“But why does it have to happen to me?” The ultimate question in all suffering. And the question I was not surprised to hear eventually being spoken out loud by the cab driver that was taking me to the airport that morning. It was way too early for such a deep and somewhat heart wrenching talk about betrayal, divorce, court orders and joint custody. Especially between complete strangers like that.
I am not a family lawyer, neither am I a trained relationship psychiatrist. But for some reason or other, a conversation that began about where I was headed to, veered towards the upcoming implementation of GST to the story of his wife who decided to file for divorce last year and his 2 hours a week visitation time with his 8 year old daughter granted by the court on his last hearing.
It made me think about the time I had the same question revolving in my own head. It could have just been minutes, but to hear it echoing around in my head made it seem as if it was an endless pursuit of an answer that was never really needed in the first place. Why is it rare for people to pose the same questions when they are experiencing joy and happiness? Or when they just won a million bucks from the lottery?
He was clearly lost in this conversation that I hadn’t want to continue any longer than it already has been. We were probably halfway toward the airport. Looking out the window of his cab, watching at the sky that is patiently waiting for the sun to lit its horizon, I heard him continue “Before I die, I only want to see one thing happen to her, to see her suffer in the way I did, to have her feel exactly what I had felt from her own decisions”
Completely normal human reaction no doubt. But I think the precious lesson in such circumstance is often overlooked, missed or sadly never discovered because we are just too busy planning, contemplating, imagining and wishing for the same dire circumstance to befall the person who has ’caused’ us this suffering. Perhaps it us that is inflicting the suffering on ourselves. Like that wonderful quote by Siddharta Gautama Buddha:
“Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned”
There are infinite perspectives to a single situation, and to focus on just one interpretation incredibly limits our ability to evolve as a person. More than anything else, anger, I believe are one of those precious emotions granted to us as an avenue to seek meaning within ourselves to enrich our experience in this lifetime.
Government warnings of the impending typhoon arrived as early as 2 days before Nari hit the central city of Vietnam. It seems expected. Like this almost annual occurrence of Mother Nature is as normal as day and night.
I remembered how absolutely clear it was that day. Beautiful blue skies, and clouds like brilliant cotton candies scattered low across the horizon. The calm before the storm they say. The days preceding had been wet, filled with angry thunderstorm and brief reports on CNN covering this lesser known part of the world. We were right in the eye of the storm. And it was exactly how science would have described it. While everything around the neighbouring state of Danang was experiencing some sort of torrential thunderstorm, at least in the little office I was given in this NGO to work on my project, it was bright and sunny yet underlined with an eery silence you don’t often experience on such a beautiful day as this. No birds were chirping in the trees. No dogs barking in the streets. Only the incessant beep beeps of motorcyclists in the adjacent street of Le Duan.
By 12 noon the skies began to darken. At 2 we received news from the University officials, of which the French NGO was closely affiliated with, to send all of the students and employees home. A citywide curfew of 6pm was apparently announced across the city. Then it started to rain. And the wind came. It never left, only growing stronger in speed and velocity. The cab which took me back to Novotel, a mere 10 minutes scooter ride on any given day, refused to send me to the entrance of the hotel. Located next to the Han River, I guess any local with a sane mind, would have done the same too.
He dropped me next to the public tennis court, about a block away, muttering between broken English and fast, urgent Vietnamese about ‘road ahead is closed’. I remembered arguing for a minute and realizing my efforts were in vain, paid and stepped out of his cab.
The wind that hit my face reminded me of the time I was in Melbourne in winter time and had accidentally walked through a wind tunnel. I was leaning so far forward just so I could keep walking. A few times, my frame of 46 kilograms kept being pushed back. I was physically experiencing that famous metaphor of ‘one step forward, two steps back’. Literally. Between fear of possibly being swept away by this powerful wind, I humored myself with two thoughts, my work laptop is possibly heavy enough to keep me grounded and if I had carried an umbrella, I would’ve probably be Mary Poppins by now having a wonderful aerial view of the entire city of Danang.
