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Published: January 4th 2008
Now then, now then, now then folks
So as we informed most of you we decided to enter an Ashram for two weeks, specifically from 15th December - 30th December. The Ashram's name is The Sevananda Yoga Vedanta Dhawantari Ashram just outside Trivandrum here in the south. It's located in a rather pretty area by a reservoir at Neyar Dam, which is also a wildlife park of sorts. The reason for doing this was for some disciplined practice of yoga and to learn some meditation techniques, Hatha to be precise. Also I (Big G) was having a slight existentialist crisis. So I must thank Wee G profoundly for going along with this decision.
This is a well run set up here & is internationally known & respected with centres & ashrams all over the globe.
There is to be a strict timetable, some of which is mandatory. So the timetable was like this:
Wake-up 05.30, satsang (meditation, chanting & talk, compulsory bit) 06.00-07.30, 08.00-10.00 yoga (excellent), 10.00-11.00 breakfast in silence, 11.00-12.00 lecture(compulsory), 12.00-13.00 Karma yoga (compulsory), 13.30 tea, 14.00-15.00 coaching (private coaching for your yoga technique), 15.25-17.00 yoga, 18.00-19.00 dinner (in silence), 20.00-21.30 evening satsang (see previous comment regarding satsang) & 22.30 lights out.
We decide to take a taxi out to the ashram from Trivandrum. Picturesque but I keep dozing off. We pull up outside the steps leading to the entrance. The entrance itself has a red-tiled roof in a Keralan style, which is reminiscent of a pagoda. Steeling ourselves we ascend the stairs to the entrance and into the unknown a that is esactly what it is; the unknown, a black hole of karma, a wormhole to enlightenment, weightloss & increased flexibility. At the stairhead we are greeted by the following sight: An unkempt, mosquito devoured Swedish woman who is begging to be let out. The security guard cum doorman is saying to her, "Lecture, you cannot leave because you go to lecture."
She begs, "I must go out, there is nothing to eat here. I am free person." She sounds like the Swedish chef from the muppets who has spent 40 days & 40 nights in the desert. She is bordering on clinical hysteria. We look at each other, shrug our shoulders and make our way to the reception area. I think it's like the reception area of an open prison. There is a lot of wire mesh & glass. It's very busy with Ashramites checking in & checking out. We approach the desk. To our left a British guy in an orange Singha Beer vest, orange linen trousers, a scarf wrapped round his balding head in a half-arsed attempt at a turban & some genuinely interesting tattoos speaks. "Would you like to buy a yoga mat, 500 rupees? It's got great energy". Wee G buys it, new ones cost 700 & she gets a bag too. BARGAIN!. This bearded, farty middle-aged hippy then finds out his credit card has been blocked so he can't pay. Inside I laugh heartily as he doesn't know how to have his card unblocked & all his hardcore traveller bum-hippy credibility is entirely reliant on a piece of incredibly hi-tech plastic. I feel my existential crisis beginning to lift immediately. I turn to Wee G and ask, "Shall we escape now?" This question is repeated within the next 10 minutes, when on one of the registration documents, it asks you for your spiritual name. I am tempted to put Yogi as in Yogi Bear but I understand that this would be taking the piss somewhat unnecessarily. We register, pick up our bedclothes & mosquito nets and are taken to our respective dorms. It is like registering at an open prison. Who am I kidding? The bed is a tad short but that is nothing new. There is a large variety of people here. Those with a genuine interest in learning yoga, those who are training to become yoga teachers, those who are knackered, those who want to say they have been to an ahsram lots of spaced out hippy types looking for a spiritual fix & other spiritual tourists. I Meet a few guys who seem really good chaps. Steve a Canadian teacher working in Sri Lanka, Helmut, a German & Alan a British physiotherapist travelling with his girlfriend. They all have their heads screwed on. Wee G shares her dorm space with an Irish woman on a spiritual quest. Every place she asks Gaynor about is followed by the question, "Is there an ashram there?"
All day long new Ashramites come to register. All foreign & mainly white but there are few Indians here too.
The ashram shop opens as I need long trousers for yoga, they seem to insist on baggy clothes. I don't think that my cycling shorts would go down too well. A little too distracting methinks, but I don't know for who. So I buy white baggyish cotton breeks, my own yoga mat, two meditation cushions and some bog roll. We are set. We gather for the first yoga session. It is great. We repeat asanas time after time. You get stretched in all ways and really get a sweat on. Remember, it is around 28-30 degress. Then the breathing exercises (pranayama) if some of you readers start practising some or visualise, you'd deck yourselves laughing. One is where you inhale thriough the nose quietly & then exhale through the nose as powerfully as you can to a 'in-out" rhythm. Just imagine 50-odd people exhaling down the noses as hard as they can. It makes some noise. So two hours of asanas, breathing exercises & relaxation and it is time for dinner. We gather in four long rows and sit facing each other cross-legged. Very uncomfortable on a straw mat on a marble floor. Dinner is served on metal pre-punched trays a'la the prison type. Ashramites serve you from buckets. There is not much texture to the food but plenty of flavour. Is this enough though? We must ask ourselves. You do not have cutlery so you eat with your fingers. This is the norm in India. I am ok with it but Wee G is not & never has been. She feels it's like being at a dinner party for 50-odd two year-olds. She asks for a spoon & someone says that they will try to find one. They do much to her relief. She buys her own the next day.
