Grieving the sudden loss of Paramaguru Sharath Jois & what it was like to study with him in Mysore, India.
It has been nearly four months since my guru and yoga teacher, Paramaguru Sharath Jois, unexpectedly passed away while hiking on Humpback Rocks in Charlottesville, VA. He came to the U.S. from India for several teaching tours weeks prior.
The training in Charlottesville was for special teacher training for authorized and certified Ashtanga yoga students who had studied with him extensively over many years at Sharath Yoga Centre. I was among those who had traveled to Virginia for the training.
Paramaguru Sharath Jois was the premier teacher of Ashtanga yoga and the lineage holder, having learned from his grandfather, K. Pattabhi Jois, dubbed the “founder of Ashtanga.” His students affectionately referred to him as “Sharathji” or “Guruji.” Every year, hundreds of students would travel to Mysore, India, to study under him for weeks and months at a time. His sudden departure was a massive loss for his many students, the yoga community, and the world.
Grieving is a process, and I am still going through it. About 65 of us were on the hike with him that day, and around 100 people came from all over the world for the special training of the new Active Series he had developed and was introducing. We had two days of regular yoga practice and learning from him and three more of mourning our profound loss.
As sad as I am over his passing, I can’t imagine what his family is going through. I wish them all peace and comfort in the memories they shared with him. He was only 53 years old. He left behind his loving wife, Shruthi, daughter Shraddha, son Sambhava, and mother Saraswathi.
He was seemingly perfectly healthy minutes before his passing. He was a skilled photographer and had set up his camera on a tripod to film each of us as we entered the trail on the Blue Ridge Parkway. We all thought we were waving hello to him, but it turned out to be our last goodbye.
Most of us began the trek up the mountain and assumed he was behind us. We reached the peak and began taking photos, wondering what was taking our guru (and a few other students with him) so long to join us. But they never reached the top of the mountain. I thought maybe someone had twisted their ankle or perhaps went on another path to take photographs. After some time, we began to go back down the hill. I walked alone on my way down, being my usual reclusive self, and took this photo of the sun setting over the steps of the mountain. I now hold this photo very dear to my heart, as I think of it as the last light of dear Sharathji.
Soon after taking that photo, I reached our group, gathered in the woods. We were initially told there was an accident and that it was quite serious, but we did not know who had suffered the “accident.” But it was suggested that we all join hands, pray, and wish good thoughts. We did this for several minutes while we waited to hear more news. It was a very peaceful moment and the first comfort of many to follow that we would all provide each other over the next few days.
And then the very bad news reached us.
The rest of the walk down the trail was harrowing, past the bench where he had sat down when he began feeling ill and where his covered body lay peacefully with the EMTs surrounding him. It was another 15-minute walk to the bottom, to the anguishing cries of his students, my tears silently falling in disbelief. Autumn’s wind blew cold, rustling the yellow leaves over my head. I looked to the sky. A surreal vacuum of emptiness shrouded our side of the mountain, the same hollow feeling I felt at the time of my father’s passing two years prior after my Mom and I tried giving him CPR. Both Sharathji and my Dad were larger-than-life forces. And to have them suddenly sucked from my presence left a barren void.
I couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. All I felt was a terrible and mean anger boiling. I had come to see my guru because I missed him and needed reinforcement in my practice. I craved his good energy. In these times, it often seems like the world is falling apart. There are many injustices and tragedies and a lack of compassion for others. I needed my guru to help me make sense of the world again; now he was gone.
“This stupid, awful shitty world,” I teemed to myself as I slowly trudged down the trail. “I hate this fucking place. It takes everything good from it.”
I wanted to bash my fists into the innocent trees, but sweet Bianca was at the bottom of the hill, and she gave me a big hug, so I hugged her back instead. “I don’t understand; I don’t understand,” I said.
I know from experience that anger is a step in the process of grief, the others being denial, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I guess I went straight to anger that day.
I looked around at the many sad faces, all still in disbelief. There was an ambulance, medics, and police. We shivered in the cool air as the sun went down, not knowing what to say or do next. How can the life and light in someone suddenly vanish? We were all in shock.
The cause of death was a massive heart attack. Several of his dearest students were with him at the time and administered CPR. Most of us had hiked to the top of the mountain, admiring the view, not knowing what was happening below.