That night I experienced Mother Nature wrath in all its glory. The capacity of this Universal energy to summon the entire city into its palms, heaving centuries old roots that has dug its way deep into the earth, and dropping all of humanity onto its knees was astonishing. All within the span of one night.
Before Nari hit at its full force, which apparently came at 4am, I sat down on the floor at the balcony of my hotel room, 10 floors above ground level and within relatively comfortable distance away from the torrential thunderstorm that had already began hours before. It was after dinner. I remembered the sense of awe watching this entire scene unfolding right before my eyes. A sense of being in extremely close proximity with the source of the energy that governs us all. Like I could reach out my hands and almost touch the center of God.
Earlier in the day, many of the locals were relating stories of the last major typhoon that hit their town some years ago. Rooftops being blown off. Electricity cut-offs. Sitting in the darkness. Random objects falling down unexpectedly in the middle of your living room. And that inevitable call of death that some had to answer overnight.
I remembered thinking how small we are as humans against the ultimate strength and energy that moves the earth around the sun, the powerful unseen hands that pulls trees, bridges and rooftops off its place. And how extremely minutiae our human problems are at that moment.
At some point, the hotel bellboys came knocking from door to door to remind guests to keep their balcony doors shut and tightly locked for safety reasons. By then I saw what the locals were trying to tell me earlier. Zinc rooftops dancing in midair as high as where I was standing from. And a perpetual, ongoing shrill wailing of the wind. Like the sound of a grieving mother holding on to her lifeless offspring.
I woke up the next morning to a quiet city. The balcony half flooded with rain water and littered with leaves. I looked down to the crossroad and saw every single tree, save for a few palm trees, uprooted and lying down on its side. Like a playful giant that came visiting overnight and decided to pluck every tree from its roots for fun.
Life went on pretty much as normal the next day, the only reminder of Nari was the cleanup that city officials were left with in its wake. Someone in the office said they had to stop their motorbike midway while crossing the Dragon bridge because the wind got too strong and they were forced to hold on to the railings for dear life. Someone else said the roof on top of their kitchen got blown off.
And I was left mostly with a deep contemplation of Mother Nature and the power that resides within her.
I am finally coming around to working my way through that box of books I brought back from Mysore in November. There is a book about Shri K Pattabhi Jois and the personal accounts of his students and family members
It’s a new habit of mine lately to scan the table of contents first and to jump straight to the part which catches my interest first. Naturally, I zoomed in onto Saraswathi’s interview. I think Donahaye and Stern did an awesome job in keeping her answers in its most original form, edited only as much as is required, but still allowing her voice to come through. Because it certainly felt that way. Reading it was like listening to her talking at the Sanskrit College in October when she and Sharath were invited as honorary guests for their contribution towards spreading the light (and method) of yoga.
I remembered the first time I had ever seen her in person. In Brickfields when she was in Kuala Lumpur for her 2014 Asia tour. My journey with Ashtanga yoga then was new, and I wanted to find out what the hype was all about being able to practice with immediate family members of Shri K Pattabhi Jois. I remembered a room packed with people so early on into the morning, and the gentle rhythm of chanting from the temple nearby. When I saw her it wasn’t really anything special. She struck me as a regular woman. And though it may be anti-climactic in that sense, there was an energy that emanates from her and throughout that entire LED class. I didn’t know what it was or exactly which moment in that entire class that made me realise I wanted to spend an extended period of time practicing with her, but I knew that very night I will be headed to Mysore sometime in the year just so I could practice in her class again.
In an earlier account somewhere in this blog, I wrote about the first 2 weeks in Mysore being filled with a combination of confusion and disappointment. I loved being close to her but that persistent thought of “I learn more and progress more at home with other teachers then here” was the main theme at least for those first few days. Week 3 & 4 was when the magic took hold and I began to understand that learning and progress occurs in so many other ways that the traditional method of learning I grew up with.
