59 minute read
Senior Teachers Remember
from Yoga Samachar FW2015
by IYNAUS
Photo: Andy Richter 2013
SATTVA, SHABDA, PRAJNA
Advertisement
by Lois Steinberg
In the early 2000s, I cut back my annual extended time in Pune to two months. But after Guruji’s 90th birthday in 2008, in addition to my two months in winter, I visited Pune in June a few times, always eager to learn more. I shared with Patricia Walden that the month of June was an excellent time to study at RIMYI, and she too decided to go. I skipped my June visit in 2012, thinking I would go with Patricia in 2013. But then the next year, 2013, I was not so sure I could spend the entire extra month in June again. I was torn because Guruji’s advancing age was telling on him. Many thought he was near death because of a persistent, nasty cough that developed during his 80th birthday celebrations. The blanket dust (thousands of new blankets had not been washed) was thick in the air and over 800 international students arrived during an outbreak of influenza. It created a terrible mix, resulting in many of us getting extremely sick. The outbreak was so severe that a medical tent had to be set up on the grounds. I caught atypical pneumonia. Karin O’Bannon went home early because of ill health. Patricia was also very ill. Worst of all, Guruji never recovered from the nasty cough he developed at that time. Over the years, it became so bad he could not control it. However, he continued his teaching even during the worst moments. In January 2013, he told me that the cough continued until November 2012 and then it settled down. Despite this, he felt his energy was down, and though his cough was better, he was not feeling better, in fact, less so. He said, “I can guarantee 95, but not 96.”
His comments made me want to return to Pune in June of 2013, but I could not do it for a month. Then I had the outrageous idea that I would go for a week. As this was forming in my mind over the next few months, I also knew I wanted to ask him an important question: What are we, his students, going to do when he dies? This is not an easy question to ask. It is quite a self-centered one. Yet, I had to ask it in some way.
Meanwhile, I heard from sources in Pune that the hot season, as usual, was hard on Guruji. He became very ill, and they thought he was near death. He lost a lot of weight and was not in the practice hall.
I talked to Patricia about my plans, and she wanted to join me. We worked out together the week we could go. I would arrive a day earlier than she could, and she planned to leave Pune a day later than me on Sunday. I said, “Why leave on Sunday? After Saturday morning class, there would be nothing more.” She suggested that we could possibly get a private audience with Guruji on Sunday. Great plan.
Photo: Gabriella Giubilaro
was on my mat in the practice hall at 9 a.m. I had startled everyone. Pandu and others could not believe I came all this way, at great cost, for just one week. When Guruji came to practice, he was very surprised but said in a raised voice, “Oh, you came for more corrections! I am not going to give you anything!” I replied, “No, Guruji, I only came to see you.”
Then, one of the RIMYI teachers told me how ill Guruji had been. During his illness, he had depended upon his teacher-helpers, who brought his props to his home and helped him with his practice. Through his daily practice, he nursed himself back to health. Just before I arrived, he became much healthier, began putting on more weight, and was in the practice hall. He looked so thin to me, but apparently he was better. During practice that day, I watched him do standing poses as I was doing mine. I was later told it was the first time he had done them since being so unwell. I enjoyed looking over at him, his radiance; sometimes I would be doing the same pose as he was. But his skin, muscle, and bone were flowing together. He had vivaciousness and vivekakhyati, an unbroken high state of awareness.
After three hours, I put my props away and started to make my way out. Guruji said, “Hey Lois, do Urdhva Dhanurasana.” I stupidly replied that I had just done shoulder balance. He just looked at me and said nothing. I complied and got down at his feet. He had an assistant put the biggest plate weight on top of my feet and jammed it into my ankles. I surprised myself in pushing up into the pose when another one of those giant plate weights was placed on my front thighs. Guruji proceeded to instruct me, manually adjusting and verbally guiding what I was to do. It felt effortless, joyful, and ultimately absorbing. That is Guruji’s teaching. He got me to do something, on the spot, that I did not think I could.
Patricia arrived the next day, a Tuesday, during the afternoon medical class. Everyone was shocked again. Why come for just a week? When Guruji came to work in the class, his reaction upon seeing her was to suggest that she had come for medical help. “No, just to see you,” she said.
The whole week was magical. Guruji taught us every day in the practice hall and medical classes. He was more robust than he had been back in January. When we weren’t practicing, Patricia and I worked on our question for Guruji. Patricia asked for and was granted a meeting with Guruji—on Saturday at 4 p.m. “Patricia! Sunday would be a quieter day! We planned for Sunday.” I then had to ask Guruji for a change of plans. He agreed to Sunday. But for Patricia, the time was not good, and it was her turn to ask again. The time change was granted for 9:30 a.m. It pays to be a short-term visitor!
The household seemed to know about our meeting. On Sunday, Patricia and I walked down the drive and met Hareeth, Guruji’s grandson, who said, “Oh, you have a meeting with Guruji.” We waited inside the lobby, and Prashant came and said, “Oh, you have a meeting with Guruji.” He thought we were teaching a course in India because surely we had not come all the way here only to be in Pune for a week. We waited, and Guruji walked in glowing, graceful, his dhoti and kurta flowing. He sat down at the end of the table, and we sat on either side, facing him. He let me set up my recorder. When I started to speak, he could not hear me. I sat up straighter and felt like I was reading him the riot act with my loud statements and questions. Patricia later said that it was like that, and she thought he was amused.
