane is sitting placidly at the gate a full three hours before takeoff.

Grateful that I'm here to see it.

Grateful that I remembered to bring wool socks to wear with the sandals, so the feet don't get cold during the 22 hour trip to Bangalore.

Grateful to all of my subs for covering for me.

Grateful to the cat's foster parents' for watching him, and for their report this morning that Kirby has already used the litterbox and eaten some food - a sure sign that he's forgotten all about me (and will be just fine).

Grateful to Gridlife for watching the car and the plants and being the Keeper of the Keys.

Grateful for Mon'ca for handling the bills.

Grateful to my subs, who are covering my classes. And my bosses, for letting me leave.

And to the students, who are so kind (and gave unexpected gifts so sweet it made me cry).

There's no end to the gratitude.

I've been in a state of grace since the Maha Sadhana weekend at Chandra's, where I was shown such warmth and hospitality and genuine caring, not just about the well-being and health but about the most important thing of all - one's spiritual state.  Words cannot express how humble and amazed and connected  it made me feel.... makes me feel.

I'm also grateful to my former neighbor Anne.

When Ira turned me onto the building 14 years ago, she was the old crone of the place.  "She's lived here 25 years," they told me.

She was always so kind to the cat, who would go down the back stairs and meow endless in front of her door.  

Last year she told me that she'd let him in, and he'd sniff around, check the place out, and leave.

I was horrified, but she seemed delighted by his trespassing. 

She had two cats when she moved in, but over the years they died.

I  think she secretly gave Kirby some treats.  How he loved to visit her.

One day some very fancy cat dishes appeared outside my back door

Kirby still goes down there and meows.

But I haven't seen Anne around lately.  She walks with a cane, and the stairs are difficult.

A few weeks ago there were some strangers in her apartment.  "How is Anne?" I asked.

"She's in a nursing home," they said.  "The stairs."

"Please tell her I said hello," I said.

I couldn't stay and chat because I was on my way to class.

But why didn't I stop and ask where she was? Which nursing home?

Earlier this week there was a pile of junk in and around the back dumpster.

I called the landlord, and learned that it was Anne's stuff. "We had to vacate the apartment."

I felt a pain in my heart.

Because  Anne is me, I am Anne.

She  is my mother and she is my grandmother.

I remember the two-and-a-half dumpsters we filled with my mother's things when we cleaned out her house (this was after sorting through it, keeping some items and giving most of it away).

I remember arguing with my uncle (who owned the building) about my mother's taking too long to clear away my grandmother's things.

And I thought of Anne.

It's all the same, I thought.  We're all the same.

And I thought of what  Chandra said over the weekend, about how God slowly strips away the things that are dear to us until nothing is left, and we're forced to take notice of him.

And I felt very grateful indeed.

 

THE GODDESSES MUST BE CRAZY


This is what happens when a pair of neo-luddites discover there's a video camera imbedded inside the MacBook Pro:








It's not unlike when the Bushmen find the coke bottle in The Gods Must Be Crazy:

GURU PURNIMA

Yesterday was Guru Purnima - the full moon day in the Hindu month of Ashad (July-August) sacred to the memory of the great sage Vyasa, who edited the four four Vedas, wrote the 18 Puranas, the Mahabharata and the Srimad Bhagavata and taught Dattatreya, who is regarded as the Guru of Gurus.

In other words, it is the day in which to honor the gurus.

It is also the birthday of Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, who was born on Guru Purnima in 1915.

This year I am doing my devotions from afar, with my teacher Chandra Om.

Here she is talking about how she found her guru, Sri Dharma Mittra:

ALL SYSTEMS ARE GO



I just called the Kaveri Lodge to reserve a room for 26 July.

The night manager Manju picked up the phone.

He is well, as are his mother and grandmother (they made me a most wonderful - and filling - Tamil thali meal last year)

In other news - apparently I will have some work when I get back!

I'm feeling very thankful today.

Very thankful indeed.




---------------------------------------

Video was shot at sunset on the roof of the Kaveri Lodge. In the background is Chamundi Hil, named for the goddess who slayed the demon Mahishasura (which is where the city of Mysore gets its name).

"IT'S SO EASY FOR YOU"





That's what someone said to me the other day.

"It's so easy for you."

They were referring to how *easy* it is for me to go to India.

Of course I resembled that remark. "It's not easy," I protested.