In the days that followed, people around the world and online were in shock and questioned how such a healthy person could die so young; some cynically even questioned the validity of the practice itself, or worse, his character – as if death does not come for us all eventually. Two quick things on that: One, Sharathji had terrible rheumatic fever as a child, a known factor in causing heart problems later in life. Second, he did more for others in his short lifetime than most of us could ever do in 100 lifetimes. Showing up for hundreds of people daily, helping them believe in themselves, and giving them a healthy tool they can use for the rest of their lives – and teach to others – is far more impactful than having one million followers on Instagram who mindlessly click through your posts.
***
I wish I had dared to connect more with Sharathji while he was alive, but I was always too nervous. I wish I had thought of something to say to him that morning when he came into the room. Maybe as simple as “So glad I am here with you, Guruji!” I naively thought he would always exist and there was plenty of time to have more connections with him.
I wish I hadn’t always been skeptical of him. “Is he the real deal or not?” I sometimes wondered to myself. And then think, “He must be the real deal since I have traveled all over the world to study with him.” I was not even a yoga teacher. I had nothing to gain besides better health (physical and emotional). But over a period of twelve years, if I had a chance to spend time with him, I went. I pilgrimaged to India four times, for several weeks each time. I traveled to practice with him in Madrid, Miami, Los Angeles, and New York City. I have not really vacationed anywhere unless he would be there, LOL! And there is nothing and nowhere in the world I would have rather done or gone.
“Who is going to fix me now?” I cried to my sister on the phone the day after he died.
Of course, I know making him responsible for “fixing” me is a little extreme, but practicing under him has always been like a reset for me. It required dedication, stamina, perseverance, and discipline. Those things keep me steady in life, even when I am off the yoga mat.
I have never talked much about my experiences with Sharathji and have not written much publicly about him. I wasn’t planning on writing anything about his passing. But now I am reading and watching things people post online since he passed, and I want to share what he meant to me (and so many others). I want people to know what I know about my guruji, Sharath Jois.
It’s not that I knew Sharathji so well outside of our student/teacher relationship (I didn’t). But every time I returned to Mysore, I felt he knew me. Because he would remember things like “back still jammed” after not seeing me for two years, even though he had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of students in the meantime. He would notice if I missed a day or two of practice. He watched my yoga practice, knew my yoga practice and my bodily limits, and made sure I did the poses correctly without hurting myself or overstretching. But still, he pushed me always to do more and do better. He knew my limits better than I did. He also helped me progress in subtle ways, like being more playful with practice and not taking it so seriously. He would make me laugh in Navasana (boat pose) – how is that even possible?! He often had a twinkle in his eye.
I was no more special than anyone else in the room – far from it. But he had a unique way, some even call it “magic,” that made us each feel special, even among hundreds of other students. He paid attention to our practice, knew exactly what we were doing and when, and steered us in the right direction. He talked very little; he watched us a lot.
Sharathji was the most humble person I have ever met and the greatest force of goodness I have ever personally known.
The way teaching yoga in India works is not our Westernized approach, where we all enter the room at the same time and uniformly practice together at the same speed and tempo. In India (and at certain shalas worldwide), we do “Mysore-style” yoga, which is named after the city in India where Ashtanga became popular. In Mysore-style yoga, you enter the room one by one, as called upon when someone else finishes, and do a self-practice, which is in a structured sequence, from memory. You do it at your own speed and in your own breath while your teacher watches, corrects, and provides adjustments.
This meant that after finishing our daily practice at the shala in Mysuru, Sharathji would still be in the room, teaching students. As his students finished and left the room, we would give him thanks individually by putting our hands in anjali mudra, or prayer position, and bowing our heads or, as a sign of respect and as is customary in India, by touching his feet.
So, at the end of my practice, I would go toward the door and wait until he had a chance to look up. Then, I would thank him by putting my hands together, bowing my head, and mouthing “thank you.” He acknowledged this by smiling back at me and making the same gesture, if his hands were not already indisposed in helping another yoga student. He did this to each of his students, even though he was VERY BUSY and still teaching in that moment. He could have ignored us or said it wasn’t necessary. But he was gracious and gave us all a chance to have that tiny connection with him – one that we all craved. And his eyes always sparkled.