“Guruji! We were concerned about your health. Now you look more robust than ever. And we are grateful for all you have taught us this week. Guruji! It was so wonderful to be here this week.
“Guruji! We can see how beautifully the yoga institute has been set up for the next generation of students. The teachers are excellent, the rooms are packed, and you have created a brilliant legacy.
“Guruji! We are still going to come to Pune even after you stop teaching. We will encourage our students to come.
“Guruji! Can you give some words of wisdom and comfort to those of us who have sat at your feet for over 40 years? What should we do without you?”
He folded his hands together and looked at us with puppy dog eyes and said, “You don’t understand. I am an ignorant man. I have no words of wisdom.” And was silent.
Patricia and I looked at each other in panic. I said, “But you are a compassionate man.” He said, “Yes, I treat all souls the same.” Then he proceeded to tell us his life story, and one and a half hours later, he was only up to 1968. Patricia and I were giving each other looks and wondering how to guide him back to the question. Patricia asked several times how he carried on after all the setbacks, such as having the room he taught yoga in set ablaze and burnt down. Or how he had to borrow money from one person to pay money he owed to another person. He often went without food. He kept telling his stories. Guruji was not responding to our cues to answer our question. Suddenly I interrupted and said, “Guruji, what are we going to do when you are no more?”
He paused. He said that when Sri Aurobindo was alive, he had a huge following, and now it is diminished. Krishnamurti (Theosophical Society) was huge, and his following is also diminished to almost nothing. Iyengar Yoga will last for some time but ultimately will go the same way. “What you have to do is practice with honesty and integrity. And when you teach, observe your students. Now do handstand!”
All week, Patricia had been unable do handstand because a muscle in her forearm had ruptured from carrying a heavy suitcase. Once, the same had happened to me, and it is painful. She had avoided the pose all week, doing Pincha Mayurasana
Photo: Andy Richter 2013 instead, while I did Adho Mukha Vrksasana. Guruji still taught us at the same time. It did not matter. Now she had to do it. She whispered to me, “My arm, my arm.” I replied, “Patricia, just do the pose.” When we came down, she was still saying something to me about her arm. I told Guruji about her arm. He had her put her hands on the tabletop and proceeded to point out the difference in the direction the skin was turning on each hand. He guided her to correct the skin movement. She did handstand again, with his guidance, and her arm never hurt again. That is Guruji’s genius.
He continued to teach us, but he had given us so much of his time already, even though it was his only day of rest during the week. He loves the subject so much, he never stops. We said that he had given us enough of his time and thanked him for everything. He got up, turned to face us and said, “I love you.” We watched him gracefully walk away as tears came to our eyes.
In hindsight, his life story was the answer to our question. His struggle through each decade of his life would have stopped an average man. But he was not average. No matter what happened, he practiced and continued on the path of yoga that led him, ultimately lighting the way for us all. It was profound to hear his words of love for us, because those words are not forthcoming in Indian culture.
Our interview and special time with Guruji lent Patricia and me closure. It was a great bookend to a terrific study and practice with a man unlike any other. Life after Guruji is hard, but we will go on. We have benefitted from his genius, a larger than life persona, a lion who reigned supreme over the body, mind, and soul.
Lois Steinberg, Ph.D., is certified at the Advanced Junior II level and lives in Urbana, IL.
ON GURUJI
by Manouso Manos
What can you say about the greatest man with whom you ever came in contact? What words sum up a man who raised himself and through his tremendous willpower also raised up millions?
Those of us lucky enough to have been in his presence all had our own personal relationship with this man. He had the unique ability to speak directly to the hearts of those he came in contact with. He could address thousands from every corner of the earth, and each of us would feel as if he spoke to us individually.
He lived a noble life. He recognized human suffering and toiled to relieve it while uplifting a subject dear to his heart. A subject that he renovated and brought into the modern world. How few people in history ever accomplished so much?
Manouso Manos is certified at the Advanced Senior I level and lives in San Francisco, CA.
ROLLER COASTER by Rita Lewis-Manos
As I am trying to put into words how extraordinary Guruji was, the tears still come. So I will share a lighthearted moment.
The 1984 convention was over and the Indian group wanted to go to Disneyland. Everyone was eager to ride on the roller coasters—well, everyone but my four-year-old daughter. So when it was our turn to get into the car, Guruji sat her between himself and Manouso, and she felt safe. He had the ability to relate to everyone in and out of yoga, young and old.
Rita Lewis-Manos is certified at the Intermediate Senior I level and lives in San Francisco, CA.
THAT WAS THEN by Patricia Walden
The day before his 80th birthday, Guruji came into the practice hall around 9:30 a.m. At that time, his first pose was always Adho Mukha Svanasana with his hands at the wall and his head on a foam piece. So he set his timer for 10 minutes and did the pose. Then he walked away from the wall and stood in Tadasana
for what seemed like five minutes. He then proceeded to do Tadasana, Urdhva Dhanurasana, Tadasana, Urdhva Dhanurasana— he did 108 of them with his feet in the same place. He didn’t shift his feet once. And that was his practice the day before his 80th birthday! To watch an 80-year-old man going from Tadasana to Urdhva Dhanurasana 108 times was extraordinary. And all 108 drop backs took under a half hour. He didn’t linger in either pose, but he moved with the grace of a swan. No huffing or puffing. He kept an even breath, and he didn’t stay in any pose to recover. Afterward he did a Savasana. I really wish that someone had had a camera that day!