The person who made the comment has a "real" job, with a real income, and benefits, and a mortgage, and a spouse, and teaches yoga part-time. It would seem easy for them.

Until you realize that their spouse is not well, and they *have* to keep the day job.

As for me, well --

It's easy in that I have a ten-year visa and all of my shots.

The things that are not easy:

-Having no job security (not only did the health club director not get back to me on Tuesday - the day she said she'd give me a verdict about whether I'd have any classes when I returned - but another director is being rather coy about whether she'll have work for me when I get back)

-Not having health insurance. (At least in India I can afford a dentist vist and mammogram - which helps offset the price of the trip).

-Losing up to 1/2 your income for a month in Mysore that's more likely to result in dysentery than authorization.

-Not having that special someone to pay the bills, get the mail, feed the cat, pay the rent when I'm gone... and drive me to the airport.

Everything has a price.

What have *you* given up for the thing your gut says you have to do?



***




As Matt says, there's no lock on the cubicle door.

Anyone can leave, whenever they want.

You just have to make the leap.

BLOWOUT, DUMB LUCK
AND THE DIVINE PLAN

I nearly died yesterday.

After subbing Suddha's 10am class, I got in the car to drive to Dreyfus (my brother) and his wife's house. They live near my hometown, 50 miles northwest of Chicago.

On the Kennedy expressway, while going through the I-pass toll lane, I tried to call Dreyfus and tell him I was driving rather than taking the train. The call failed.

A short time later I was in the left lane, which was about to end. I started to merge to the right. I was doing about 50 mph, as were the other cars.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise and a terrible thud, and the steering wheel jerked out of my hands. The car started to veer into the right lane. It felt like half of the wheels weren't touching the ground.

Instinctively, I grabbed the wheel and tried to avoid the cars next to me. Then my car jerked the other way, and I tried to avoid those cars. I was still going quite fast. There was a noise coming from the back: THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! Did someone hit me, I wondered. Did the transmission fall out? What just happened?

But the main thought was, Please do not let anyone die. Don't hurt these other other people on the road.

And I gripped the steering wheel and steered as best I could. The car jerked back and forth across three lanes.

It was very similar to a dream I've been having lately.....

There was the screeching of brakes, and that awful thwack-thwack-thwack.

I ducked my head, steered, and waited for a car or two or three or four to hit me.

But they never did.

Then the car started doing a 360-degree spin. I steered into the spin and waited for the car to flip over. I kept the head lowered, waiting to be hit. Yet everything happened very fast. It did not go in slow motion. My life did not pass before my eyes. My only thought was, "Please don't let these other people get hurt."

Instinct did the steering. I was most definitely not the doer.

Finally the car came to a stop. In the windshield was the Rosemont Horizon concert center.

The car was perpendicular to the highway, blocking at least two lanes of traffic

The heart was being fast. There was the smell of burnt rubber. The body was shaking, but the mind was calm.

I was surprised to be alive. Very surprised.

I slowly raised my head, waiting to be hit by the oncoming cars.

But when I looked out the window, they were all in a line, facing me.

They were stopped, waiting for me.

I thought, "Someone is going to rear-end them," and realized I had to get out of there - fast.

But the engine had died. Automatically, I put the car into park and turned the ignition. It worked!

I put the car into gear and gingerly aimed it towards the right shoulder. It limped. The thwack! thwack! thwack! sound came from the back. I pulled to a stop as close to the rail as I could, and looked around.

The other cars slowly began to move forward. One pulled up behind me, saw I was OK, and left.

Three police cars in the Rosemont Horizon parking lot slowly drove towards me, and waited.

I sat and breathed. Traffic began flowing as if nothing had happened.

It began to dawn on me that I was alive, and no one else had died.

I saw that I was a few hundred yards from the Lee Street exit, and that the shoulder was some four cars wide.

So I got out to inspect the damage.

I picked up some pieces of the car as I circled it.

Then I saw the problem; the right rear tire.

Most of the outer tread was completely missing. Yet it was somehow still inflated, with steel belts sticking out and part of the tread hanging loose.



There were some dents near the wheel-well, and part of the fender was hanging loose. But it was more or less intact.

I called Dreyfus to tell him what happened. The squad cars in the Horizon lot waited and watched.

A plan came to me; I would drive the car to the Lee Street ramp, and look for a gas station.

I drove very slowly, with the thawck! thwack! thwack!, and hoped that the tire would remain inflated.