My experience of her are fond and warm, very much like a warm embrace of coming home. Even when I barely knew anything about her personal life aside from the fact that she is the daughter of Pattabhi Jois and the mother of Sharath Jois. I remembered at the end of my first practice in KPJAYI when she stood next to me, leaning against the rows of pictures lined up on one side of the shala, and casually asking me where I had come from. “Malaysia”, I said and her face lit up and immediately peppered me with questions about Ganesh and his wife.
There is a firmness in her touch, yet a kindness that follows through closely behind that. The only adjustment I would ever get from her are the rare support in Utthita Padangusthasana, and at the end in Shirshasana. One morning she called me to stand next to C, who was also about to enter into her Utthita Padangusthasana and made us complete that posture next to each other while holding our legs steady with both of her hands. I wished someone had took a photo of that! C and I laughed about that all throughout breakfast admiring her skills at multitasking all these students in her shala.
If anyone ever catches her eyes, there is a kind of gentle humor that resides in the depths of her soul. It’s like a gentle crinkle of the eyes and a smile that is just there for no reason at all. A day before Diwali, she was in class adjusting as usual, singing to her favorite songs. By then I’ve developed the habit of occupying my thoughts and movements within the perimeters of my mat but the strange voice of a woman humming eventually made me realised it was her singing. It was only when she stood in front of me, I realised she had an earphone in one ear and walking around with an iPod too.
It was luck that my stay there somehow coincide with that event at the Sanskrit College because that night, while she was giving her speech, was the first time I realised her immense contribution not just within the circle of Ashtanga practicing community but beyond that as a woman. I don’t know if she ever realised this, but being the first female Sanskrit scholar (largely thanks to Pattabhi Jois’ insistence as well that women should receive equal education) and later the first and perhaps the only yoga teacher at the time to be teaching Ashtanga to a mixed group of men and women opened up space to reconstruct, expand or even reimagine the role of women within the Indian society. I believe, her exposure in the Western world helped reinforce her presence within the social fabrics of the traditional Mysorean family life. Reading her accounts of having neighbours and family members giving her grief for moving back to Mysore after having her 2 kids while her husband was away working with Tata Motors was heartbreaking nonetheless.
I have been blessed to be introduced to yoga through so many other wonderful beings. The journey that started if at all by chance all the way back in 2003, and the amazing souls I had met and learned from since then is responsible in its own way for allowing me to be where I am today. Those that we learn from, especially in isolation for long extended period of times (as in committed to one teacher at one time) undoubtedly leaves its mark within us. The way they speak, adjust, teach and sometimes think eventually and to a certain extent is reflected in the way that we speak and teach. And that I believe is the most beautiful outcome from a student-teacher relationship.
At the end of her interview for this book she said:
When your mind is strong you stay with one teacher (…) when you meet the right one, you will know in your heart
Before I left, some of the more common topics circulating around the breakfast table in Mysore was “would you come back to practice with Saraswathi or would you try Sharath?”. My answer was always the same, to practice with Saraswathi for as long as she is around. Because I know in the depths of my heart that I would miss no other teacher more than I do for her.
Time is rather fascinating, from hours, to months and years – one can’t help but wonder what life would be like without any concept of time? Without any regard of time there will be no such thing as New Years no? But the concept of time, amongst its many other function serves as a tool of reflection, consolidation and integration of experiences into something meaningful. Because man is always out to find and attach meaning to everything that happens to them, Viktor E. Frankl certainly got famous from it, and I am not far behind in agreement.
This year has been nothing short of magical. Cliche I know, but it is one word that I can use with all honesty and still feel that it falls short of encapsulating the essence of 2014. Since it is also the end of my twenties, that “defining decade”, it feels really good to be exactly where I am today, to look back on all the big life decisions I have made to bring me here, and to feel a sense of excitement entering into my thirties.