I’ve known Guruji since 1977, and I’ve had all different kinds of meetings with him, especially once certification came into place and I became involved with organizing the associations and different conventions. A meeting with Guruji was a very interesting thing. I generally would go in with my topic, and we would talk about that for a few minutes, and then inevitably the meeting would end with me in Utthita Trikonasana in jeans or Urdhva Dhanurasana in a dress. And he would use the asana to answer the questions that I had asked and somehow always found a way to make the asanas relate. When anyone had a meeting with Guruji, we always knew how it was going to end. All of the senior teachers have had the same experience.
In 2005 during the Light on Life book tour, when Guruji was teaching in Estes Park, there was one incredible night. They had this huge auditorium full of 1,000 people or more. On this particular night, there was an interview between Guruji and Annette Bening. Afterward, he sat in a chair and gave darshan to 1,000 people. And that was extraordinary. Darshan is when a guru gives a transmission by looking directly in the eyes of a student. Manouso and I were sitting near him because we wanted to make
sure that everyone was appropriate, and we were shocked. I don’t know how long it took, but I was just amazed. When we got into the car to go back to the hotel where we were all staying, I said to him, “Guruji, that was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever seen you do.” I was in the back seat and he was in the front seat, and he turned around to me and said, “That was then.” In other words, he was in the present moment. He wasn’t lingering and thinking about what had happened.
He did the same thing to me years earlier. When I was younger I suffered from depression, and early on Guruji realized it was because of my upper back. When I was young I had a lot of restriction in my upper back. Maybe eight years after we first worked on it, he was working with my upper back again, and I said, “Oh that’s because I suffered from depression.” Guruji didn’t respond so I said it one more time, and he said, “That was then.”
Those three words have really stuck with me. He was always in the present moment and always finding ways to bring us into the present moment as well. This is now.
Sadhana practice is his legacy. The week after Guruji died, I kept thinking, “What can I do?” The answer is to take my practice to the next level—because that’s what he did.
I have generally gone to India every year, and over the years Guruji has taught me so much. Not that I’m not self-reliant, but I’ve always really looked forward to the trips to India to ignite my practice in different ways. I feel full. He has given me so much. Now I’m going to act like he’s right beside me on the mat watching what I’m doing so that I’ll continue to take the next step, whatever it is for me. We all have to do that to keep his flame ignited, to keep the Iyengar method fresh and wonderful.
Patricia Walden is certified at the Advanced Senior I level and lives in Arlington, MA.
A GIFT
by Judy Brick Freedman
In 1993, I had lost every single hair, including eyelashes and in my nose. I felt down and uncertain and did not know how to adapt my practice to my autoimmune condition. Guruji listened respectfully and responded presciently that after three and a half weeks, we would know if one or both of us were confused. By month’s end, I experienced more happiness than I had in years. Under that leonine exterior burned an experimental, modest, and compassionate brilliance that effected the results we both hoped for.
Judy Brick Freedman is certified at the Intermediate Senior III level and lives in Charlotteville, NY.
GURUJI, A PERSONAL REMINISCENCE
by Bobby Clennell
My trips to Pune have often coincided with an annual celebration—whether it was Guruji’s birthday, Institute Day, or Guru Poornima (honoring your teachers day). It’s traditional to decorate the asana hall at these times.
Once in the mid 1970s, and using Light on Yoga as a guide, I decorated the hall with paper cutout yoga poses. Seated in the middle of the asana hall, surrounded by glue, scraps of paper, and a team of willing helpers, I became aware of a pair of feet on the floor in front of me. I looked up and saw that Mr. Iyengar was gazing intently at the paper cutouts. He then proceeded to help me out: the arms in Trikonasana were not long enough; here the trunk is too short; there the alignment of the ankle joint wasn’t correct. I was a very new student, and he didn’t overcorrect the drawings. In some cases, I was drawing the intermediate poses rather than the final pose—a mistake often made by photographers who are not yoga practitioners who don’t understand when to click the shutter. I felt privileged to have this interaction with Guruji. Obviously, as we know from his teaching, he had a highly developed visual eye. And it was so much fun!
On another occasion, I was making decorations for the opening of the original Iyengar Yoga Institute of London. The same pair of feet appeared on the floor in front of me. I was creating collages from colored paper. Some told stories from Indian mythology.
At first, Guruji was more interested in my illustration of the Ramamani Iyengar Memorial Yoga Institute (RIMYI). He requested that a cutout paper Hanuman (the Monkey God and symbol of devotional love) be placed on the top of the building, just like the one in Pune.
Later, when the collages were displayed on the walls of the Institute, Guruji came and stood in front of the picture depicting a story from The Bhagavad Gita. It showed the chariot carrying Arjuna, pulled by five horses, with the charioteer, Krishna, holding the reins. He explained the symbolism of the image: The chariot is the physical body, the instrument through which the self, intellect, mind, and senses operate. Arjuna is the embodied individual soul. The charioteer Krishna is the self, atma, or higher intellect. The reins are the operations of the manas (mind). The five horses represent the senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and skin.
