Ashtanga Action

Since the next morning saw me standing outside Gold’s gym in South Mumbai, you can safely assume that I had found no way to skulk out of this one hour of ancient Indian torture. As I entered the swank gym, I spotted hopeless souls working out on treadmills, eyes wide open but glazed over, zombie-style. It seemed a little demeaning — the machine dictating how fast you move your legs, while you’re just an android following orders — walking, walking, not getting anywhere.

A whiff of incense wafted forth when we entered the yoga studio. It was dimly-lit and deserted, with just one solitary figure in the corner, lighting a diya. When there was a little circle of light, the figure rose and welcomed us to the class. It was our instructor, in a turquoise Reebok crop-top and black Everlast leggings, with long, black hair pulled back. Svelte and toned, with an intricate tattoo on her left arm, Deepika blew my pre-conceived picture of her to bits. I couldn’t help thinking that my imagination was now officially defunct — time to get an upgrade.

After I had recovered from this rude shock, (come on, she could have at least had a few wrinkles!) I looked around. One wall of the studio was covered with mirrors from top to bottom, and in the corner was a state-of-the-art music system. A bandhani cloth was spread over it, on which perched a small figure of a dancing Natraj and a bunch of incense sticks. Soon the room was filled with young girls, a couple of older women and a few guys, all busy dragging blue mats into position. After everyone was settled, Deepika clipped a mini microphone to her ear, turned the music on and stood in front of the class, with her back to us, so that we could see her in the mirror.

Ancient Vedic chants interspaced with funky synthesized beats filled the air. We started a slow warm-up to wake every muscle and then moved on to some simple exercises, with Deepika constantly calling out instructions on her microphone. ‘‘This isn’t so bad,’’ I thought. No sitting in one asana forever. At the same time this was no rigorous, heart-pounding workout. As if reading my thoughts, Deepika upped the tempo.

‘‘Keep your kneecaps pulled up, your quadriceps tight, your lower abdominal muscles contracted and spine lengthened, with your shoulders in a strong yet relaxed pose.’’ A stream of instructions rushed us along, until we were not doing separate poses, but exercising in one fluid motion, almost like a dance. From suryanamaskar and navasana (boat pose) to chataranga and the warrior pose series, it went on and on, working out every muscle group possible — arms, legs, back, chest thighs — with furious repetitions. The pace didn’t ease up for even a second. After one asana was over, we moved to the next, without a break. I could feel muscles screaming, and struggling to keep up, but strangely I didn’t think of stopping.

A free-flowing energy had charged the room and everyone was moving together. Synchrony was not the aim — some were already ahead, knowing the routine by now, some were lagging behind, giving their bodies a chance to rest.

But everyone was pushing. Harsh breathing was heard above the music, someone groaned, and I thought I heard someone saying ‘Oh my God,’ but He wasn’t listening and neither was Deepika. She pushed us all to the edge, moving around correcting postures, holding up weakening limbs, giving instructions and urging us on. Some stopped mid-way to recover their breath, some collapsed in the middle of an asana, but everybody got back up.

After an hour of this workout, we were told to stretch our bodies in different directions to ease out the muscles.

Then came the best part. Lying flat out on the mat with our eyes closed and arms and legs apart, we were allowed to relax completely. The music played on, slow, eerily hypnotising chants, with Deepika telling us to let go of all stress, anger and tension. We lay there for five minutes and then, after three chants of Om, class was dismissed.

I don’t think I’ll ever think of Mrs Joshi in the same way again.