His students bestowed the title “Paramaguru” upon him. This title means that he was the current lineage holder of the practice of Ashtanga, as taught to him by his grandfather, K. Pattabhi Jois, who learned it from Krishnamacharya. This lineage holds value for everyone with authorization and certification by Sharath Jois. It is through this lineage that authenticity – that truth – separates real yoga from the circus. If his students fail to see the value in the lineage, they fail to see the value in themselves. When I think about how lucky I was to have found this yoga practice and to have studied under him, I realize it was a precious gift of the Universe.
In all the conferences I attended with Sharathji, where he spoke to us on many different topics, from the existence of
God to how to put your hands in a headstand, I never heard him once talk bad about someone else. Lord knows there are terrible yoga teachers, some with many followers, but I never heard him call out anyone by name. I never heard him talk negatively at all.
I did hear him warn us of certain behaviors, and he made sure we knew the difference between true yoga and a circus – handstands, flying yoga, goat yoga, naked yoga, beer yoga – “This is all just a circus,” he would say. However, I never heard him say the circus was “bad.” But because of his teachings, I understand the difference between authentic yoga, the SCIENCE of self-realization, which is passed down through tradition, and other “Westernized” versions of playful stretching that some people call “yoga.” I’m not saying I’ll never try goat yoga! It does sound fun!! But to me, it will not be authentic yoga.
In the days after Sharathji’s passing, things in my life were suddenly made very clear to me that I had chosen to ignore before.
I am sad that I took my time with him for granted.
I see people ignoring things he said, things he said repeatedly, and then they wonder why the practice was not working for them, why he was not perfect. I’ve seen people try to make him a saint, idolize him, etc. These things never worked on him. He knew his truth and his duty and performed it well. He steered clear of adulation and forgave our forgetfulness, ignorance, and faults. If he had any failings that I could see, they were those we projected on him or could not grasp. But he never demanded anything of us except maybe respect – for the practice, others, and ourselves.
He could have been much more famous, much more prosperous, etc. However, what he chose to do every day was not to bring attention to himself but to work hard every day and help others realize their true selves and their true potential. “The greatest gift you can give anyone is good health,” he said.
If some students put him on a pedestal, it’s because he deserves one. I don’t personally know any other human being who gave that much of himself to his students day in and out for 30-some years. I don’t know anyone who seemed more of a perfect human being.
Did he make mistakes? I’m sure, but I don’t know. I did not see any mistakes that were not corrected. And anyway, it’s not for me to judge him but to share my perspective on what he meant to me, how he made me feel, and how he made my life better.
He was such a gentle soul. One day, while practicing at the crowded Gokulum shala years ago, I saw him moving quietly through the maze of yoga mats filled with students. At first, I didn’t understand what he was doing, but then I realized he was gently trying to nab a cockroach in his palm. He did and then safely discarded it outside. He did not want to harm the curious creature (or disrupt the yoga class!)
Another testament to the goodness he gave the world is the strength of the community he left behind. We were all devastated that day in Charlottesville, but we all stayed on there – in a strange city and comforted each other. We grieved with each other. We did our practice together. We waited for his wife and son to arrive for the funeral held in Charlottesville.
He died on November 11, 2024, but the shala in India was set to open on December 1st. Many students already had their travel arrangements planned for going to India. So his wife and family graciously opened the shala, and students went to practice there. They plan to keep the Sharath Yoga Centre shala running and his legacy moving forward.
There is something very special about practicing alongside such dedicated students. I am not an advanced yoga student by any stretch, but I was never made to feel like I was less of a yoga student by others doing astrodynamical poses next to me. There is good energy when surrounded by people with the same intention, which boils down to this: to understand ourselves better. When we know ourselves better, we can be better people. In turn, we can help each other improve, ultimately making the world more enjoyable.
“What’s the purpose of life?” a student once asked Sharathji.
“To enjoy it!” he replied.
I wrote the following on my social media on the day of his funeral:
. He gave us so much understanding about ourselves that we could better understand each other. He was humble, kind, and true.
Notes from my first trip to study with Paramaguru Sharath Jois at the Gokulum Shala in November and December of 2011:
***
November – December 2011
I came here to do yoga. Why yoga? Personal growth, healthy living. To find peace in my mind. And balance. Always balance is difficult for me.
