Glimpses of Mr Iyengar

In August 2012, I was chatting with a few friends about travel. Where are we going? Where do we want to go? I mentioned that I hope to go to India while BKS Iyengar is still alive.

“How old is he?” Doug asked.

“Ninety-four in December,” I said.

When I explained the application process, which entails a waiting time of up to two years, Doug said, “Shouldn’t you be applying now?”

His mom is elderly, and he knew I had no time to spare.

Two years later, I finally made it here. And I might be unlucky in my timing. Mr Iyengar recently took ill, and he hasn’t been well enough to practice in the hall. In today’s Times of India, I read that he was hospitalized this week. See here for another article.

Earlier in August, I was lucky enough to see Mr Iyengar a couple times. Exiting the institute around noon, we’d immediately notice him sitting on his front porch, directly facing the institute. Abhijata Sridhar, his granddaughter, would sit beside him. Some students approached with a bow and namaste; a few prostrated themselves and touched the ground below him. Most politely gave him space and privacy.

Yesterday Abhijata taught the Wednesday women’s class, which is packed to the rafters since men are allowed to attend. With great energy and clarity, she led the class through basic poses–Tadasana, Sirsasana, Trikonasana, Ardha Chandrasana–that suddenly demanded full attention. I found her remarkably poised and articulate; nothing fazes her. She is commanding without arrogance. Her teachings combine precise asana instructions with straightforward yoga philosophy, and they are peppered with anecdotes of her grandfather.

She initially asked, “Did you come here to learn, or did you come here to do?” It’s an excellent question to ask yourself before any class.

Later, before Sirsasana, she talked about doing asana with sensitivity. About eight years ago, she set a timer for her headstand, aiming to hold the pose for 20+ minutes. The first few minutes were easy, and then one thing or another began hurting. As the minutes ticked by, she felt sweaty, itchy, and distracted, but forced herself to continue. At 20 minutes she came down and proudly announced her feat to her grandfather.

He asked, “What did you do in the pose?”

She had no answer. “I was just doing the pose. I was doing… nothing in the pose.”

“Then you wasted your time,” he said.

We then rose into our own Sirsasana, which we held for almost 11 minutes!

With neither Mr Iyengar nor Geeta around, I can’t help wishing I’d applied sooner. But some of the other teachers, such as Gulnaaz Dashti, are excellent. And if Abhijata is the next generation, Iyengar yoga has a promising future.