Guruji told us that to sanctify the living process, we should do our duty, practice yoga regularly, and offer up the fruits of our endeavors to the Lord. Not long after his 80th birthday, I was again making decorations, this time for Institute Day. It was late. We were working hard to get the hall decorated in time for the weekend celebrations. Mr. Iyengar came across from his house to see what was going on. He disappeared and about 20 minutes later, came back with one of his household staff with tea and Indian desserts for all. That’s when the fun began! He was an evolved being, and on these occasions, everyone around him felt happy. He was like the sun— it’s a dharma transmission. Just as we were inspired by the intensity of his teaching in the classes, at other times around the Institute, we were touched by his joyful spirit. In the late 80s, I had shown Guruji a video of the animated short I was making based on film footage of his yoga practice. He studied the moving images very carefully. (Several years earlier, he had requested cartoon films for his grandchildren that I had been happy to provide.) Then, one Saturday morning, a few days after he had seen the film, I was beckoned to follow him into the asana hall. I tried to keep up with him as he strode through the middle of Prashant’s pranayama class toward the prop room. Prashant’s students must have been pretty alarmed—they were hanging in rope Sirsasana with head wraps on at the time. In the prop room, Guruji spun the heavy metal weights on the floor to illustrate the sound of thunder, which he thought would improve the sound track. I had titled the film, Yantra. (Yantra are sacred geometric patterns used as aids in meditation.) He thought it should be called Yoga Yantra, which in fact describes the film much better. I never did use thunder in the sound track, and although the original title had to remain on the video, for me, it’s Yoga Yantra all the way!
Bobby Clennell is certified at the Intermediate Senior II level and lives in New York, NY. To see Yoga Yantra, go to www.bobbyclennell.com.
TEACHING FROM THE HEART
by Chris Saudek Hanging Bobby’s decorations in the practice hall at RIMYI. Photo: Bobby Clennell
A friend gave me Light on Yoga when I was in graduate school and taking a “yoga” class in The story tells of a conversation between Arjuna, who was word “yoga” because it was nothing like the future Iyengar Yoga unwilling to do his duty as a warrior because fighting involved classes I would take. I paged through that now tattered copy destruction and killing, and Krishna, who told Arjuna that in and thought I would never achieve any of those poses and any conflict between opposing forces, he should choose the side placed it on my bookshelf. Later I was led to Guruji by one of of dharma (God-given duty). my first teachers, Bev Graves.
my community. I put quotes around the After only two years of taking classes in Iyengar Yoga, Bev suggested I go to an intensive in India. My first memory of Guruji was in 1980 when I was at the wall in Uttanasana and, seeing my scoliosis, he came over and stuffed a heavy wooden brick into my short side and told me to keep it there or it would fall out and break my foot! Other early memories include sitting in one of the Bombay student’s houses after class and sharing snacks with the other students and Guruji. He was friendly and open to talking about any subject, asking about everyone’s children, everyone’s work.
I traveled to Pune several times in the 1980s and 1990s before Guruji stopped leading classes. The first three times, I stayed at the Institute in a downstairs room and either participated in or watched every class Guruji taught. How I felt after class was what really hooked me on Iyengar Yoga. In addition to the good feeling in my body, I felt my mind had been transformed. In the early days, Guruji did not specifically talk about philosophy. We just did not stop doing the entire class.
The beauty of Guruji’s work is that he continued to delve into the subject and continued to give us more insight into the depth of the subject. He could see right through people and understand their motivations, their self-imposed limitations, and their deepest thoughts. He could relate to anyone. When speaking to my husband, who was a chemistry professor, he
used the image of mercury flowing through your fingers. Like many others, I remember several hits and slaps that I received from Guruji. Because each time instructed me deeply, I can recall where I was standing in the room and exactly where and how hard he hit or kicked me. I will always be grateful for
those valuable lessons. After I got my physical therapy degree, he was even more strict with me and taught me the importance of observing the eyes and the skin when adjusting in the medical classes. Though there were poses that were important for each condition, Guruji stressed teaching the person and not just the condition.
I took my husband and two of my students to Pune in the early 1980s. During a class when they were oblivious to what Guruji was saying—before they got used to his accent—and were not following directions, Guruji reprimanded me. Those words have stuck with me in all the years of my teaching. He said, “You are teaching from your head and not from your heart!” Guruji taught from his heart, and though he was strict, he was always compassionate and loved his students.
Chris Saudek is certified at the Intermediate Senior III level and lives in La Crescent, MN.
GURUJI IN THE PRACTICE HALL
by Dean Lerner
Timing is one of the hallmarks of Iyengar Yoga. You would see and feel it in Guruji’s practice: calm, patient, enduring, persistent, tenacious, earnest—all tempered with impeccable timing in his poses. Simply observing these qualities in Guruji’s practice was deeply educational and inspiring. Teaching by example was one of the many ways he taught.
Guruji expressed perfect timing in various ways and as the situation demanded. Two summers ago while I was doing a notso-stellar shoulder balance, Guruji walked by and growled, “Take your tailbone six inches in!” Then, without breaking stride, kicked me in the appropriate place to encourage the tailbone action! Perfect timing and very effective. Guruji still had the fire in his teaching and his step.
