Yo! It's Yoga!

My demented title name gives the secret away. What yoga has done to my sanity and creativity...or the lack of it. It isn't all bad though. Sure, yoga lives up to every one of my glossy diet magazine expectations of staying fit and healthy. My temper has been at bay for so long, I have forgotten how to lose it. And I spend my days blissfully ignorant about my scary future college prospects and urge my family to 'breathe deeply' when they panic and decide to panic for my sake. 

But it ain't all good either. Here is a general overview of what happens everyday. I mean it, it's almost like a dejavu. 

I enter the hall. There is an eerie silence which is penetrated by a grunt from Mr.Reebok at one corner. He attempts to stand on his head, an aasana that we wont be taught for another couple of months at least. Anyhow, he still attempts it, half successfully and Reebok can be proud of the extent to which their stretch pants, well, stretch. I turn away so he doesn't catch me giggling from his upside down position. 

I look to Mrs. Smiley. She smiles. Asks me which college I come from. I reply politely that I have graduated. She smiles (sympathetically now) and asks if I am searching for a job. I smile back (reassuringly) and say, no, I'd like to study further. She smiles, puzzled, and turns away to the wall, smiling. 

Another Mrs.100% attendance sits next to me and asks what I'd like to study. I reply 'Psychology.' She puts in her two cents rather enigmatically. 'Psychology and Yoga. One science compliments the other. Do you teach your patients yoga? ' My mind fights with me. Tells me to convince her that perhaps, just perhaps, Schizophrenics might not like to be taught Vajraasana. But I take in that deep breath and cross my legs. 

The instructor enters. Mr.Soul Reason, I call him. We all begin, an eclectic few. As we do the stretching exercises (Mr.Reebok is on Cloud 9), I glance around to see if anyone can make out that I cant even touch my toes. I am the thinnest in the class and yet so inflexible, that cardboard makers could earn a fortune by using me as their mascot. I spend most of my exercise time in looking around to see how much I can accomplish in that race to the toes. 

The aasanas begin. They are fairly simple. And fun, since I can do most. Until we reach trikonaasana. We are supposed to form three triangles with our body and the ground. You do the geometry. I just end up looking like a twisted jungle gym (who still cant touch her toes, rendering her triangle incomplete) while the rest of the class manages to achieve the perfect pose in synchrony. I sigh. And pray for the seconds to pass and Mr.SR to say 'Sloouly Staap'. Immediately after this aasana comes the Ekapaadapavanamuktaasana. Little kids are charmed by the name. So charmed that they don't really bother trying the aasana itself. Older people try desperately to get their kneecaps and foreheads to meet. Surprisingly, I manage to do it perfectly. I look around triumphantly as I see everyone around me writhing and struggling to make the ends meet. Just as I re-do the aasana to teach these poor mortals, Mr.SR looks at me sternly and says 'close your eyes'. Hmph. So much for achieving the perfect pose. 

We move on to Praanayama. No snide comments on this because I still keep my eyes closed, and so do others. 

Finally we reach my favorite part - the shavaasana. We lie down and I contemplate life (or mentally replay yesterday's prime time soap). As Mr.SR (who incidentally begins this everyday by telling us to relaaix the soul reason - it took me three days to figure out he meant sole region.) The silence is pierced occasionally by Mr.Reebok's abrupt and scary snores. Clearly, when the brand says comfort, he takes it too seriously. 

We turn to our right and get up. I open my eyes slightly to watch Mr.Reebok. He seems to be in his own REM world and continues to lie down. It takes me all the patience and constraint that I have learnt in Yoga not to laugh out loudly. We recite the finishing shloka. In our second line, Mr.Reebok's Baritone joins our weary chorus. (I am sure Mr.SR prods him to wake up everyday, but I still have to find the proof. One day, I'll spy a little more keenly.) We all finish and stretch our legs. Mr.SR thanks us, and we all spill out of the class, rather sleepily. 

I smile at another classmate while getting out, and in an attempt to make polite conversation, I ask her where she works. She says, 'I'm studying in II BCom.' And gives me the cold shoulder since that day. Hmm...I guess Yoga is a solitary pursuit after all!