As I channel-surf, my remote sometimes freezes at this channel showing a ridiculously supple woman in leopard-print lycra or whatever these serene TV yoginistas wear, often in an exotic natural setting. She’s breathing deeply, and doing things with her limbs that man or beast weren’t meant to do. A soothing background score of rippling water sounds plays as the commentator tells you in a calming voice, “...Next, part your cheeks, clamp on your big toe with your incisors, breathe deeply, and hold for fifteen seconds ...”
All this makes me terribly tense.
So tense that I rush out onto my balcony, gulp in air via several shallow breaths, eat a plate of onion pakora , have a large whisky, and watch a Vadivelu comedy bit.
For the benefit of other guilt-ridden philistines like myself who do not practise yoga, here are the benefits of not doing it:
You don’t have to encounter certain parts of yourself
When god designed humans, he made sure certain orifices pointed in opposite directions for good reason. For instance, at any given time, if the facial ones point due north, the others naturally point south. And that’s how they should stay. Doing certain asanas brings them intimately close, and can cause much psychological trauma.
You don’t have to encounter certain parts of others
Yoga, quite often, is a group activity. The only time I ventured into a yoga studio years ago, the person in front of me was our neighbour Pushpesh Mehta. Having a Ram Gopal Varma POV of him doing the downward dog in his ancient track pants has scarred me for life.
You don’t have to be a downward dog
Which brings us to the downward dog. Ever since my maths teacher called me a disturbed donkey, I have an aversion to being, or doing, a downward dog, sideward serpent or untoward unicorn. If I don’t do yoga, I can continue doing what I do: semi-upright uncle.
You can continue being shallow
Let’s face it. We are the shallowest lot of humans ever to inhabit the planet. We send teary-face emojis on WhatsApp when someone tells us their father died. Why should our breathing alone be deep? I am embracing my shallow. The only place I like ‘deep’ is when it precedes ‘fried’.
You can stay indulgent
Apparently, yoga done right is all about being abstemious. I’ve heard hardcore practitioners tell me they only eat leaves and twigs they have plucked and gathered themselves slyly from neighbours’ gardens. Everything except their yoga pants is herbal. That really leaves no place for my KFC fare.
You can keep the anger going
Listen, when I’m driving, and an auto driver brings up my wife and mother, I don’t want to do an elaborate namaste to him. I want to continue harbouring the rage to tell him what he can do with his great-aunt and his second cousin. Yoga takes that away from you.
You can remain interesting
Yoga practitioners — barring those who play chess, collect stamps, or own Devdutt Pattanaik’s complete works — tend to become the least interesting people on earth (make that universe). Skip the yoga. Preserve your scintillating wit.
Which yoga do I choose?
You have hatha, jatha, kundalini, steam, rocket, nuclear and intergalactic yoga. And that’s just the tip of the asana -berg. I’m a simple man. I panic at buffets, and order one plate idli-vada . Imagine having to choose from this contorted cornucopia.
If you ask me, the only one who made yoga fun was Vijayakanth. If there’s a Captain Yoga class, I’m in. Otherwise, let me be my unyogified, shallow-breathing, angry self.
Krishna Shastri Devulapalli is an inflexible humour writer. If he is trolled for this piece, it will confirm his belief that yoga doesn’t work.
