So this is a weird one for me. As I still haven’t decided in my mind which is my first yoga class. Is it the one-off class I took years ago and never returned to? Or the first one I took and kept going back to? Let me explain both the experiences.

The class I never returned to was good. It was a good class. The teacher was a good teacher. Welcoming, friendly and accomadating. I can’t remember the face of the teacher though. It was delivered by an expatriate, a lady. It was a small class like most of the yoga classes out there. It was a Sunday morning. What I had to pay for it back then was premium. This was in par with my ideas back then about yoga. Yoga was for privileged. Class was in a posh part of the town. Attendees were expats and rich neighbors.

I didn’t feel I didn’t belong, even though I wasn’t any of the above. This is something I was lucky to experience about yoga from early on. Yoga is unifying and accepting. On the mat (which I had to borrow from the centre) you are just another person. I liked the session. It loosened my chest and cleared the phlegm. I mentioned this to my dad after the class and he was quite impressed about it.  About yoga helping with phlegm. Nobody likes a chest cold.

Why didn’t I return to that class?

It was what it was, delivered my expectations. Something on the surface. There was nothing wrong with the class. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe I didn’t want my classes to be funded by someone. I wasn’t working back then. Maybe it was too expensive a burden to be charity. And I definitely thought yoga was for those who can afford it.

In my defense, yoga was for a certain class of the society, decade and a half ago in this part of the world. There weren’t many qualified yoga teachers. There weren’t social media. There were no streaming services. Practically there wasn’t access. Social media is redeemed by its service to yoga and wellness any day by my books.

Coming back to the yoga class that I stuck with. There was structure, there was a disclaimer, there was people from many walks of life. Most strikingly, it was affordable. Yeyy! Teacher in charge of the class couldn’t make it to the first few classes, because he was attending a yoga retreat. But the replacement teacher was impressive. So impressive, I didn’t feel she was just filling in. She did all it took to make people come back for the second class. Yet she was effortless in her endeavor. 

She touched upon many areas of yoga at least briefly, to show the participants what was to come. She was kind, easy going and clearly knew what she was talking about. It was a class of practice. Not of talk. There was very little talk, other than to guide in to and out of poses. There was flow. There was reverence at the beginning, challenge in the middle and grounding at the end. It was an unpretentious yet a complete yoga experience for a beginner.

I knew I was going to go back at the end of the class. It was a new experience. I was smiling. I felt light and was brought down to the earth by what I wasn’t aware of and not capable of. I had to compromise my weekend evenings to come to the city to attend the sessions. Something I loathed doing even now. Disrupting my weekends wasn’t an option for me. I did my job intensely and needed the weekend recharge. It was a big deal for me to be able to take anything on during the weekend on a regular basis. And yoga was the exception. I’m glad I decided to stick with it. It lead me here and the journey is yet unfolding.  

How was your first yoga class?