If there was a word I could use to sum up my entire year it would be blessings. I am infinitely blessed and for this I am endlessly grateful to the Universe and the Higher power that governs it. From the opportunities that came in a steady stream and watching Mind Body Breath grow from strength to strength (with the 2 coolest thing to happen to it was the appearance on TV3 Berita Utama and coverage in Her World magazine), the kindness of strangers, the meeting of beautiful souls and mind blowing connections that transcends all my understanding of what it means to really and truly connect with another person, and ultimately the expansion of a group of people I hold close and dear in my heart.
Delivering a report and having a Vietnamese translator by my side (and discovering that having your presentation translated actually gives you plenty of time to calm that public speaking nerves – woohoo!), appearing on their national news, embarking on this teaching thing full time, sharing my written thoughts with others and seeing on it print, sharing what I love and what I know to others and watching them experience similar benefits and positivity, that maiden trip to India, falling in love with Saraswathi and her energy, discovering the value of parampara, falling head over heels with the entire practice and discovering an entirely new world around it, kick starting a business partnership with a person who is so similar to me in values yet so utterly different in certain worldviews and looking forward to the kind of boundless beauty that will result from this communion.
There were a couple of lessons that became really clear to me which affirms some of my understanding of the world or whatever it was that I may have read from before. I understood the concept of making space by first releasing the things that doesn’t serve you anymore. Magic happens in those spaces. They really do 🙂 I understood every quality that which we love, admire, hate or detest in other people are merely the reflection of the exact same qualities within ourselves, shedding an entirely different light and meaning on my understanding of ‘one-ness’ and the self. And I have also come to understand that the Universe awards you with many, many gifts in different forms and that you would only have to be present and aware when it happens to fully appreciate it. Of the biggest lesson in this though, I have learned that sometimes this gifts are not meant to be kept, sometimes to be let go as immediately as they came, sometimes to not be owned but appreciated as they are, and on other times, to be experienced and then to allow distance from it and to admire it from afar. The challenge that remains for me at least is to learn not to grow attached to any of these wonderful gifts.
Equally as the affirmation occurs, so too did the disintegration of certain beliefs that was accompanied with a lot of questions that was really uncomfortable leading to days of unease and sleeps underlined with meaningless nightmares. I am still questioning a lot of things but I have managed to find comfort in this very uncomfortable process, to make peace with certain things that remains unknown and to embrace fully my ability to question the very foundation of my faith and trusting this entire process in and of itself. Certainly these questions arise from within for the mere purpose of drawing one closer to the self.
here is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the budand the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which growshigher than soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apartE.E Cummings
2 more sleeps before my flight back to Kuala Lumpur.
Being in this moment right now takes me exactly to that time when I am seated on the floor of my little tiny bamboo hut in Koh Samui, looking at my neatly packed bag and wondering what life would be like once I get back to the motherland and learn to integrate my experiences in the last one month into my daily life.
The only difference I feel is the magnitude of experience and changes that has occurred within myself while being away to focus solely on deepening my yoga practice. While before during my Teachers Training in Koh Samui the realisations that occurred were more obvious and exponential, this time around the lessons that came to me were subtle. If 2 years ago I went away merely to fulfil the curiosity of an intensive yoga practice and a brief respite from the corporate world, this time around I went away with nothing else in mind besides wanting to be close to this woman whom I had met once but felt a pull to return to in a way that can’t be quite justified in words and to return as a ‘full cup’ so that I can share more with those whom I come across in my own classes.
My life has been simple in Mysore. Waking up at 5 am. Practice at 6am .Finding simple joys in the cool breeze and scent of jasmine in the air as I walk to the shala. Breakfast at home. Laundry then heading out for coffee with some friends. And then it’s back at home. Reading. Writing. Brainstorming on the next project. Connecting with potential business partners. Appreciating the clear clear blue sky and the view of coconut trees against it (when it’s not raining of course). Cooking dinner or looking for dinner in one of the many nearby places. Soaking in the Mysore environment. The life of a KPJAYI student. And truly just beginning to understand the magic this place holds that has many dedicated practitioners returning annually for decades after. I may not entirely grasp the full understanding of parampara or teacher-student relationship just yet though by all means I fully acknowledge its importance, I feel like I am beginning to experience the tiny buds of practicing and being close to a guru.