Like asana, proper sequence and timing is important to make humor succeed. In this, Guruji knew how to convey a message through humor. One day in the practice hall, in between poses, Guruji said, “Hey, Dean!” “Yes, sir?” “How long have you been practicing now?” (This was the set up). “Over 30 years, Sir.” Punch line: “What have you been doing all that time?!” Laughter followed with sobriety!
Our beloved Guruji, the greatest proponent and master of yoga in our time, has left this earthly abode. His fiery yet compassionate presence will be greatly missed by the world.
Chris being adjusted in Salambha Sarvangasana. Photo: IYNAUS archives
The joy and precious gift of his teachings remain fresh and ever inspiring, ever present. May his memory be a blessing.
Dean Lerner is certified at the Advanced Junior I level and lives in Lemont, PA.
GURUJI
by Joan White
I have put off writing this since I first heard the news because I knew in my heart that if I were to finally write this, it would mean that Guruji was really no longer with us. I forced myself to look at the picture on the Web that was taken after he had died. I saw his peaceful face, but it still looked as if he were sleeping. I looked at the pictures of the flames around his funeral pyre, and still I didn’t want to believe the inevitable. But as more and more pieces of remembrance have appeared online, I realized that I needed to put something down on paper.
My first impressions of Guruji were formed at a dinner party in 1973, the night before he was to begin teaching his first set of classes to American students since his brief adventure in 1956. My teacher, Mary Palmer, was determined to bring Guruji to the United States. When I phoned her and told her I had had a
serious horseback riding accident that had resulted in a serious break in my back, she immediately replied that she would use that to get him to come. And now here we all were sitting around a small table eating dinner together with this convivial, funny, quick-witted man with a wonderful twinkle in his eye and a very ebullient laugh. He entertained us for hours with stories of teaching the queen mother of Belgium to stand on her head and other wonderful talks.
While sitting and listening, I felt that there was something very special about this man, but it wasn’t until the following morning when we all lined up for class in one of the University of Michigan’s gymnasiums that I felt I was in the presence of someone who could change my life. His quick eye and his precise instructions were different than any other teacher I had experienced. His language was limited at that time, and yet he had the attention of all 40 of us the minute he began speaking. No matter what else was happening, my attention never left his actions and his words. I felt myself responding to his teaching from a place inside me that I had never even known was there.
At one point, during the teaching of Parsvottanasana, my back was hurting so I placed my hands on the floor to adjust my back to a place without the pain. Guruji observed me do it and quickly came over to my side and imitated what I was doing. He liked it and told me it was good. He said he hadn’t thought of it (as a way of working with a broken back). He had me right then and there—I was blown away by his power and his wisdom and his ability to penetrate into what I was doing, to take it into his body, knowing that I was dealing with a broken back. I knew that he would be my teacher on this path that I really didn’t understand but knew I had to follow.
I never questioned whether or not he was going to be my teacher. I knew intuitively that he could help me, and I put my faith entirely in him. That faith has never wavered. That man I first met, who gave a demonstration where he went seamlessly through every pose that is shown in Light on Yoga at the Power Center in Ann Arbor, never let outside praise interrupt his practice. The man we called “Mr. Iyengar” remained true to himself and his yoga for all the years that I knew him. His practice changed and deepened, but he never stopped learning—and for that, every one of us has grown exponentially over the years.
There were so many, many lessons that Guruji taught us. He was able to laugh where others might have shown anger. Once he was the guest of honor at a large gathering. After the crowds had mumbled pleasantries and drifted away to talk to friends, Guruji was left sitting in a chair all by himself. I went over and sat down on the floor next to him. I asked him how it was that he was all by himself. He answered, “They are all very busy people.” And he sat quietly and laughed about it. Another “aha” moment that said it is okay to let people do their own thing and not take it personally.
There are so many, many memories from those 41 years that I was blessed to have had contact with him. He gave us so many life lessons. This man from such a poor, humble background took it upon himself to single-handedly bring yoga to the people no matter what their caste, class, or gender.
He taught me about the meaning of compassion through his eyes. When I felt sorry for a teacher at one of the conventions whom he severely chastised, he got angry at me. He said, “Why are you comforting the teacher? It is the students you should feel afraid for.” It took me by surprise, and then I got it: The teacher wasn’t taking care of the students, and for him, the students were god. Each was a soul that we were responsible to take care of, and if we failed to do that, then what good were we as teachers?
There is so much that I am so grateful for. So many life lessons, so many points to take me away from the outside world and bring me inward on my journey. Oh Guruji, I am already missing you and wishing that I had told you all that was in my heart. And yet how selfish would that be when everyone who has ever been touched by you would also want that chance? You took such good care of us. We loved you, but you loved us more. We tried, but you tried harder. You were always so far ahead of us, and yet you were so generous and let us follow in your footsteps, learning along with you. We saw your asana practice at its peak, and we also saw how you let things go when they needed to be let go. Yet always, your sadhana was ever-deepening, and the light you shed on us was everbrightening and uplifting.
You did your job, Guruji, and have left us with lifetimes of work to do ours. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Joan White is certified at the Advanced Junior I level and lives in Philadelphia, PA.