As I slowly drove towards the ramp, the state police car moved along with me in the parking lot.

But I did not see him after that.

When I got off the ramp, I took only right turns.

This whole time, I relied purely on instinct.

Cars behind me honked in exasperation, and I waved them on.

I found my way to a Steak 'n Shake lot, parked under its giant red-and-white sign, and called Triple A - which my nephew had given to me as a gift last Christmas. While they tried to figure out my location, I asked if they'd bring a new tire. But they said they could only put on the spare.

I waited for the truck to come.

I watched the planes descending into O'Hare airport.





I called Dreyfus.

i cleaned out the trunk and unearthed the tiny spare.

I did some mantras.

And I thanked Shiva, Brahman, Krishna, Kaveri, Durga, Amma, Ganesh, Dharma, Chandra, Guruji, the dead parents and grandparents and everyone else I could think of for watching over me.

Because I should have been dead (well, the body at least should have expired).

And so should many other people.

How, I wondered, could such a fantastic accident have occurred, on a very busy four-lane expressway, and not one car was scratched?

My gratitude increased when the gentleman from Triple A told me that when tires fail they usually explode - and that I was incredibly lucky that mine held together.

And I felt protected and safe and free of doubt.


***


Perhaps there is something to this yoga.....When I am teaching headstand in the middle of the room, I tell students to "steer" with their wrists, elbows and fingers; when they tilt to the right, I tell them to "steer into the skid" just as they'd do when driving on ice, and it will straighten them out. Apparently this also works doing a blowout - although I am quite certain that it was grace, rather than skill, that saved me.


***


While I was waiting for AAA, Dreyfus did some online research and found a Just Tires less than a mile away. They put on a new tire ($66), and told me that the defective one was not the correct size for the car - it was a full inch too big - but that probably wasn't the reason it fell apart.


***


Dreyfus and Mon'ca waited and waited for me to go through this ordeal, at home, next to the phone, their stomachs growling. When I finally arrived, we inspected the tire. Tires were our family business, and Dreyfus is an expert. His opinion: Cooper Tires suck.




Then we went back to our original plan - which was to have green pepper and black olive pizza at Half Time's in Johnsburg. But instead of late lunch, it was dinner. And it was the best pizza ever. I even had a few sips of beer - rare for me - because I was alive.


***

Afterwards we met my nephew (who gave me the Triple A membership) and his wife and daughter at the Fiesta Days carnival.






As I watched the thrill-seekers spinning around on the rides, I thought, "When you do it for real, it's not that much fun."




But then I thought, "In a way, these rides prepare you for what could happen."

And felt the breeze and smelled the fresh air, and fervently hoped everyone there would honor the two-second following distance rule.

I know I certainly will.



***


Afterwards Dreyfus took us on a scenic drive, and we saw this:




And it was very good to be alive, with people I love.

Very good indeed.

TROUBLE IN PARADISE




There's always a price to pay* for going to Mysore.

This time, one of the venues where I teach cannot guarantee I will have classes when I return from India. I don't blame them, but this could affect up to 1/2 of my income. Ouch!

(In 2004, I found out a few days before leaving Mysore to go back home that The Backwards R decided to give my weekly column to the sub - even though we'd arranged everything beforehand and I came home when I said I would. Canned by e-mail no less. Ouch!)

(In 2006, right after returning from Mysore, a venue fired me for being gone too long - even though we'd arranged everything beforehand, I returned when I said I would, and my sub was wonderful. They did it on my birthday no less. Ouch!).

(Bindi got canned a couple of years ago for teaching too long in Japan. That didn't deter her; she's teaching in Thailand at this very moment - and blogging up a storm).

Krista - who's in Mysore right now - just lost her Lululemon ambassadorship for staying away from home too long. Her post about it is wonderful.

At least Ursula got it right: she was let go from work and then decided to go to India.

I think the three of us should do a wet, rainy over-the-top Bollywood monsoon dance when we're in Mysore....

....and videotape it for everyone who's afraid of going and losing their jobs.



----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------




*Actually, most of the places where I work have been more than accommodating when it comes to my studying yoga in Mysore - including the venue that's on the fence about letting me keep my classes. Friends and family have also been incredibly supportive - and so have all the wonderful, generous substitute teachers over the years. Without them, none of this would be possible.

