I still don't have the faintest idea why I'm here, and I guess it's starting to eat at me. Watching all these Yoga Journal cover models, it occurred to me that yoga might help me connect to some kind of inner guidance. At the very least, I could work out the backpacker kinks in my shoulders.
Yoga and I don't hang out together very often these days, but I can still pull off a sun salutation from memory. So the last two mornings, I got up early and attempted some yoga poses on the sand amidst scuttling crabs and sniffing beach dogs.
The first day, I felt so calm afterward. I lay on the sand, listening to the surf and taking deep breaths in time with the waves. "Nothing can ruffle me now," I thought.
Just then, two beggars - a woman and a little girl wrapped in faded shawls - came up to my blanket with their hands out. I didn't have any money on me, just my blanket and my shoes. I shook my head no. They kept their hands out, both less than a foot away from me, reaching and reaching.
I said, "No, I'm sorry."
I tried to ignore them. They just stood there, calling, "Hello! Hello!"
Every time I looked up, they held out their hands and fixed me with these pitiful stares. I stood up. I said no again. I mimed having no pockets, no money.
"Where would I be hiding money?" I asked, exasperated.
They just continued calling, "Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello!" This went on for five minutes. I walked down the beach. They followed me. I started a conversation with someone else. They waited. I walked halfway back to my room before they eventually faded away and, by then, I was really, truly ruffled.
On the second morning, I went to a different beach. About a half hour into my solo routine, a young man appeared out of nowhere. He was wearing only plaid cotton boxer shorts and aviator sunglasses. He crouched right next to me and peered into my upside-down face.
"Yoga!" he said, with a huge smile.
"Yup!" I gasped, somewhat embarrassed in downward dog. He just kept sitting there, looking at me.
I dropped my pose and asked, "What's up?"
Through a series of gestures and many words I didn't understand, he communicated that he was from Russia, he didn't speak English, and he wanted me to go swimming.
I was not going swimming. I was wearing pants and a shirt, for one, and I didn't want to leave my bag alone on the beach. Plus, I was in the middle of yoga!
"Damn it," I thought. "I'm trying to be a disciplined, healthy bad-ass, so why won't India let me finish a single yoga practice?"
The man just kept talking in Russian. Every time I broke a pose and looked at him, he would make a motion like he was dancing The Swim, point at the ocean and give me a thumbs up. "Good, OK?"
"No," I said, over and over. "No. No."
"I don't have a swimming suit," I'd say, pointing to my pants. "I don't understand what you're saying. I'm doing yoga now. Please go."
"Yoga? Good!" Thumbs up. Then more swimming motions.
I couldn't get him to leave and I couldn't just keep doing yoga with him watching and chattering. "Screw it," I thought.
I jumped up and ran into the ocean with my clothes on. He laughed and followed and we both got clobbered by the waves. My waterlogged yoga pants kept pulling me down and it was hard to swim. Still, I swam way out towards the horizon, much further than he did, and floated for awhile.
When I came back to the shore, he followed me out. "Good," he said. "Yoga! Bye, OK?"
He waved, still laughing, and walked off the beach without a backward glance.
Clearly, the lessons of yoga extend far beyond the mat in India. I'm still not sure I understand, but I can't wait to see what happens tomorrow.
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