I came here seeking knowledge. Knowledge about myself and this life, this world we live in. I am not as healthy as I wish I could be, in the mind or the body. Some of this is due to bad habits I cannot seem to break from. Some are caused by things about myself I cannot understand. I don’t have a lot of answers to many of my questions. This is why I am here.
I came here for discipline. A practice is something you do every day or nearly every day. It helps to have discipline in other aspects of your life when you have a disciplined yoga practice and are in control of your mind. “Control the breath, and you can control the mind,” or so they say.
Let’s face it. Most of us cannot control our minds in our present state. We are mostly crazy, easily distracted, sometimes tempered, and full of worry or negative thoughts about ourselves or others. It’s difficult to think straight sometimes. It’s difficult to sleep sometimes. We improvise with coffee, Ambian, cigarettes, a little wine, a lot of beer, maybe some other drugs, maybe whiskey. Sometimes, we occupy our minds with obsessions, a lover perhaps, or a hobby that doesn’t give us much fulfillment, like watching TV or movies, playing video games, or tweeting.
I came here to be closer to God. Hindus believe we all have God inside us; we are all One. There are many deities in the Hindu religion, many of which represent different aspects of life, also known as Ishta-Devata. Hinduism teaches Edam Sadvipraha Baudha Vadanti, “While Truth is One, the Names are Many.” Having many deities (and many stories behind each deity) breaks down the complexities of life, allowing us to be inspired by a fragment of the all-encompassing Truth, also known as The Supreme. In this sense, Hinduism is a monotheistic religion.
Something I read recently noted that God is playing a big trick on us, having us search all over for Him when, all the while, he is inside of us, right under our noses! (From ‘The Only Way Out is In”, by Anthony “Prem” Carlisi)
So, how would coming here bring me closer to the divine? Such a spiritual country is India! Blessings and flowers and markings on foreheads. So many are so grateful for so little. Being grateful is the first step in being closer to God; to having good things appear.
Why would I want to be closer to God? Well, for one thing, I’m unhappy, discontent. Who better to seek comfort and guidance from than God? I felt I had to do some work to find out why I was unhappy and what I needed to do to not be unhappy. Life is a journey; it’s not always meant to be spent living easily and free of care. Will being closer to God provide the answers I’m looking for? I don’t know, but the closer I get to God, the source of energy and the force of nature, the better I feel. And yoga helps my mind relax, focus, and devote my energy to the world and people around me, bringing me closer to God with every asana.
So here I am, India — glorious, smelly India! It is beautiful. The people are so very colorful, the women with so many colors of shawls and saris, and glistening jewelry. There are animals everywhere — dogs, goats, horses, ponies, cats, birds, sheep, and, of course, the holy cows.
Unfortunately, during my first week in Mysore, I’ve only practiced at the shala (the place where we practice yoga) once, due to a series of events beyond my control. First, there was the full moon. There is no yoga on the full moon (or the new moon), for this is a day of rest. So, the day I arrived, the shala was closed. The next day, I registered but had to wait until the following day to practice.
I didn’t really know what to expect at the shala. I had heard good things, or I wouldn’t be here, but I also heard that it wasn’t all that *some people* made it out to be, nor would I receive all that much attention from the “guru.”
The “guru,” by the way, Sharath, is the grandson of the infamous Pattabhi Jois, who passed away a few years ago. Sharath is maybe 35 or 40, I am not sure. So, while he is from a different country, has been studying and teaching yoga most of his adult life, and has trained hundreds, probably thousands of people, in yoga, he and I are still from the same generation. And that somehow makes him seem more human to me.
Still, I am afraid of Sharath. Even though his boyish smile is charming, I feel more grateful in his presence than twitterpated. I am intensely fearful of this slender man for some reason. Maybe it is the awe factor.
The first yoga class I attended at the shala was a “led” class, meaning that Sharath calls out the poses as we do the practice, rather than doing the practice on our own and having him come around and individually adjust our poses (known as “Mysore-style”). I didn’t expect much attention to be paid to me, given that there were 70-80 other people in the class. But within minutes of beginning the practice, he came to where I was in full swing of going through the sun salutations.
“Where is your card?” he asked.
Ooops. “I left it in the locker upstairs,” I mutter.
“You are supposed to bring it every day,” he said disapprovingly. “When did you register?” he demanded.
“Yesterday,” I replied, and then, thinking to myself, “when I handed you 2,800 rupees”.