AMMA: THE AFTERMATH

I. am. so. tired.

Thousands were there to see Amma last night in her glitzy Devi Bhava getup, where she becomes the embodiment of the Holy Mother and "celebrates the feminine aspect of God and God's unconditional love and compassion for all humanity."

Thousands got in line to see her.

Our little group drew the number H3, which at first seemed quite reasonable.

But the line moved slowly; less than one letter per hour.

A couple of friends gave up at 11:30PM.

I stuck it out.

When darshan (the hug) finally took place after 2AM, all exhaustion disappeared.



Some highlights from the weekend:

-We had good "seats" on the floor last night; when Amma made her entrance I was able to touch her hand. Zing!

-I could be mistaken, but I swear that Amma was wearing rudraksha beads. Take that, all of you who told me "Ladies don't wear rudraksha."

-Both night's programs included a spiritual talk and meditation. Inhale: Amma. Exhale: Om. At Devi Bhava we also were given holy water.

-The South Indian dinner was excellent and all-you-can-eat - and cost just $7.50.

-One of Amma's newest charities aims to help prevent farmer suicides, an epidemic that's plaguing rural India.

-Every hour or so a new bhajan band sat down and played. As the night wore on, one became more tired - and more convinced that some of the singing was off-key.

-The disciples who guide you into the proper space just before the hug ask that you wipe any excess oil off your face with a tissue. New (for me) this year: The Kleenex wrangler now wears a white cotton purse-sling-holster that holds a box of tissue and has a special pocket for used ones.

-If you hold out your mala (prayer beads) a certain way, Amma will bless it and place it over your head.

-One of Amma's disciples is a dead ringer for Ben Stiller.

Make that an enlightened Ben Stiller, all in white.

AMMA IN CHICAGO



Amma-the-hugging-saint comes to Chicago every Fourth of July weekend. Her message, more or less, is "Love and Serve."

I went to yesterday's evening program out at the Yorktown Mall in Lombard.

(Yes, there is a saint in Lombard. At this very moment).

The hug I received, just after 1AM, cleared away many doubts.

It's just the thing when your own mother isn't around to comfort you, or you haven't seen your teacher or fellow sadhakas in awhile.

I'm going back tonight.

Details here.

Read my (humorous) 2005 article about the experience here.

And go get yourself some unconditional love.





* * *




SOME AMMA-ISMS (from her 2005 talks in Chicago):



Creativity is not an obstacle to a spiritual life, but we must keep in the back of our minds that nothing in the material world gives the joy of the spiritual life.

When we suffer, we should turn inward to find the cause.

No one loves us more than they love themselves.

You should love others, but not become too attached.

A true master will not ask you to give up everything, but to take enough for your own needs and share with others.

Even if a gesture is small, we should try to give to others. Life is an echo; we get back what we give back.

God is pure consciousness that dwells in everything.

In order to receive grace, we must cultivate humility. When we bow down, grace will automatically flow to us.

Anger is the greatest obstacle to grace; it is like a knife with both ends sharpened.

All of our actions should bring happiness and joy to others.

Instead of giving up when things are difficult, we should hold onto God’s feet more tightly.

Spiritual practice is like getting a polio shot--the benefits are not immediately apparent.

"I CAN THINK. I CAN WAIT. I CAN FAST."




This is the line the character Siddhartha says over and over again in the Herman Hesse novel and Conrad Rooks film of the same name.

I saw the film last night; it stars my favorite actor, Shashi Kapoor and is well worth seeing. The cinematography is stunning, the music is from Rabindranath Tagore and the subject matter is, well, enlightening.

The film is said to be about Buddhism; for me, it was more about the alienating, vexing, nonlinear quest for self-realization.
And India of course.

The quote from Siddhartha reminds me of something Dharma says:

"A yogi must learn three things: To be patient. To be quiet. To fast."

In yoga, we're supposed to NOT think.

In yoga, we're searching for the Self within the self.

I think Shashi Kapoor may have reached that goal, if this recent quote is any indication:

"It's only service to the needy that gives you peace. In the end it is only this which will give you strength. Not your wealth - not your stirring performances"

MAHA SADHANA WORKSHOP TODAY

We will do asana *and* explore the other, oft-overlooked limbs of yoga this afternoon.....

This workshop is perfect for those who suspect there's more to yoga than postures and want to know more.