The learning doesn’t come so obviously like how one would expect by attending a workshop. There are no lengthy explanations during those Mysore practice. All discussions were saved for conference time. There are no complicated demonstrations. Just the occasional “You, what you do?”, “Tomorrow/or another specific day, you do [insert next pose]’, ‘You, wait”, “You, stop” and “Very good”. The first 2 weeks I was here, my mind struggled with this method of learning. I didn’t feel like I was learning anything new. I didn’t feel like I was progressing, what more the benefits of practicing so close to and under the direct guidance of a globally recognised guru. “What’s the big deal??” and “WHY am I here again??” kept returning to my head, especially on those days when I felt like I didn’t give my 100% to the practice or that my practice was just NOT as I had wanted it to be.
If there was one thing that I could do over, was to allow myself to stay open without judgments to the motions that I was going through. To allow myself to be distracted by the awe of practicing in a packed shala, by the next person with the most graceful jumpthroughs and by that lady behind me who is doing her chaturrangas incorrectly. To allow all this without chastising myself for not being focused. Because this is what it means to see things with a brand new pair of eyes. If there is a next year for me to return, my experience and I am sure of this would be entirely different.
A lot of what we admire or dislike in other people are merely the reflection of what we yearn or dislike within ourselves. Without even knowing it, we are already what we yearn for even if it is not executed so obviously in its physical form. Just today, I was practicing next to this amazing soft spoken girl who was a former Wall Street Investment banker. I remembered in my first few weeks here hearing her cries as she dropback and assisted into catching her feet. I remembered Saraswathi saying to her (and in a room so quiet like that, everything she says sounds loud) “breathe, no cry”. I remembered feeling “oh man, no dropbacks for me anytime soon!” as I felt some of her discomfort being in that position. Today her entire Primary practice seemed effortless, graceful and one that left me amazed at how much persistent practice and patience can manifest itself eventually in the physical world. And it occurred to me, the lessons I have learned from being this close to her are subtle, one that doesn’t need formal words to explain, and one that hits right home in an instant.
There are many things that attract me initially to this practice, and as I spend more time dedicating and focusing my own practice on just Ashtanga , I see more of its beauty. I love the way the practice demands at most 2 hours of your time in a day and for the rest of the day you are to live your life as any other human being. Families, friends, relationships and careers are all given equal attention. The pace of life in Mysore may be slower than normal, but if you know how to utilise the rest of the hours in a day after your practice, it actually mimics a regular day you would have back at home. To me, this has not felt or was intended to be a holiday. When some people responded to my statement of coming to Mysore as “oh you mean like a yoga retreat??” I honestly did not know what to say and chose instead to smile and keep silent.
I have been humbled, surprised and tickled by the many different facets of people that I have met. Mostly I am thankful for the few special ones that I got to know better in the last few weeks. The incredible energy that each person exudes and share. The stories told and the perspective gained from these. And the people these people remind me of, the people whom I have missed. It is amazing how we differentiate ourselves from the rest of the world, by race, ethnicity, skin color, nationality, political preference and god knows what else, but that at the end of the day there is a common thread that binds us all together. It is this very thread I believe that makes me feel like I have known these people whom I have just met, for a very very long time. A wise person once wrote ” Divinity is right here, right now, inside you, inside me, there is no separation, we are one, but we are definitely not the same, and that is the beauty and complexity of the multiplicity of one”.
Has it really been 3 weeks already??
I was looking at the calendar yesterday and realised that I have only 2 Sundays more before I board that plane back home. Although, this little town right here has always feel like a second home to me the minute I arrived at the doorstep of my landlord’s (ok ok fine, if we were strictly speaking factual stuff, it took me a few hours after that arrival and some sleep before I actually felt like it’s second home to me).
