Bending bodies and minds

Saturday 23rd November 2013

Our yoga course was nearing completion, and we were both making excellent progress. Yesterday, our teacher, Manoj, had invited us to watch him participate in a yoga competition. We both thought this would be a unique experience and, as we were in the yoga zone, it would be inspiring and rewarding.

At the end of our session, we reminded Manoj about the competition, and he was thrilled that we wanted to join. He told us to meet him at SVM at 11:15, giving us a total of 25 minutes to get home, shower, change, eat breakfast, and scoot to the meeting point. The sacrifice to make it on time was that breakfast consisted of one banana, to share, on the move.

Within seconds, a tuk-tuk came bouncing down the road. Manoj had brought a friend who was also going to be competing. This guy had only started doing yoga six years ago, at the age of 59. We all bundled in and had a short, squashed ride to the bus stand, where we swapped our mode of transport for the bus. Manoj was being stubborn and refused to let us pay for anything. He just said he was happy that we were joining and that we were his guests for the day.

The bus traveled over the bridge, down to Ernakulam, and through to a suburb of the city. At our stop, we all clambered off the bus and made our way up to the 'Renewal Centre,' where the tournament would be held.

The busy hall was similar to what you'd find in a school in England. Plastic chairs that had originally been arranged into neat lines were now snaking the length of the room. There were fans whirring overhead, but it was still pretty stuffy. As soon as we were inside the hall, Manoj spotted one of his gurus and excitedly presented us as his new students, from England. The guru was polite but nonchalant during this awkward introduction.

The competition was already well underway, and we sat in time to watch the little ones bending and contorting into the most incomprehensible poses. Paying great attention to the order of the day, we realized that three poses would be picked at random using little yellow disks with numbers that corresponded to a worksheet of poses. All participants of the category (split by age and sex) would have to get into position and hold these poses while three judges marked them. Next, the contestants all had an opportunity to show off two of their best moves in the freestyle section.

Although inspiring to watch, after many repeated poses, our concentration started wavering. Our empty tummies led us to distraction, but Manoj saved the day when he explained his category wasn’t for some time and asked if we wanted to get lunch.

We grabbed Manoj’s friend and made our way back towards the main road to a pure veg restaurant. Manoj had explained that part of yoga was about diet. This was strict vegetarian—meat and fish = sin. It also excludes all the good veg like onions, potatoes, garlic, and even chillies! Not really knowing if he had expected us to convert our diets and keen not to cause offence, we asked him to order on our behalf.

We were presented with poori and little thali-style sauces. It was nice, but the portion was huge, so neither of us was able to finish. Manoj presumed we didn’t like it and took some convincing that we were full.

Back in the competition room, we waited patiently to watch our teacher compete. We saw the early twenties categories, late twenties (which consisted of one man competing against himself), and then it was time.

We’d hardly spoken to Manoj all day as he’d been catching up with his friends, practicing, or stalking his guru. He had been very insistent that we capture everything on camera, so we’d both got close to the stage to take snaps and film the performance.

He had two other men in his category, so they would all be through to the state competition. The positions were called, and all of the men got into their poses. At the shoulder stand, Manoj wobbled a little but redeemed himself with his cobra (where his feet bend round to touch his head) and something else very bendy and impressive. Having been on camera duty, neither of us had checked out the other contestants, so we really had no idea how well Manoj had done.

The old ladies were next, and they were impossibly supple. It was lovely to see how much the community cared. This seemed to be the top category—the audience was gripped, and after each pose, they broke into claps and cheers. The grannies looked very pleased with themselves and all congratulated each other with genuine warmth.

Next was Manoj’s friend with the over-65s. These guys were good! I never thought I’d see a 77-year-old man practically doing the splits with his face flat to his leg. Pretty impressive.

After a painstaking amount of time and red-raw palms from the clapping, the announcement of the 30–40-year-old males was made. Second place. Both Jamie and I thought this was very good and congratulated Manoj, who was not at all impressed. He’d wanted first and wanted it badly. On review of the clips, the other guy was pretty perfect in all his poses and, although not as bendy, he oozed strength and confidence.

This was the beginning of the breakdown. Manoj looked around for his guru, who was sat with the winner of Manoj’s category looking rather pally. We presumed this guy had become his new prodigy as they had been together comfortably laughing and joking. Manoj had been on the sidelines but was now desperate for approval. The guru arrogantly sauntered up onto the stage to collect his second award and paid little attention to Manoj, who was now back with us, explaining that his poses were so much harder and how he’d been robbed.

By now, we were both eager to leave, but after some mix-up, we had to wait for the announcement of the over-60s so we could see where Manoj’s friend had placed. Absolutely overjoyed (and this is no exaggeration), he came with a trophy proudly in hand to announce he’d been awarded third place and was also through to state.

He explained how happy he was and said that the guy that competed against himself came first but wasn’t as happy as him, who came third out of six. This was an easy concept to grasp, but we had it explained to us close to eight times.

Well, this was awkward. We had a third-prize winner floating on air and a second-prize winner who was somewhat suicidal. The bus ride was long. Manoj was silent and sulky, and his pal was beaming, sat with his trophy proudly in hand for the whole trip home.

At our stop, we said our goodbyes to Manoj and tried to cheer him up by thanking him for the experience. This didn’t appear to work.

Back at home, we talked about how brilliantly crazy the whole day had been and planned the following day’s boozy, meaty dinner.

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