These sequences and practices were learned directedly from Sri Dharma Mittra, a true yogi who has been teaching classical yoga in all of is aspects since 1967. Dharma says:

"The Yoga Poses are just a preparation for the practice of meditation, and better than meditation is to renounce the fruits of your actions. Now learn to serve others first, and show love to all beings and living creatures."

If you don't have any money, it doesn't matter. Please come anyway.




Dharma Mittra-style Maha Sadhana with Cara Jepsen
Yoga Trek Center, 911 S. Lombard in Oak Park
(one block from the Austin 290 exit & the Lombard Blue Line CTA).
1-3:30 PM
Suggested donation $25, or pay-what-you-can


This amazing session -- it means "The Great Practice" - will help to deepen your yoga practice. It begins with spiritual Purification discourses and practices (including sound work) and continues with in-depth, long and challenging Shiva Namaskara posture practice, a classical hatha flow that is invigorating but not exhausting. It will include a healing deep relaxation and a meditation practice. Personal attention and helpful hints are given throughout the session as well as direction toward the true goal of Yoga - union with the Self. For Intermediate thru Advanced Yogis.

HANUMAN: PATRON SAINT OF POLITICIANS (?)

Rather than ask about the contents of say, their minds, some reporters on Tuesday asked the two presidential forerunners about what's in their pockets.*

According to yesterday's Chicago Sun-Times**:

Both presidential hopefuls have admitted that when the going gets rough on the campaign trail, they look to a few lucky charms to pave the way.

Obama showcased a pocketful of trinkets to reporters in New Mexico on Tuesday, including a lucky poker chip, an American eagle pen, and a small gold statue of a Hindu monkey god, which he said represent his faith in luck and voters.

McCain, however, has been reported to put his faith in a total of 36 cents -- two nickels, one quarter and a penny found lying heads up on the ground in various cities he has campaigned in.




------------------------------------------------------------------

*I suspect it might be considered disrespectful to keep God in one's pocket, just as it is incorrect to have a depiction of God on a t-shirt or bag, or to keep a book in the bathroom or on the bed, or put keys or coins in shoes; it's kind of like pointing one's foot at an old person or handing someone money with the left hand (all of which I've been taken to task for in India).

**In the accompanying photo, the pair look as if they are on a can of Arrid Extra Dry, about to kiss.

WHAT FRESH HELL THIS IS


On the way home from YogaTrek today the car began smoking and emitting a poisonous melting-metal stench that had subtle overtones of burning plastic.

It started when I was driving by Taste of Chicago.

But it was coming from under the hood.

I thought the engine was going to start on fire and explode.

So I called Dreyfus and had him talk me down. He confirmed that the smoke could indeed be coming from the A/C compressor. For the past year the car had been emitting a loud wail whenever I drove it, and I knew that removing the belt would make the awful sound stop.

After exiting Lake Shore Drive, I drove straight to the mechanic. Actually it's two mechanic-owners; middle-aged brothers with deep voices perfect for radio.

They know me: The single woman with the falling-apart jalopy who questions every repair and always insinuates that they're ripping her off.

They wanted to know if I had an appointment.

"No, the thing just started smoking and smelling so I drove it straight here. Could you look at it now? Do you think it could be the A/C compressor?"

It was the A/C compressor. The thinner, tanner brother came out to the street and confirmed it.

Prior research told me that a new one would cost around $1,000.

"Can you just cut the belt off?"

At first they were skeptical; what if the belt was connected to something inportant? And how does she know about the belt, anyway?

But the thinner, tanner brother came out and checked it out. He returned with a tool, got under the hood, and cut the cord.

He dirtied his white shirt getting under the car to retrieve the belt.

And didn't charge me a cent.

No complaints there.

But I felt like I'd betrayed the poor car.

And now I must spend the rest of the summer (or at least until I leave for India) in a car with no A/C.

If you've never done this before, in Chicago, you have no idea of what hell is really like.

When you don't have A/C in the car, and you're pitta dosha, and you're stuck in traffic in 98-degree heat, it really is awful.....

The body overheats.

The skin breaks out.

The mind becomes stupid.

Brain cells die.

It's tapas - literally.

Not to mention yet another unexpected lesson in non-attachment.





-------------------------------------------------------


*Today's heading is in homage to American writer Dorothy Parker's famous line, "What fresh hell is this?" which she reportedly uttered when her train of thought was interrupted by a telephone. According to this website, "She then started using it in place of 'hello' when answering the phone or a knock at her door."

