Ommmmmmmm!

So, I’ve taken up yoga.

I know, I know, I can pretty much feel the rolling of your collective eyeballs from here. The headline practically writes itself: White Girl Goes to India to Work in Human Rights, Comes Back with New  Found Appreciation for Ancient Spiritual Practice and Paneer.  But, just hear me out, OK?

I like to exercise. More than that, I need to exercise if I have any hope of burning up the energy madly coursing through my perky veins. When I don’t exercise I feel sluggish, dopish and yes, I’ll just say it, fat. (And friends, let me tell you the massive amounts of samosas I consume on a weekly basis here ain’t helping none with that whole “I feel fat” bit). With the little free time I had in NYC I would play soccer, go to dance class and, if things got really desperate, force myself to jog.

Here in Delhi I have managed to find a soccer team, which was a wonderful and unexpected addition to my life. But, quite frankly, all of the hip-hop/jazz/ballet dance studios here seem like amateur crap (and no, I’m not interested in learning traditional Indian classical dance which is beautiful but seems to the uninitiated me to be largely about graceful hand positions and balancing large fragile things on your head). And, the congested, polluted streets, where the cars, autos, rickshaws, carts, cows, horses, stray dogs and other Wild Things roam, are not an option for jogging. Plus, you know, it’s over 100 degrees out there!

There are actually plenty of gyms around, but as the monthly fee is quite expensive by Indian standards, membership is seen as a status symbol. I’ve been told by friends with gym memberships that Indian women tend to dress up and make up before hitting the treadmills and that the beefcake men spend lots of time oogling the lady-fare. So, basically it’s like a city full of Equinoxes. No thanks. (Also, there is actually very few things in life I hate more than being on a treadmill. I guess I hate going to the dentist more. And I hate work all-nighters more too. But that’s pretty much it).

So, what’s an exercise crazed girl to do? Well, as I always say, when in Rome exercise as the Romans do. And I’m in India, so that means yoga.

Logistically, yoga actually makes a lot of sense for me. There is a lovely little studio a 5 minute walk from my house which offers 8am classes; perfect timing for a girl whose expected to be in the office around 10am. And I have to say, it’s also quite nice to be able to get off the dusty, cranky streets of Delhi into a little oasis of silence of calm.

And you know what else? Yoga is like, really hard. Everyone around me is all doing these crazy arm-stands and twisty things whereas I’m sweating profusely just trying to hold the downward dog position for 8 breaths. I do feel like I’m getting a pretty good work out. And I feel like these totally unnatural stretches that the teacher makes me do are actually working out some kinks in muscles I didn’t know I had.

But you know what the best part is? At the end of every class we get to just lie on the mat and sleep for 10 minutes. Amazeballs!

I know what you’re all thinking right now: “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” And maybe that’s true, as I’d still pass up a good yoga class, even with the nap session built in, for a mediocre hip-hop class in half a heartbeat.  But I’ll tell you one thing, surely and honestly: yoga sure beats jogging!