Reflections from a time of learning and growth...
Expectation versus reality...
I landed in dusty Chennai, and stepped into a rusty yellow cab waiting in the dirt carpark outside the international airport. Traveling in the bumpy backseat, my skin sticking to the torn leather, I was overcome by the hot dry air, and beeping vehicles outside the window. As we sped through the busy streets, we arrived at a concrete building on the corner of an industrial intersection. The heavy, white, barbed wired gates opened as I was dropped at the entrance of Andiappan Yoga College. I could have been doing a Yoga Teacher Training in a tropical resort right now, I thought to myself.
I walked across the empty courtyard looking to be welcomed. I was shown a big simple room upstairs, where I unpacked my bags and took a shower. The fan on the ceiling rotated therapeutically. Later that afternoon I was shown another smaller, darker, corner room downstairs, with no fan. I obediently transferred my bags, no one had yet been able to speak to me in English. As I lay in bed that night, the sound of the traffic outside, I wondered whether it was bravery, divinity or stupidity that I found myself in this situation.
The next morning, I wandered upstairs to the studio. A long wooden floored hall with pillars flanking the sides of the room. There were two other people sitting on the floor eating rice. I was welcomed to join my two classmates for breakfast. By the end of the first day I was hesitant of the strict schedule and heavy content for the course was outlined in our program. I changed out of my cute lycra leggings and put on the uniform of orange t-shirt and dark blue baggy pants.
Morning meditation and pranayama (breath work) was before sunrise, we learnt different styles each week, candle gazing (trataka), single point meditation, third eye concentration, alternate nostril breathing (nadi shodhana), bhastrika. I felt isolated as I was the only non-Hindi speaking student. It was, as I found out, a local program and I was the only student staying on campus as the other two went home every night. I was out of my element, culturally and pedagogically.
I remember the first time I sat sleepily in the dark on the hard floor to meditate, mosquitoes biting my arms and ankles, feeling alone in the world and lost in the discomfort. I remember the first time I was pushed and pulled forcefully into an asana (pose) forcefully, the teacher readjusting and arranging my bones and limbs with surprising confidence. I remember being wrapped in a banana leaf on the burning concrete floor, feeling claustrophobic, learning the art of cleansing kriyas. I remember watching my classmate swallow a thin towel and pulling it out again (Douti) and being made to drink two litres of salt water to practice internal clearing. As the days passed and my study consolidated something shifted in my practice. I surrendered. I surrendered to the unknown and embraced it.
I was without perspective or sense of relativity with no wifi, or connection to home, my world was the four concrete walls of the compound. In a place that seemed timeless. Even looking out the big white barbwire gates into the bikes, cows, rikshaws, in the bustling streets, there was no hint of what year we were in.
My body was becoming stronger and cleaner. I was eating fruit and dahl everyday and the structured days became a rhythm. Within that rhythm I started to breath, to thrive and to find freedom. I enjoyed the simplicity of hand washing my clothes everyday in the shower and hanging them out of my window. I enjoyed the simplicity of eating the same meal everyday and feeling it nurture my body. I enjoyed the simplicity of watching my mind and self reflecting. I appreciated the simplicity of my four walls filled with opportunity to learn and expand my practice and myself.
I remember feeling more rested after morning meditation than after a night's sleep. I remember writing furiously after gaining insights from sitting in stillness. I remember feeling the power of discipline in my body as we used the wall and props and each other to bend our bodies like we were bending our minds. I remember learning about how to best serve different demographics of the population and how to use yoga as therapy. It was amazing to think about the wider use of yoga outside a studio. I remember connecting and bonding with my classmates, in spite of language barriers and diverse backgrounds, we laughed and cried and supported one another emotionally and physically. I distinctly remember the last night of the course, I climbed up on the roof of the old building that had been my sanctuary for the last few weeks, and stared out across the city. With the sun setting across the Indian sky I appreciated being connected to the lineage of the Andiappan Community and to the ancient lineage of yoga. I thanked myself for following my gut and being brave to search deeper within myself and my passion for yoga.
Graduation involved a giant bowl of tropical fruit and taking photos with our certificates on the couch of my teachers home. Looking around the living room seeing photos of past students, and guru, I felt deeply honored to be included, and knew for me, this was the perfect retreat.
Li Mei Wong
*My guru has since passed and I would love to acknowledge the legacy of his family and yoga university.
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