The Rules of Yoga Class

I went to my first yoga class tonight!  Very exciting.  A real yoga class too, not any of that "Power Yoga" or "Urban Yoga" crap where you really just get tricked into doing some pushups and stuff.

The rules of real yoga are as follows.


First Rule of Yoga Class: There is no yoga class.  I know, you saw that coming.  I walked down to class at 6:15, so I wouldn't be late, and when I got there I was the only one there.  I went early because I'm used to the way things usually are at home.  If you want to do a group class, you better get there about an hour early and be prepared to fight some skinny blonde girl for a good spot.  Apparently, they're running short on overeager workoutaholics here. At about 6:40, I was convinced that there really was no yoga class. When I was about to leave, everyone showed up-- five older women, and Dr. Rajiv Chopakak or something.  And so we got started.

Second Rule of Yoga Class: Take your shoes off.  You even have to do this in the fake yoga classes at home, but somehow I forgot.  I walked right into the little studio with my filthy flip flops on.  Even the security guard took his big old shoes off.  Everyone looked at me like I had some kind of disease.  Dang it! 

Third Rule of Yoga Class: You better know the poses before you get there, because no one is going to teach you.  Dr. Rajiv got things going pretty quickly.  He turned on some blasting music (Indians like their music LOUD.  Really loud.  Take however loud you think I mean, double it, turn it up just a little bit more, and that's just about how loud they like music to be.)  Then he started calling out poses, "Position 1, breathe in, Position 2, breathe out..."  I had no idea what was happening, but I tried to keep up as best I could.  "Hopefully now your breathing will be deep, calm, and relaxing," I barely heard him say over the music.  Yeah right.  How's ragged and labored?  Will that be ok?  Everyone else looked pretty relaxed, but I was a mess.  My mat was all jacked up and pushed around everywhere, sweat was getting in my eyes, and it was obvious I didn't know the poses.  Luckily, yoga is a lot like sex.  Just go along with what the person closest to you is doing, and everything should work out fine.

Fourth Rule of Yoga Class: Please clean your nostrils thoroughly.  Dr. Rajiv said this to everyone about halfway through the class, and walked up to me with a kleenex from his bag.  I was horrified that I had a bat in the cave-- he probably saw it on that last back bend he had us doing.  The kleenex smelled like cumin, and I was still a little embarrassed when I realized that he gave tissues to everyone.  Shew.  "Ladies, clean them thoroughly."  And then I thought, "What the hell are we going to be doing next that my nostrils have to be thoroughly clean?!"  Turns out it was some "dynamic" breathing exercises.  What's that? you wonder.  Well, I can teach you.  Start by making a face like the one you made the last time you walked into a public bathroom.  The one at the mall, perhaps.  In a standing position, bend your knees slightly and put your hands down at your side, palms facing down.  In two swift and fluid motions, bend your knees more, exhaling sharply, and then stand up straight, inhaling deeply.  Yes, that's right.  You should be bouncing around like you are about to break into a African tribal dance.  Do 40 repetitions 5 times.  Without laughing.

Next class is on Thursday night.  Can't wait!

Getting frisky

Today is the first day I've spent in the apartment alone.  Our FRO trip was postponed until later this week... I know, I'm so sad.  So, I've just been laying around and trying to find ways to occupy myself until Bob gets home in 5 hours and 43 minutes.  One of the ways I've been occupying myself is counting down the minutes until Bob gets home.

I was also thinking about some of the small trips we've made out into the city, to malls, the movies, the grocery, and to some larger markets, and I remembered something I've yet to really think about until now.  Every time you enter a building here, whether it be the Metro or a mall, someone feels you up.  For real.  And they aren't shy.

The first time this happened, Bob and I were getting on the Metro, and I followed him dutifully into a long line of men waiting to walk through the metal detector (these are also at the entrances of most buildings, and if you have a bag they search it too and run it through an xray machine).  As we approached the front of the line, which was moving so quickly it hardly seemed like a line, he said, "Oh my gosh babe.  You should go to the women's line.  I didn't even think about it."  You didn't think about it?!  "What a narrow escape from a security guard that surely would have violated me," I thought in the voice of an annoying, highly private, highly individual, very selfish, very American woman that occasionally creeps into my mind. 

Honestly, I maintain that the security guard merely would have informed me that I needed to go to the other line.  Bob maintains that he would have had his way with me :)

Anyway, it got me thinking about how everyone was complaining a while back about those super high power scanning machines that could see your everything in airports, and how if you wouldn't let those machines scan you, you had to get frisked by an airport security guard, which would undoubtedly turn out to be the worst experience in your life.  And I have one thing to say to those complainers. Get over it freaks! Try having an Indian woman feel you up right before you buy some mangoes and other breast-shaped fruit.  It just doesn't feel right.

I'm kidding.  At first, all the frisking and searching and scanning made me wonder what, exactly, all the precautions were protecting us from.  Although I haven't completely rationalized it to myself, I do understand that it's just a way of life here.  No one makes a big deal about it, no one complains, and honestly, it's not that bad.  If all else fails, it'll wake you up on that sleepy morning run to the store.