Along comes 20.00 hours and time for Evening Satsang. I have been looking forward to the meditation. I am hoping for a bit of guidance. But no this doesn't happen. It goes a little like this:
A white orange-robed South African who has a Hindu name as he has converted leads. The usual' "Focus on your breathing, focus on your heart or in between your eyebrows." The guy has a good voice but it's no good. I can barely concentrate for 5 minutes let alone 20-30 minutes. The silence is good though. Next comes the chanting. Hang your heads & go, "Nooooooooooooooooo! Not the chanting." I seriously thought that this would be part of the meditation process; something to calm the beast within, to help you focus your attention. No, it is not like this at all. They circulate A4 booklets. Then one of the staff chooses a chant. Please visualise the following:
50-odd folk sitting around in a huge open air hall (very beautiful it is too). All wearing baggy clothes or other compulsory hippy gear & one couple looking as if they have just walked off the set of Lord of the Rings; Gandalf the Grey & his wispy elf-lady. There are some sensibly dressed folk but not too many.
The chant begins. The staff member leads & you all then follow. Does this start to feel familiar to you all? Go back into your past. Primary school in fact or even infant school.
The chant: jaya ganesha, jaya ganesha, jaya ganesha, da-de-da. This is repeated in a circular form & there are about 10 verses. The rhythms are like Western nursery rhymes. Plus, WHAT DO THEY MEAN? This is one chant too many. We don't need to look at each other. We have both decided that we are out of here the next day.
Next day comes. The Morning Satsang. More chanting. I refuse. I sit there resolutely keeping my mouth shut like a huffy child who's been told off. I get up and leave the hall as I find this utterly ridiculous. The yoga is great, the breakfast is slop. I believe in the yoga, we both do. I am changing my mind. I can put up with this because of the yoga. Oh how wrong can you be. Graham, you silly, silly man. You must trust your instincts. Believe in the FORCE G. Along comes the 11.00 lecture. Here we are told the do's and don'ts, the musts and the mustn'ts, the possibles an the impossibles. Oh and lest I forget, they will take a register. All this from an orange-robed WHITEY convert. I am sure I left this job. It is decided that we leave today after the the afternoon yoga class (you have got to get as much for your money as you can).
I still expect and am prepared to do my karma yoga. This is basically a bit of volunteer work; cleaning, serving some food or other such duty for one hour a day for your stay. It helps the ashram run. This is a could idea. Gaynor will do most things but she won't clean bogs. Me, i am not bothered but secretly hope I won't have to clean bogs. So I go to the chappy to find out what I am doing. He tells me that I will help with the serving of food. Hooray, I get to deliver slops from a bucket. Just like the orphanage in Oliver Twist. But I tell the chappy, "Iwon't be here." He asks, "Why?" I say, "I am leaving." I say this a little too smugly as some people in my group snigger & others take in a sharp breath. I have dared to defy. I may be struck down, I may be karma-ed to death. All the chappy does is dismiss me dismissively.
Afternoo yoga comes, we enjoy it as it is led by a middle aged Jewish or German lady with a huge bosom. She is hilarious in her delivery of instructions. I fully expect to see Woody Allen in the room and she does remind me of Sarah Hillier, this only makes sense if you work at Egglescliffe. This is very strange; SH instructing me how to do the fish in a Jewish/German accent. Scary/hilarious? Please circle the applicable. Yoga class is over. We pack & go to check out. I have a brief chat with the crazy looking Swedish lady. She wants fruit. I said, "They had oranges today." She said, "We have those in Sweden." I said, "They had apples." She said, "We have those in Sweden." I said somewhat sarcastically, "What do you want then, a banana?" She said, "Yes. something tropical". This raises questions. Do they get bananas in Sweden? She was booked in for a fortnight & had already been here for a week. then she told me that she was booked in for another 4 weeks. I nearly fell over at this point. Inside I was screaming, 'WHERE IS YOUR FREE WILL?" Poor lady. It would appear that not everyone is cut out for an ashram. I am reminded of the Eagles - Hotel California, "You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave".
So into the reception area to check out. An instructor asks if we are leaving, we reply that we are, she says it is too early & we say no, it's not. we check out. We grab a cab, get back to Trivandrum, check into a hotel, get a few beers & watch a film.
Nuff said!!!!
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pooman
non-member comment
Rivetting yoga story. I am trying to draw parallels to my own yoga classes at the local old people's home (they can't get out either). I first went along with my Mum and Dad. And let me tell you, no boy should see his father in those positions. We chant, meditate, sing and bend. I personally like the bending (no jokes please). It also is a great discipline to take out into the big world, where ever you are. At one level, and maybe this is enough, it teaches you to stretch the body and relax the mind. The techniques can therefore be applied anywhere, on a mountain, in Saltburn Amusement Arcade etc etc. I think the trick is not to make life so complicated but just distill it down to good breathing, mind relaxation and keeping the body supple every so often. That should fix your eggistential problem Big G. Loads of surf last week. Nice and cold now but still exciting. Some nice shots of Ian Forsyths website. Travel well and safely. Jaya ganesha, jaya ganesha, do wot diddy diddy dum diddy dum. Pooman