AN ORDINARY MAN by John Schumacher
Everyone knows, either from personal contact or by reputation, that Guruji was a strict and demanding teacher in the classroom. Those of us fortunate enough to have spent time with him outside of class knew him to be a man of many dimensions with a childlike curiosity, boundless energy, and radiant good humor.
convention. I had invited him, and much to my surprise, he had accepted. He would be staying at my house. I rented a van, and Joe Adlesic, one of the Unity Woods teachers, and I picked up him and his small entourage at National Airport. Guruji jumped right into the passenger side front seat next to Joe, who was driving, rolled down the window, and off we went. Frankly, I was a nervous wreck. “What am I going to do with B.K.S. Iyengar staying at my house?” I worriedly wondered.
As we rode along, I described some of the sights of the nation’s capitol to Guruji. After a while, Jawahar Bangera, part of his entourage, asked, “John, do you have a television?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“World Cup is on today. Can you get the World Cup on TV?” Jawahar asked.
I got ESPN. “Sure,” I said.
When we got to my house, everyone (there were about half a dozen people in the entourage) clambered out of the van, went into the living room, and plopped down in front of the TV. I turned on the TV, fixed some popcorn and snacks, and we spent the afternoon watching the World Cup. And I could finally take a breath and relax.
Guruji often spoke of himself as just an ordinary man. He was married, had children, enjoyed watching sports on TV, drank coffee, loved sweets. He was asked by the great yogi Swami Sivananda to become a sannyasin, a renunciate; he refused. He wanted to embrace yoga, live in the rough and tumble of dayto-day life, and make the vast benefits of yoga available to everyone. Just an ordinary man. By his life, his dedication to and passion for yoga, he showed us that an ordinary man could rise to extraordinary heights.
Being a musician, my favorite quote from Guruji always has been the well-known: “Yoga is like music. The rhythm of the body, the melody of the mind, and the harmony of the soul create the symphony of life.”
John Schumacher is certified at the Advanced Junior I level and lives in Bethesda, MD.
EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED
by Mary Reilly
The first adjustment I ever received from Guruji surprised us both.
As a first-time student in Pune in 1987, I was enthralled and jet-lagged. I had never seen Guruji in person, so when I realized he was standing in the back of the asana room, I was
mesmerized. I think my head turned 180 degrees on my neck. “Pay attention to the class!” said Geetaji, who was teaching. “Do not stare at Guruji!” I snapped to attention.
Later, I did not realize that Guruji was circulating among the students making adjustments, and as I stood in Tadasana, he came up behind me and sharply clapped both his hands onto my upper back, sending my trapezius muscles down to their correct place. My already-strong startle reflex must have been cranked to its highest setting, because my body jumped straight up. I turned around, and to my great relief, saw Guruji bent over laughing, eyes sparkling. Guruji’s wonderful quote, “Love, labor, and laugh,” always brings up this memory for me. (Later adjustments were a little more serious!)
A few years later I was part of an exhibition of the Iyengar Yoga teaching tradition for Guruji’s visit to Chicago after the 1990 San Diego convention. When I realized that having volunteered for this meant we would be up on stage with Guruji before an audience, I questioned my sanity! We were assigned the asanas we were to teach the night before. I spent a sleepless night on someone’s basement couch going over and over the way I would teach Adho Muhka Svanasana. The next day, as people got up to teach, Guruji intervened and showed us real teaching, and how to respond to the students’ bodies in front of us, bringing them to new depths of understanding. He also threw out the list and order of asanas to be taught. As my turn came up, Parivrtta Trikonasana was called out! I went to the front of the stage and stood in Tadasana facing the students on stage with my back to the audience. My brain was clicking and whirring away, “Parivrtta Trikonasana, Parivrtta Trikonasana...”
“Can you tell me what is wrong with your Tadasana?” Guruji asked. I felt my Tadasana and had no answer. “Turn to the side,” he said. As I did, it became apparent that in my attempt to think, think, think, I had jutted my head way in front of my body. He said something like, “Do not let your expectations become your obstacles.”
Though these are some of my earliest memories of Guruji, his admonition to stay present in the moment has remained a touchstone for me ever since and continues to inform my path in yoga.
Mary Reilly is certified at the Senior Intermediate II level and lives in Harbor Springs, MI.
Guruji adjusting Mary during her demonstration of Parivrtta Trikonasana in Chicago, 1990. Photo: IYNAUS archives
BIG SOFT HEART by Carrie Owerko
One of my fondest memories, as well as one of the most recent, was from my time in Pune in February, 2014. Guruji had been practicing when his little baby great-granddaughter was brought into the hall for a visit. One of the most common perceptions of B.K.S. Iyengar is that of a lion—The Lion of Pune. He can be as fierce as a lion and has the lion’s mane of hair and wild eyebrows to boot. But when he played with his little greatgranddaughter, he spoke in baby gibberish and made funny faces and totally transformed from a ferocious lion into a doting great-grandpa. It melted my heart and brought tears to my eyes. I am so glad that I was able to witness this side of him—people are so multifaceted. It is good to remember that under all that fierceness there lived a big soft heart.
Carrie Owerko is certified at the Intermediate Senior I level and lives in New York, NY.