Reflecting on my experience so far, it felt like the first 2 weeks was spent feeling like I don’t want the 1 month to end. Which is kinda self defeating because that felt like I had wasted the initial 2 weeks worrying about the inevitable, which is going to come anyway. It was only towards the tip end of the 2 weeks that my highly strung “oh my god this wholesome awesome goodness is going to end SOON” mind began to relax and accepted the fact. I think it had mainly to do with allowing my mind to soak in and process everything that is happening. Even if from the outside, a person who has no idea of the Ashtanga practice much less the daily in and outs of being a KPJAYI student might feel like there is not much going on aside from the 6 times weekly practice, there is a LOT that is happening within that short space of 1.5-2 hours in the shala every single day and that alone was enough to keep me overwhelmed for the rest of the day, on some days.
In my first 2 weeks of arrival, my challenge was merely trying my hardest to draw in all my senses inwards during practice. In a downward dog, I’m easily distracted by that girl with the splaying arms in her chaturranga. My mind was kept busy thinking “oh girl, you are going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that”. It took me a while to be able to remove and humbly place down my ‘teacher’s’ cap. Here I am the student. 100%. And my perspective needed to change as observer without a wanting to correct, change or share my opinions about someone else’s practice. Because frankly, as a student, it is not my place. And then there was the constant instructions coming from Saraswathi, calling out to the next student, “you catching?” referring to Marichyasana D more often than not, or “you, what are you doing?” and that “you” was always enough to make feel “is she talking to me??” followed by that 50/50 indecision of whether I should look up and towards where her voice was coming from, risking altogether looking like the distracted, kaypohchi student that I was or not looking up at all and just continuing with whatever I was doing like as if the comment might’ve been for someone else.
9 out of 10 times it was meant for someone else. The one time I decided to continue, the girl on the next mat had to turn around and nudge me whispering ‘I think she’s talking to you’ which of course resulted me in sitting up as quickly as I could (the correct term would most probably be popping up) followed by a meek ‘sorry?’. Because truth be told, my level of respect for her is deep enough that she actually infers some sort of a mixture of respect/fear/awe towards me. It turns out, I got my next pose on that day. “Tomorrow, you do Garbha”.
I have been doing Garbha a few times in my Mysore practice back in KL. So it wasn’t an entirely new thing for me. But just that feeling of being handed the next pose by this respected woman, I felt like I wanted to go skipping down those stairs pumping my fist in the air crying out WOOHOO to the coconut man standing outside.
I love it here, There is no doubt about that. But I also have a life back home. And that can’t possibly stop while I am here. And so after practice, there are days where H and I will be locked in intense discussions about where we are taking this little “baby” of ours, or I will be sorting out my November teaching schedule, or answering someone’s Whatsapp about an upcoming class.
And it occurred to me, my biggest 2 challenges became so crystal clear while I am here. Allowing myself to be entirely present in the moment (without thinking about tomorrow, next month, or WHEN I am coming back here), and secondly, practicing non judgement when I finally get into the zone of the present moment. Like when I am finally paying attention to the group’s conversation and it veers to a specific pose, a specific something about the practice, and I think “practice, practice, practice, why is everyone talking about their practice again?”
Sometimes I believe, these are just the knee-jerk reaction to cope with new environments. new people and new experiences. I do believe the mind in some ways need to be able to link back an experience to an understanding which already exist, it demands new things to be categorised neatly in a box so that it doesn’t become too overwhelmed. And because of this, more than ever, it is a time which demands keen observation of the mind.
Life in Mysore has been gentle. Like a warm cradling arm of a mother to a child. The days melt and blend into one another that somedays you forget what day or date it is. Most days that doesn’t really matter. It allows me to truly pin point the things that I needed to focus on. 2 weeks is a long time to allow the mind to settle in, even if from day 1 physically I fit right into the place. But it is what it is, and it is a nice feeling to finally accept that as with all things, this too shall pass..