Yoga Day and My Own Fitness Pursuits

 ‘Priti-storm hits SFV on Yoga Day.’ That would best describe the SFV Chapter of the International Yoga Day that was celebrated with great pomp and show at the Basketball ground - braving the forecast of intermittent rains. The organizers had Plan B at hand. Luckily the sky was just overcast, it was not drizzling even.

Slated for 6.30 to 7.30 morning, yoga enthusiasts numbering about 100 (?), rushed to the ground to be one up on spreading their yoga mats at vantage points so that no instruction of Priti slipped past their ears.    

Introducing Priti to readers would be like carrying coals to the Newcastle, as the expression goes. To be honest, if there were to be a popularity contest in SFV, I bet she would figure in the top ten, if not the top five. Nonetheless, for record, she is a trained Yoga teacher. She conducts yoga classes regularly to largely attended SFV residents. If the feedback is anything to go by, she is simply matchless.

A small oversight denied me the privilege to attend Yoga Day celebrations from the word go. I misread the programme as ‘6.30 pm to 7.30 pm’ when it was written ‘6.30 am to 7.30 am’.  Consequently, on Yoga Day I was getting ready for my usual morning walk. Aunty stepped to the balcony for her morning dual ritual - to water Tulsi plant and drive the pigeons away from using our balcony as bathroom - but rushed back: “I say, I can see the Yoga session on at the basketball court. You said you wanted to attend it.” I was aghast and hurried to the spot. Too late. The participants were rolling up their mats and the photo session was about to begin. Doesn’t matter, given the response of my friends who attended and along with whom I returned, and read in conjunction with the praise that poured in later in Telegram, I guess it was simply fantastic. Good job Priti. Kudos.

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My own association with yoga started when I was 10 or 12 years. In fact it was thrust upon us, the three brothers, by our grandfather. He wanted to encourage the gentleman who had just returned to Palakkad after undergoing two or three years of intense yoga course in Sivananda Ashram in Rishikesh. Given my lifestyle of ‘half-way all the way’ in any venture I undertake, I gave up yoga after a while in the guise of having to focus on my studies. I wish I had done any better in that field at least. 

Years later when in Delhi, I bought what was then a popular mail-order gadget, the Bullworker, that promised to make a Mohammad Ali out of me in one week. Months later, seeing it gather dust in the drawing room, my mother asked the maid one fine morning when I was taking shower, to dump it on the attic, which I noticed only a week later, in any case. The end.

Undaunted, again years later the stay-fit instinct in me was rekindled. This time with weightlifting. I joined a camp run one who had won the Mr Delhi championship, with muscles all over his body.  My uncompromising strict vegetarian diet notwithstanding, this went on for some time until I ventured to raise the bar with increased weight. I lifted the bar and, yes, held on to it unshaken for full three minutes. The Master patted my back. “Very good. You raised it to ankle level this time. Next time, you raise it to knee level,” and went on to attend to the next aspirant, murmuring something. Maybe cursing himself: “Oh my God, what wrong did I commit that you persuaded me to enroll persons of this caliber who, let alone not enhance the prestige, could bring disrepute to my gymnastic centre.” 

These regardless, way past retirement now, I still have not given up my workouts - not as part of any development phase but to keep Shoulder Pain, Knee Pain & Co. at bay.