DOWN MEMORY LANE
by Neeta Datta that fateful day, Aug. 19, at about 3:40 p.m. our time. The earth seemed to slide away from under me, the sun seemed to have disappeared from the sky. I burst into sobs, and Birjoo came on the phone to talk to me. He said, “Neeta, Guruji has knowingly left his body. Don’t cry.”
Suddenly, I remembered, the time when my mother passed away. Guruji had called me from Paris. I burst into tears, and said, “Guruji, my mother has left us.” He said, “Your mother would never have wanted to see you cry. Would she? Don’t cry.”
I drifted further back in time when I attended the intensive for South Africans in 1980. I must have been one of the youngest students and the rawest bodies with only five years of experience. My practice was restricted to attending Guruji’s classes over the weekends. I had not even planned or decided to go for this intensive. Guruji had told my father to send his daughter, and there I was. Diana Motiwala was the youngest in age, but she had many years of practice and mastery over the back arches. One day, we were doing standing drop backs, and then we were to come up, which I could not do! My hair was braided into two plaits, and Guruji would just pull these, and I was up. Guruji was fiery, and some women would even cry. I had no clue about this until Guruji said, “Look at this girl. Here I am making her do this, and she is still smiling. She is the only
one in this class who has not cried. I like her.” He never wanted us to cry!
I then recollected one of the Saturday afternoon classes in Mumbai. Guruji taught the class, and I was being taught how to assist. I had tremendous pain in my shoulder. I did not tell him anything, but he must have seen the pain on my face and inquired. He said, “Go by the wall, and stand there with your arms folded in Namaskar behind your back.” I stood there. Five minutes, seven minutes. I do not know how long I stood. But, all I remember is Sam Uncle’s voice. “Guruji, look at her face, she’ll die.” Guruji said, “I know,” and then asked me to bring my hands down. Believe it or not, but after some time I had completely recovered! He knew that the asana would help me if I stood there long enough. His compassion was not using sweet, soft, empty words—his compassion was through action!
Way back in the 1980s, Dooradarshan, our national—and only— television channel then, was filming a series on yoga in Mumbai with Guruji. We would shoot five or six episodes at a time. The days were very long. Guruji was always so spontaneous and so quick that it was difficult for the director to keep pace with him. Guruji suggested we go back to our house in the evenings to work on the next day’s recordings. All of us would be tired. He would just take a short nap on the sofa, and then he was ready to work! For him work was worship!
Years later, when I was to marry my husband and move to the U.S., I had mixed feelings. I loved my husband on one side, and on the other side, I was leaving behind my family, Guruji, my yoga community, and friends—all of whom were very dear to me. I was dearly loved by all! Guruji asked me to teach yoga and live a life that will set an example for the people in the West. “Show what a happy marriage is and how we live.” You live for everyone and not just for yourself. Doing things for the family can never be a sacrifice!
Then I started my life in the U.S. I had two kids and regularly went to India to be with my family and my yoga family and to learn at the Institute. My kids, who were fortunately wellbehaved, would come with me to the class and sit in the corner. One day, Geetaji was teaching the class, Guruji was practicing in the corner near the door, I was attending the class, and my kids, aged two and three and a half, were quietly playing behind. One of them got a little cranky. So, I took both of them downstairs and played with them for a bit and rejoined the class. When I returned to the foyer after the class ended, I noticed there were two steel bowls by the side of the kids. The kids informed me, “Guruji went and brought biscuits [cookies] for us!” I was embarrassed! Guruji must have seen that the kids were hungry; he took the effort to get the biscuits. He was a grandfather to all children. Family and kids were very important to him.
In India, we have a shloka that says that a guest is an incarnation of God. Guruji and his family actually lived by this shloka. Nobody understands the word hospitality like they do! For years, after each intensive or celebration, everyone was fed by Guruji’s family and Guruji himself. All were treated equally. I still remember every year before I would leave for the U.S. I would go to Pune to seek Guruji’s blessings. For years, he would come out all the way to the main gate of the institute to see us off. A person so famous, of such a high stature, was so warm and humble! It was indeed humbling.
Guruji loved an Indian sweet called “shrikhand.” During the convention in Ann Arbor, he asked me to make shrikhand so that all could taste this Indian delicacy. This dish has to be made from curd, which is then passed through a cheese cloth. The cloth slipped with very little curd remaining, which led to very little shrikhand. I served the shrikhand to Guruji, which he relished. At the time, Manouso smiled. Guruji asked him what happened, and he narrated the accident! Guruji immediately gave the bowl to him, and said “It is very delicious. I want all of you to have it.” Guruji shared everything whether he had little or more. He shared his knowledge, his love, his food—he shared a part of himself!
In 2005, Guruji came to my house in Cupertino, soon after the Yoga Journal conference in Estes Park. He was very exhausted, but he talked and teased the children before dinner and rest. The next morning I had planned to take Guruji to my studio just a minute’s walk from my house. Guruji was on his time, and we would do whatever he decided to do. He said he would practice for about two hours. Three hours later, he returned with Hareeth and Biria saying the place was so quiet and calm that he decided to practice longer. It was sheer joy to see him rested!