He let it go, but it made me think, “Man, do people try to sneak in here? Is he so strict that he checks everyone’s card?” It kind of made me feel like I had just stepped into a shala more concerned with money than teaching people yoga. Not cool. (Afternote: Later, I discovered he wanted me to have my card so he could remember my NAME!! How cynical I am to have thought it was over money. How different the world suddenly is when you realize a busy, famous guru wants to know your name.)
As the practice went on, I tried to stay positive about the experience and just focus on the practice, up until I got to the pose that I always stumble over (literally) and Sharath came back over to me, “Are you a beginner?” he barked.
“Well, I’ve been practicing for a while…” I sheepishly uttered.
“Well…. [South Indian head bobble kicks in] You look like you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Ouch.
The next day, I got the times mixed up and missed practice. The day after that, I got my period, which means no yoga practice, as periods are also resting days.
So two days later, I returned to the shala, where dozens of students were waiting to get into practice, and Sharath was letting them in one by one. When my turn came, he looked at me and asked where my card was (of course!) I showed it to him.
“Why you no come two days?”
“Ummmm…ladies holiday – ?” I was hoping I had the right answer.
He had a half smile on his face and let me in. What the hell? — does he remember EVERYTHING??!!
Apparently so. Because when it came time for me to do the pose I always topple over on – Uttitha Hasta Padangushtasana -he came right over to me and asked again if I was a beginner. He started quizzing me on the poses I had done. I did not know the names of any of the poses. It seemed like he was not going to let me practice at his shala, until I showed him that I could bind in Marichasana D. Once he saw that I could do that pose, he said, “OK, OK, you pass,” laughing.
Whew! And I’m in.
He moved my time to practice back 15 minutes, pointing out that “it’s less busy” at that time. And he helped me get through Uttitha Hasta Padangushtasana.
The next day continued without drama, but when it came time for my challenging pose, someone was there to help me. And he remembered me the next day, too, a led class. And it’s not just me; he does this with everyone and pays attention to everyone’s individual needs, which makes for an AMAZING teacher. This is what people are talking about when they talk about “Mysore Magic.”
When I first came here, I was worried that I wouldn’t wake up in the morning, that I wouldn’t be able to drag my ass out of bed to go sweat in a room full of wacky yogis. Luckily, I don’t have an early start time, but even so, there is no way I would miss class again, at least not without a grand excuse.
And I’ve met people here, too, and that establishes a sense of community. My new friends would know when I missed class and I wouldn’t want to have to explain to them that I am truly lazy and not sure that I belong here, much less tell that to Sharath.
My new friends are Kristina, from Detroit, and Marion, from Ireland. I met Marion on my first day here when I went to make a copy of my passport and visa to give to the shala, and she was doing the same. Since then, I always bump into her when feeling lonely or lost. I take that as an omen that I am supposed to know Marion for some reason. I met Kristina the next day, while we were both registering at the shala.
Ever since I began this journey or started thinking about this journey, things have fallen right into place for me. It began with storing all of my belongings. My good friends just happen to own an empty 25,000 square foot building, which all of my belongings easily fit into. My friend Linda in D.C. needed a roommate for a month, so that’s where I landed. Her downstairs neighbor, Laura, had met a woman in Asheville, the next destination on my agenda, who she introduced me to over Facebook. That woman, Nicky, became a close friend with whom I practiced Ashtanga in Asheville for two months. And while I was getting a SIM card for my Indian cell phone, that Mindy (who Nicky had introduced me to) had given me from her previous journeys to Mysore, I met an Australian guy who just happened to be moving out of Mysore that day and offered to show me the place where he was staying that was for rent. Wow! So here I am, living with Gita and Sri Shastri, a traditional older Indian couple, and Juho, a Finish yoga student, up the street from the shala. (Afternote: I would continue to stay at the Shastris every visit thereafter to Mysore and keep in touch with the Shastri family and their daughter, Bhavna, regularly. If I had never met my friend Linda’s downstairs neighbor, would I ever have met the Shastris?)
When you really want to do something or go somewhere, you will just meet people who will help you along the way. And everything will work out just fine.