Other famous witticisms by Parker:

I require three things in a man. He must be handsome, ruthless and stupid.

The only "ism" Hollywood believes in is plagiarism.

(Quote about the Yale prom) Quite an affair...If all the girls were laid end to end, well, I wouldn't be a bit surprised

You can't teach an old dogma new tricks.

If you want to see what God thinks of money, look at the people he gave it to.

This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.

When asked to use the word 'horticulture' in a sentence: "You can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think. "

That woman speaks eight languages and can't say no in any of them.

FIFTEEN MILLIMETERS OF FAME



The Aleve ad is finally out; Catesey spotted it in the July issue of National Geographic.

I would be the one with the straight legs (on the left), forming the first hump of the "M."

The unexpected modeling gig helped ALEVE-iate the high cost of air travel to and from NYC for Dharma MIttra's advanced teacher training (where we met for one looooooong - 45-hour - weekend each month from February through May).

The audition took place during a blizzard. Yet somehow all of the models were perfectly made up.

The shoot took place on a subzero Monday morning at 8AM, after a gruelling weekend of teacher training.

My flight from NYC was delayed and didn't get in til after 11:30PM the night before: nonetheless I awakened at 5AM to raid my closet and teach a 6:30AM class before the shoot.

It's a good thing you can't see my face in the photo.

Nice work, Andrew!

YEH MERA INDIA / I LOVE MY* INDIA









I'm in the process of booking a ticket to Bangalore.

If all goes as planned, I'll arrive on my birthday.**

If all goes as planned, many many ashtangi.net bloggers will be in Mysore at the same time, including Krista, Ursula, and Elise..

And on the way home from Mysore I hope to visit Queen Elizabeth and Queen Victoria.

What a lovely trip that would be.....




---------------

*In yoga of course we are trying to get away from thoughts of "I, me, mine." I know that it's not my India - it's everyone's India. Kirby is not my cat - he's everyone's cat. In fact he's spread so much cat-love during my trips to India that two of his past hosts have adopted cats of their own. Well, they're not their cats.....

**Pattabhi Jois was also born on 26 July. It's not my birthday. It's our birthday.

FREE* YOGA

I'm offering two free* Dharma Mittra yoga classes each week though mid-July as part of my teacher training.




These Level I classes are suitable for all levels of student - from raw beginners to seasoned practitioners who wish to slow down. I find this meditative sequence helpful to my ashtanga practice; it opens the hips and shoulders like nothing else. It also seems to magically alleivate aches and pains caused by everything from air travel to overpracticing. These classes are small - very small - and you will get all of the personal attention you need. They each end with pranayama (breathing techniques) and a brief meditation.



FRIDAYS, 10-11AM, through July 11
Silverspace, 1474 N. Milwaukee Ave. in Chicago
(Just south of North/Milwaukee/Damen; look for the black door, just north of the Bongo Room). Yes, we will be holding class on Friday, July 4.


TUESDAYS, 11:15-12:15AM, through July 8
Yoga Trek Center, 911 S. Lombard Ave. in Oak Park
(It's literally a few steps from the CTA blue line's Lombard stop and the Eisenhower Expressway's Austin exit).


*(NOTE: The suggested donation for each class is $5, which benefits future teacher trainees. If you can't afford $5, you are welcome to come anyway).





DHARMA MITTRA WORKSHOP

Maha Sadhana with Cara Jepsen at Yoga Trek Center
Saturday, June 28
1-4 PM
Suggested donation $25 (or pay-what-you-can)


This amazing session -- it means "The Great Practice" - will help to deepen your yoga practice. It begins with spiritual Purification discourses and continues with in-depth, long and challenging Shiva Namaskara posture practice, a classical hatha flow that is invigorating but not exhausting. It will include a healing deep relaxation and a meditation practice. Personal attention and helpful hints are given throughout the session as well as direction toward the real true goal of Yoga. For Intermediate thru Advanced Yogis.



.



Dharma Mittra has been teaching the science of yoga since 1967 in New York City. He is the creator of the Master Yoga Chart of 908 Poses and author of the book 608 Yoga Poses (he’s also the teacher doing the hands-free headstand in Vanity Fair magazine and the inspiration for the Yoga Journal book Yoga).

