The male yoga diaries

I was happily stretched out on the sofa, watching the India-West Indies cricket match on TV when my wife waved a pamphlet in front of my eyes. "There's a yoga centre that's recently opened and I think you should enrol,'' she said. The first thought that came to mind was, ‘Why?' Standing on my head or balancing on one leg, arms stretched above my head like the guy in the flyer was definitely not how I wanted to spend the little spare time I have in the evenings. "Maybe I'll join a gym,'' I suggested. "Or go jogging.'' But my wife was shaking her head. "Oh no," she said. "Yoga is infinitely better." Maybe she knew. After all, wives know everything. "It'll help reduce your stress... and your tummy. Also, my friend's husband has joined.'' The last sentence meant there was no way out. "I think I'd look quite silly," I told her, imagining myself in one of those modern yoga studios - ones that are dimly lit, have plinky-plonk music playing in the background, funny-scented candles flickering next to bowls of potpourri placed in little alcoves in the wall. "You can take a practice session right away," said the yoga guru, a reed-thin, 20-something guy with a pleasant smile. Quicker than I could say ‘Lotus Pose', I was asked to pick up a mat from the corner and to start loosening up. I looked around the brightly-lit room and found 12 other men and women who also appeared as unsure as I was on how to loosen up. Thankfully there was no elevator music. Nor were there any of those scented candles. "Follow me," said the yoga teacher who began spot jogging on his mat, increasing his pace in just a few seconds. We all followed, and within minutes, we began breaking out in a sweat. "Stop," he said. "Now let's do a set of sun salutations," he went on, proceeding to go through an eight-step series, which included stretching, touching the toes and doing a variation of push ups that left just about every muscle and sinew in my body in pain. After we were all panting, our teacher suggested we breathe deeply for two minutes. That's the time you get to relax, he said. But before we could even get back our breaths, it was time to hit the mat again. "Stand straight, place your right foot high up on your left leg,'' he said. "Now stretch your arms over your head, and hold. "Hold what?" I asked. "Nothing", he told me, "just hold the posture." The girl next to me giggled. I tried to ignore her but I ended up swaying as if I was about to topple over. "You can lean against the wall today," he suggested, looking at me. Swallowing my pride, I did. Give me a week and I'll surely be able to do that, I thought to myself. Sure enough, a week later I could, but by then we had moved on to new postures one of which was Downward Facing Dog Pose.   Sweet pain It's easy and a good posture to relax in, said the yoga master. Wow, I thought. This is just what I came here for - to relax. "Okay, heels should touch the floor, palms flat on the ground and your hip should be sticking up. And whatever you do, don't bend your knees.'' Essentially you should end up looking like a mountain with your bottom as the summit. Little wonder it's also called Mountain Pose. But far from relaxing it was sheer agony. In seconds a dull pain began shooting through my calves and it took superhuman effort not to crumble on the mat. "Hold the posture for a count of 20", he said. But before I could even reach five, the pain forced me to go down on all fours. That's Cat Pose, the teacher told me. "We'll come to that later, but now you stay in Downward Facing Dog.'' I tried again but the pain in my calves forced me to complain softly to him. "That's not pain,'' he said. "That's sweet pain. You'll get to like it soon.'' I was not sure and wanted to tell him I don't find pleasure in pain, but was in too much agony to talk. A few more postures and he suggested we all relax - "in Lotus Pose, which is cross-legged on the floor, back straight, upturned feet resting on your thighs''. One of the first lessons I learnt in yoga was that the postures the trainer tells you are relaxing are extremely painful. Lotus Pose was no different. "You'll be able to hold this pose and relax after a few classes,'' he told me. And surprisingly, he was right. After just a few sessions, I began to like sitting in the posture - even at home, though the kids roll over with laughter when they see me sitting like that on the sofa. A few weeks later we graduated to ‘more advanced yoga', which included the Crane Pose - balancing your body only on your arms with the knees resting on your bent elbows. The first time I tried it I toppled over, struck my forehead on the wooden floor and almost tied myself in a knot. "It happens,'' said the teacher, not overly concerned, "but you seem to be getting it.'' The only thing I seemed to be getting was a bump on my head. The girl next to me was no better. She tried, toppled over and seemed to have hurt her elbow. Take rest, he told her. But she didn't and was determined to get into Crane Pose. Three tries later she was actually holding up well. In fact she could even do the next posture - Upside Down Tortoise - with ease. Let's do the headstand today, said the teacher at the next class, and the girls in the class got busy tucking their shirts into their sweat pants. "Follow me,'' he continued, planting his head on the floor, kicking off and standing ram-rod straight upside down. I tried and toppled over. "Take a few deep breaths and try again," he said. I did, but couldn't. Dripping with sweat but surprisingly full of energy I asked him at the end of class, "How many postures are there in yoga?'' "More than 10,000," he said, smiling broadly. I wasn't sure if he was joking but I was sure it would take me a lifetime to do even a fraction of that. "You don't have to master all of them to get the benefits of yoga'' he said, as though reading my mind.