THOUGH it is a secluded corner in the Mumbai suburb of Juhu, various varieties of urban noise plunge into the auditorium like evil knives. But this hardly distracts a group of people—teenagers, the over-30s, and the elderly—who are engaged in what looks like a mute, graceful dance.
The hand movements appear to be teary good-byes, and the rhythm, as opposed to the pace of our lives, is measured and deliberately relaxed. That is the fundamental lesson of Tai Chi Ch’uan or ‘Supreme Ultimate Boxing’. “T’ai Chi focuses on Chi, the life energy within us, and has its moorings in Taoist philosophy. It is a combination of martial art, acupressure, meditation and breathing exercises,” says Sandeep Desai, 40, chief instructor and director of the International T’ai Chi Academy in Mumbai.
Fantastic legends and time’s journeys obfuscate the art’s real origins, but Chang San Feng (Yuan dynasty (1279-1368), appears to have been a major influence. There are tales of mountain hermit Feng being inspired by a battle between a hawk and a snake; the reptile’s slow, circular movements prevailing over the more powerful, better-armed avian.
Other mysteriously powerful figures have also been credited with further adding their bit to the martial art, which today has five different branches—the old, and the new Chen, Sun, Yang, and Wu.
Get your alignments right, says T’ai Chi, and both mental peace and physical fitness will follow. Which is what a group of people attempt do at Pune’s Osho Meditation Resort. Heading them is Canadian lawyer Darcy O’Byrne, a T’ai Chi practitioner for the last 30 years. Says O’Byrne, on the one positive change he’s noticed, “A number of youngsters are taking up this art, realising an emphasis on the outside doesn’t help.”
In addition to the focus on proper breathing, T’ai Chi also stimulates the internal organs such as the kidneys which, according to the Chinese, produces the two all-important hormones—testosterone and estrogen.
Desai explains the significance of circular movement, one of the cornerstones of T’ai Chi, thus: “A straight gust of wind, however powerful, can never have a cyclone’s force. T’ai Chi can actually cause havoc, but practiced in a softer form, it can do wonders for both the mind and the body.” The martial art’s combat application, then, is ‘the thorn on the rose’.
“It is not for the restless,” says Rajeev Sabharwal, a sensei in New Delhi. “Tai Chi might look boring if one doesn’t want to feel it. But with practice, it incorporates itself into the system so beautifully it becomes a way of life even before one realises it.” While his portfolio includes DJs and corporates, Rajeev says he would be happier if more people take to the art. “Most think T’ai Chi is a dance form, which it is not.”
Like with most other martial arts, T’ai Chi is also an intellectual and spiritual exercise. The latter, going by the various references to it, is on a much higher plane, incorporating the Zen ‘Here and Now’, which allows you to ‘be in the moment’. In other words, it’s probably is like a barbiturate high, without the rehab afterwards. While spiritual and even intellectual highs are best left to Chinese monks in lonely, mountain-ringed temples, most urban T’ai Chi practitioners in India take to it for the immense relaxation it affords. Says Polly Sen, 28, a media professional, “ I feel light. The stiffness I had earlier is gone though it’s just been a few weeks since I started it.” Michael Anand R, a software engineer in Delhi, is into it because it helps him “to be more at peace with himself, apart from increasing his patience and concentration.”
“We are always in a hurry, and instead of communicating with our loved ones, sit in front of the telly. Ta’i Chi’s fundamental idea is to relax,” says Desai. The martial art, he claims, is the perfect antidote to the malaise of our times, as he exhorts his students to “go with the flow.”
(With inputs from Ajit Bezbaruah/New Delhi and Preeti Raghunath/Pune)