Cara Jepsen began teaching yoga in 1998 and first studied with Dharma Mittra in 1999. She has completed his 200-hour teacher training and is currently finishing his advanced (500 hour) Life of a Yogi intensive. She also teaches ashtanga vinyasa yoga and has spent nine months in India studying with ashtanga guru Pattabhi Jois.

DARSHAN

Morning Mysore with Manju has been wonderful so far.

Yesterday I practiced next to NYC teacher Greg Tebb, and borrowed some of his boundless energy during backbends.

I stood up and dropped back with relative (for me) ease.

Afterwards we went across the street for coffee talk.

Such a treat, to have such conversation and connection with the teacher(s).....



Manju also brought my old teacher Eric Powell with him to Chicago. Sadly I did not get to see him. Last I heard he was still in Istanbul, where he's been teaching the past two years. Apparently he's now back in NYC.

Eric is the one who told me back in 1998, as he was leaving Chicago, that I should take over some of his classes. I was horrified of course. "Absolutely not," I said. He talked me into it of course. I took Suddha Weixler's training, and began teaching that same year.

I still teach his old Sunday noon class at the Chicago Yoga Center.

And, this week, I also teach 18 other classes.

Nineteen classes in seven days will be a new record for me - if I make it through.

The key is to remember to offer it up...

To do my practice (with Manju!)....

And take proper rest.

MANJU JOIS IN CHICAGO
JUNE 13-20

If you can't make it to the source, go to the teacher who's spent the greatest amount of time with the guru.

Manju is Pattabhi Jois's son. Guruji started teaching him yoga when he was 8, and Manju began teaching others when he was 15.

He's lived in the US for eons, and is one of the few teachers who has a thorough understanding of both traditional ashtanga and the western mind. He also knows the correct pronounciation of the asanas and chants. Sanskrit is a precise language, and misprouncing even a single syllable can completely change the meaning (Let's just say that when Manju does the opening mantra, it doesn't sound like no "CHARRA-narra VIN-day")

He also has a refreshing attitude about the asanas, which he tends not to hoard and fetishize. Instead, he says, "They're just poses."



Manju will be teaching daily 6:30-8:30AM Mysore classes in Chicago for seven days, starting this Saturday:

Sat June 14
Sun June 15
Mon June 16
Tue June 17
Wed June 18
Thu June 19
Fri June 20

The cost is $215 for all seven classes, $170 for Mon-Fri, $40 for a single Mysore class, or $35 each for two or more sessions.

Manju will also conduct a weekend workshop July 13-15 and a five-day teacher training starting on the 16th.

Manju's weekend workshop is wonderful because it goes beyond asana, and includes mantra (chanting) and pranayama (breathing practices). If you feel like there is more to ashtanga than asana, this is the workshop for you.

All events are at the Chicago Yoga Center, 3047 N. Lincoln Avenue (773-327-3650).

Details here.



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Photo (c) 2004, from Manju's first Chicago teacher training - where Cara the Giant and Krista first met.

KIRBY THE YOGI AND MAUNA

This blurry photo was snapped yesterday morning, while I was practicing second series and listening to Mysore-based Sanskrit scholar Dr. M.A. Jayashree's recording of the Yoga Sutrani of Maharsi Patanjali.

(Yes, I practice on Saturdays - sometimes with devotional music in the background. For the record, my day off from ashtanga vinyasa yoga is usually Tuesday or Thursday, when I teach four classes).

Kirby, the cat, seems to enjoy the chanting of the yoga sutras even more than I do. (He also seems to appreciate vintage, high-end turntables, but that's another story).

Kirby seems to prefer a vegetarian diet - even though eating greens (his favorite) inevitably makes him walk backwards and womit.

He likes to sit next to me when I sit. Although he's one of those nervous, high strung cats, he becomes very calm when he does this.

He often brings his toys to the altar and leave them there, as if making an offering.

These behaviors make me think he is a yogi, trapped in the body of a cat.

I used to tell him as much.

In fact I used to tell him a lot of things - until yesterday.

That's when my teacher asked if I was practicing mauna (silence).

"That's not hard to do when you live alone," I replied.

Then she asked if I had a pet.

Oops.

It was then pointed out that the practice of mauna applies to all talking - not just to people.

You cannot talk to the cat.

You cannot make little grunts or clicking sounds to communicate with said pet.

And when practicing mauna, you cannot talk to yourself, either. No more audible thoughts.

This is easier said (so to speak) than done.

Try it and see.

Kirby later in the day, listening to the Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra.