This last week of yoga practice for me was really about dedication more than anything. It was hard to get up some mornings. It’s frustrating to be stuck on a pose for so long and not see much improvement. It’s frustrating not to get more individual attention from Sharath or the other assistants. But I wouldn’t say I’m forgotten, far from it. This is a self-practice and a big part of the discipline in this practice is doing it yourself. On your own. Which is hard for me. I always need someone to motivate me. But the motivation should be in doing the yoga itself. And by letting me alone to do the practice, it is probably the best help I could receive. I do not go through the entire primary series. Sharath always stops me at a point, telling me, “What is your hurry? I will teach you one by one”. He knows when I’ll be ready, so I’ll leave it to him to figure it out and just keep doing what I already know.
I do feel stronger. The last two days were holidays, as Friday was a full moon and Saturday was our regular holiday. I missed the practice; I woke each morning yearning for it. Like a good habit has already been instilled in me. Like a drug, a good one.
The rest of the week was filled with yummy Western breakfasts with other yogis, work from “home”, chai time, naps, reading, chanting, Sanskrit, learning about the Bhagavad-Gita and Hatha Yoga, and sitar lessons and practice. In addition, my glasses cracked, and I had to deal with getting a new pair of glasses. Day-to-day, regular fun stuff. I still haven’t ventured very far by myself, but perhaps a day this week, I will take a rickshaw to the Devaraja market and find a musical instrument store.
I can see myself coming back here next year. Today is the first day it has rained since I’ve been here. It has been beautiful.
“What is your hurry? You have somewhere to go? One pose each day, I teach you.” This is what Sharath has said to me every day for the past week. I have some bad habits I’m struggling to get rid of…perhaps this is the approach I should take with them, one by one. Getting frustrated and angry with myself for not being able to stop every one of them is not working. There is no reason for me to get angry at myself…I am doing the best I can. So one by one, I will try to work on these issues instead of getting overwhelmed and saying fuck it and then starting the cycle all over again.
Sharath is still keeping a keen eye out on my practice. Today I felt very happy with myself, especially for completing all five counts of navasana. This is the pose where you balance yourself on the buttocks or tailbone, hold your feet straight out with your toes pointed, and hold your arms straight out (not touching or holding up your legs). Today was the FIRST TIME EVER I’ve been able to do that pose for 25 breaths (that’s five breaths up, one breath down, five times — it hurts like a MF). It requires some strong abs, which I’ve never, ever had, being that I eat too many potato chips. But my abs must be getting stronger!!
Later in practice, I still felt proud of myself, though I was getting a little confused at the end as to the sequence of the poses or asanas. I started doing my finishing asanas when Sharath was like, “Did you do this pose?” making a hand-foot motion of the pose I was supposed to do, and I was like, “Yes … oh, crap, no!” He motioned for an assistant to come over to me and help…so she did, and I had to go back and do some poses again. Man! After being so proud of myself. I’m sure that irritated him, too. But I can’t believe he noticed that I didn’t do it. Like, he was watching me… there are like 70 other people in there, all working at a different pace. Crazy. From talking with other students, they don’t feel they get any attention …but maybe their expectations were too high -? Maybe they want his help with every pose, as some yoga teachers can give this kind of attention if they have fewer students. Me on the other hand, I’m happy if he glances at me once a week.
That said, I think he helps people he sees struggling. (And I am struggling!!) Many other yoga students already have a teacher, and I do not have a steady practice or teacher, so I think he is helping me because he sees that I need help. And people who are not only interested in the physical aspects of yoga, but also the spiritual…and that is something you can tell by watching people do yoga. Are they more concerned about how they look and whether they can touch their nose to their knee, or do they care about the proper way to do yoga, regardless of how funny they may look striking a pose? Most of the people at the shala are yoga instructors and even though they are all from different parts of the world, they seem to be in a competition with each other. But that’s not what yoga is all about, especially Ashtanga. It’s a self-practice. It’s not meant to be shared or shown off. It’s a personal relationship with yourself and God — your mind, body, and soul. And if you want to connect the three, you don’t give a shit about the destination; it’s the journey you’re after. Too many people are too eager to get somewhere or to the next pose, and they take shortcuts. Or maybe they’re already there, and they’re not grateful for it…and if they’re not grateful, they’re not going to get much further. They’re going to be stuck.
Tomorrow, I’m going to remember the poses. Hopefully, I’ll feel as great as I did today and be able to win back Sharath’s approval. Maybe I’ll get brave enough to ask him to teach me Setu bandhasana. That’s the last pose in the series, a tricky one I’ve never tried before.
