Faculty Yoga Study in Pune, India

Geeta, Mr. Iyengar's daughter, has a monthly structure to her classes. The first week focuses on standing poses, the second on forward bends, the third on backbends, and we end the month with a week of pranayama (breath regulation). We just finished a week of backbends. She taught a similar sequence for each of the classes, but changed the focus of her directions each time. For example, on Friday night she taught us how to use our legs in backbends, and on Saturday morning lifting the trapezius muscles was the main action. On Monday we worked on extending the armpits, and we finished on Wednesday with a class which integrated all of the actions. Saturday morning's class was particularly memorable since we did more than an hour of nothing but backbends, alternating between Urhvha Dhanurasana and Dwi Pada Viparita Dandasana more than 20 times! (And we held them for a long time.) Then she asked us, "Are you finished?" to which the room at large responded loudly, "yes!"

Prashant, My. Iyengar's son, is an entirely different kind of teacher. He gives few or no directions in poses and expects us to know how to do the asanas and to modify them as needed for our own bodies. Instead of giving us specific actions, he guides in how to integrate the body, breath, mind, and soul in the poses. He constantly asks us to question why we are doing a pose, what our true purpose is. He typically holds us in poses for a long time and might repeat the same pose, such as Utthita Trikonasana, over and over for most of the class. It's a fascinating contrast to most other teaching I've experienced and gives me a lot to think about in my own practice.

Mr. Iyengar himself is present every morning in open practice doing his own practice. The other morning he did headstand for more than 15 minutes, and then immediately went into a supported backbend over a tall stool for another 10 minutes. The stool was so tall that his toes and fingertips barely touched the ground and his entire body was in a graceful curve that nearly bent him in half backwards. When I left more than 2 and a half hours later, he was in a deep Savansana with huge weights placed on his thighs. The expression on his face was so inward and serene that it seemed he was alone in the room although there were dozens of people there. It's hard to believe his practice unless you've witnessed it.

One of the most difficult things here is the air quality. The city of Pune is in a bowl-shaped depression and all of the toxins and particulates tend to stay in the bottom of the bowl. There are countless motorized vehicles - motorcyles, scooters, rickshaws, cars and trucks - and most people here burn their trash, so the air becomes very oppressive. Last month at the end of a deep pranayama class, an insecticide truck drove down the street spewing stifling white clouds of noxious gas for the mosquitos. They let us out of class immediately, but not before we'd all breathed it in. Not a nice way to end a class focused on deep breathing, but being here is a vivid reminder than nothing can stand in the way of one's practice if one is committed.

I leave the Institute on Dec 1st and then go to Rishikesh in Northern India to spend a few more weeks studying yoga at an ashram there before heading home. I am looking forward to integrating my experience here with my own practice and my teaching, and I'm curious what it will be like to return.

The other night during pranayama, Geeta said that after you go on an outing, when you come home it's like "sweet home," a place where you can rest and feel at peace and at ease. She said that when you pull your senses inward for deep meditation, it should feel the same way inside yourself, like "sweet home." I am holding on to that thought as I prepare to leave the Institute - the idea that we carry a sense of "sweet home" inside ourselves and that we cultivate this sense through our practice.

Happy Holidays and I'll see you January -

-- Octavia