______________________________________________________
EXTRY

The ego must be destroyed, yes. But Robert Feder's referral in the Sun-Times to our recent article about the This is Hell, the best radio show in the world, was very welcome reminder that when the fruits are relinquished our toil is not for naught - which in a way is the theme of the article.

BHAJA GOVINDAM
By M S SUBBULAKSHMI








I've had this CD for some time - the late M S Subbulakshmi is one of India's greatest Carnatic singers (she's Tamil) - but had no idea what the words meant. I knew it was devotional, but not exactly how. Watch the video and you'll see the translation (you fools). It's quite moving, actually.

When I saw this video, I couldn't figure out why they keep showing Shankaracarya. Those of you who've been to the AYRI in Mysore have no doubt seen his framed picture in the shala, next to Guruji's chair.

Shankaracarya lived during the 8th Century AD, when Buddhism was all the rage. He decided to become a renunciate at the age of eight, telling his mother:

"What the yogi alone knows is that in the cycle of samsara one is born and dies again and again a million times. In the cycle of samsara he sometimes plays the role of a son, a father, a husband, a daughter, a mother, or a wife in an unending succession. Therefore true and lasting happiness can be achieved only by transcending birth and death through renunciation, which is the gateway to self-realization. My dear mother, please permit me to embrace that state and strive to realize myself. Allow me to accept sannyasa."



The mother finally relented in order to free him from the clutches of a crocodile. At their parting, he told her, ""My dear mother, you have always been my provider. Now I am going out into the world and henceforth whoever feeds me is my mother, whoever teaches me is my father. My pupils are my children, peace is my bride, and solitude my bliss. Such are the rigors of my undertaking."

Young Shankaracarya spent four years with his guru, Govindapada, who realized he was an incarnation of Lord Shiva, and told him,

"Proceed to the holy city of Banaras immediately and start instructing the people on how they can understand their real self. That which is taught by the Buddhist philosophers does not reveal the nature of the atma or self. It is your mission to bring the people to the path of theism. Banaras has many well-known scholars in all systems of philosophy. You must hold discussions with them and guide them along the lines of correct thinking. It is most urgent! Please do not delay even one minute."

In Varanasi, at the age of 12, he brought people back to the True Self. He also compiled commentaries on the Brahma Sutra, Bhagavad-gita, and the principle Upanishads.

According to Shankaracharya we ourselves are God. When the veil of ignorance is removed one will realize his complete identity as being nondifferent from the Supreme Brahman or God.

Apparently he wrote this beautiful bhajan, too.

Many scholars hold that this composition encapsulates with both brevity and simplicity the substance of all Vedantic thought found in whatever other works that Adi Shankaracharya wrote.

The refrain "Bhaja Govindam" which defines the composition and gives it its name invokes the almighty in the aspect of Vishnu; it is therefore very popular not only with Sri Adi Shankaracharya's immediate followers, the Smarthas, but also with Vaishnavas and others..."

On the other hand, "A mystery surrounds these prayers in that Shankaracharya taught consistently throughout his commentaries that brahman is the supreme goal. Yet in his prayers he says, "Just worship Govinda."


As for the story behind the prayer: It is said that Adi Shankaracharya, accompanied by his disciples, was walking along a street in Varanasi one day when he came across an aged scholar teaching the rules of Sanskrit grammar to his students by rote. Taking pity on him, Adi Shankaracharya went up to the scholar and advised him not to waste his time on grammar at his age but to turn his mind to God in worship and adoration. The hymn "Bhaja Govindam" is said to have been composed on this occasion.

Which explains the lyrics, "Worship Govinda, for in the hour of death the formula of grammar will not save you, o fools."

IMAGES FROM THE SRI K. PATTABHI JOIS ASHTANGA YOGA INSTITUTE USA



Guruji!







The view from the front of the mat (ie, every time we inhaled and looked up, this is what we saw).








The Shiva fountain behind the shala...

....and its rainbow








The shala locker room (ladies). Yes, those are shower stalls on the left.







The shala is big. Very big indeed. And this is just one corner of it.








The swing in the shala garden.






The view from the pasta + pasta restaurant.






A picturesque pier.







Waiting for the sun (to set)




The sunset itself.





One could get used to this.





The sunrise, as seen from our pier.






The blurry lotus feet of the guru.
















Photos by Katy and Cara and Matrika
(c) 2008