****
I can’t believe I’m on a plane heading back to the States already. Time flew by in India, though everything seemed to come around full circle. My last day was so perfect. I had a great practice, which, for me, meant having a calm mind and taking my good ol’ time in each pose, savoring each like a good cup of coffee, like Sharath says that he does.
After practice, I picked up some random things to take home for people — chocolate from the Chocolate Man, bindis, and some more scarves. Then I had a double breakfast at Vivian’s…and some coffee from that French press… I love that stuff. Then, I had this overwhelming desire to write Sharath a letter, thanking him. I’m not quite sure why…I guess I needed to perform some mental activity to prepare myself for leaving, or I needed to feel like I had accomplished something by traveling all the way around the world. The day before at the conference – this is when Sharath speaks to all the yoga students for about an hour or so on a specific topic and lets us ask questions – had asked us if we knew why we traveled so far to study yoga. One (lame) response came from the audience: “Happiness.” The answer made a lot of people groan. But no one else spoke up. It’s a little daunting to speak up in front of about 300 or 400 of your colleagues at the mercy of ridicule by your guru…so one did. But I had the answer in my head that I wanted to blurt out at the time – TO UNDERSTAND MYSELF. Isn’t that why we’re all trying to do yoga? To get a better grip on our surroundings…to obtain self-awareness, be more present with God? And that’s what I felt like telling Sharath in my letter, as well as how grateful I was that he allowed me to practice in the shala so that this whole process would be possible.
I felt a little nervous about mailing the letter — I mean, why not drop it off in person? I didn’t want to bring attention to myself; I didn’t want to take up any more of his time, which I’m sure is precious. Maybe I’m lazy. Maybe it’s part of me being shy, or feeling bashful. I just would’ve felt awkward dropping it off in person. I’m not sure if I did the right thing or not. Sharath is so busy…but still, I think he wants to have more interaction with the student than their big toe in his face. He lifts hundreds of bodies every day. It must be exhausting. Still, as I write this, I’m thinking I should have just manned up and taken the letter to him in person. Why wouldn’t I? Am I not special enough to hand Sharath a letter? I read a great quote today in Prem’s book…I can’t remember all of it, but it went something like “We are afraid to shine, afraid to shine for fear of feeling above our colleagues…but God is in us, and when we shine, when we allow ourselves to shine, we also help others to shine. We facilitate that.” So, we shouldn’t be scared to shine brightly.
After writing Sharath a letter, I walked down to Gokulum and bought some “hot chips”; they are so good and the reason my pants are not falling off of me completely. I don’t know if I lost much weight. I’m hoping I gained it in muscle, but I do know that my lower tummy and my abs have taken some sort of shape, and that shows in that my pants won’t stay up! I also bought some toiletries for an orphanage the yoga students help out with…a woman I met here, Cara, said some of the older girls at the orphanage were asking her about facial moisturizer and other things they don’t have easy access to. So I bought some supplies and dropped them off at Cara’s. And then Cara and I went to the Mysore Art Gallery. The top floor was pretty cool, with many unique and old Indian instruments. While I was up there looking at them, my sitar teacher called to wish me a farewell. How sweet he is. He cares so much and is enthusiastic about the sitar and about teaching the sitar.
Next up…Appu, the rickshaw driver, dropped us off at some place I decided I didn’t want to eat, so Cara and I walked to Tina’s…good old Tina’s! Nothing like ending my stay by eating very first place I ate when I first arrived in Gokulum. Afterward, we met the “gang,” or what was left of the “gang,” at Anu’s and Ganesh’s for smoothies and chai, and I had to have the vegan chocolate pie on my last evening! I met so many wonderful people, and they all came to see me off.
On my way to pick up my t-shirt from the tailor’s, I saw Shiva, the rickshaw driver, waving me over. The night before, I had left my travel diary, a book that my good friend had given me for my travels, in his rickshaw, and he knew I was leaving and made sure that I got it back. What a sweetheart Shiva is. His rickshaw is very bumpy, but he is such a nice man. I would’ve been so upset had I forgotten that diary!
I said goodbye to my housemate Juho and Gita and Mr. Shastri, and before I knew it, my ride was outside the door, waiting to take me to Bangalore. I could write a chapter on that ride alone…in fact, maybe I will 😉
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