Later after brunch he told my husband, “Hey Arun, now let’s go out. Where did you want to take us? We will show Hareeth around.” Then we drove into the redwoods. Guruji thoroughly enjoyed nature. We started to go to Santa Cruz pier to show the sea lions to Hareeth. The traffic got bad, which meant that we would be late returning home. One of his old students was to come and meet him that evening. As much as he was enjoying himself, he felt it would not be right to keep the student waiting. We were about 15 to 20 minutes away from the pier, but we turned around. Such was his value of time!
Memories abound when you have the fortune to be in touch with a person such as Guruji for over 40 years of your life. But as these memories start coming back to me over the days, I still
“How fortunate to be under his light...” Photo: Brij Datta
have mixed feelings. I am happy with the time that I have had with Guruji, but it is still difficult to accept that I won’t be able to see him when I return to Pune next.
Guruji has given us so much. He gave in all possible forms: love, compassion, knowledge, wisdom, health, livelihood, and life itself. He lived by his own quote, “Giving does not impoverish; withholding does not enrich.”
Neeta Data is certified at the Advanced Junior I level and lives in Cupertino, CA.
B.K.S. IYENGAR: MY GURUJI, MY GRACE, MY MUSIC
by Marian Garfinkel
Guruji’s gift is that grace I seek in my own life. To share the direct knowledge I have learned from his kindness, caring, and compassion, and felt by his physical, mental, and spiritual help, is awesome. His help to me enables me to improve my observation of those in front of me and help them, whether they be students, teachers, or anyone else. Observation requires an intensity and hunger to learn how to see. I am fortunate to have had Guruji’s help. It is a heavy gift—precious. I cherish my gift. Intense, personal practice is necessary to honor that gift. Correct practice is difficult and must be felt. One must learn to understand one’s own body, mind, and correct application of an asana as taught by Guruji. I am fortunate to have had his personal advice to help students with difficult problems over the years. He has been my consultant on my research, publications, and current projects.
To learn Iyengar Yoga is hard and demanding. Correct learning requires intense practice. It cannot be learned in a small measure of time. Education to learn the subject of Iyengar Yoga has no limits. To teach correctly and observe each student correctly requires intense learning and practice. To apply the healing benefits and correct application of asana and pranayama requires devoted and sincere students—and devoted teachers. Today, this generation requires a timely approach to learn Iyengar Yoga correctly. Fear, lack of belief, loss of hope and courage, and despair invite negative behavior and anxiety. The healing benefits of Guruji’s wisdom are evident and priceless. It is our own journey: to change dharma to karma. Learning is teaching the self.
I have been Guruji’s student since 1974 and have been teaching, doing research, and publishing as an adjunct professor at Temple University and Temple School of Medicine in Philadelphia for more than 15 years. I am blessed to educate students for their chosen professions and enable them to live majestically. It is essential to empower them to have courage and hope in this mad world of technological insanity. I love my work and salute their joy in learning
Working with musicians and performing artists, we know the importance of music. Within each of us there is rhythm— music, balance, and breath of life. I sing from my heart and miss Guruji’s smile and laugh. God bless him real good!
Marian Garfinkel, Ed.D. (“Dr. G”), is certified at the Intermediate Senior III level and lives in Philadelphia, PA.
THE LION AND THE LAMB
by Ingela Abbott
Guruji was sometimes called “the Lion and the Lamb.” I have had the great opportunity to experience both! On my second visit to Pune in 1979, I was in the spotlight in India and attacked by the Lion daily. Instead of comforting me with love, he challenged me to stand on my own two feet, facing the Lion squarely. For this I am grateful; he helped me face the lions of daily life with confidence and courage.
During our “Yoga in Rishikesh” with Guruji in 1995, we travelled to Devprayag, the origin of the Ganges River in the Himalayas. Ten of us dipped our bodies three times in the glacier water of the holy river, a ceremony to cleanse our souls from past sins. Guruji participated fully, like a little child with a big smile and heartfelt devotion, plunging his whole body under the icy water. I experienced the spirited Lamb.
Last year when I went back to see Guruj, I experienced the warm-hearted Lamb again. Knowing it might be my last visit with him, one day I expressed my deep gratitude for his gift of yoga. He greeted me with a big smile, and with deep, warm eyes, he acknowledged my gratitude and said, “God Bless You.” And I feel blessed!
Ingela Abbott is certified at the Intermediate Senior I level and lives in Bellingham, WA.
Ingela and her daughter Maya say goodbye to Guruji, 2005. Photo courtesy Ingela Abbott
SURROUNDED BY HIS BOUNTY
by Eddy Marks
Guruji was a remarkable man who touched us all in some special and meaningful way. We know, care for, and support each other as a community because his yogic teachings have filled our hearts and joined us in a common purpose. We feel so blessed to have known and learned from him for such a long time, and it has been our privilege to have served him in the three ways one can serve a guru: financial support, carrying on the teachings, and physical support. In my and Mary’s case, we also have our marriage to thank Guruji for since we found each other in yoga, courted in India, and after Yoga ’90, I proposed to Mary at the Center. Faeq told us that Guruji would be so happy to hear that two of his practitioners were getting married so he dragged the two of us in front of Guruji where we received Guruji’s blessings for our marriage. Through Guruji’s marriage to Ramamani, he gave us Geetaji and Prashantji—what a gift! Each soaked through-and-through with yoga, yet each distinct, their own person, true to themselves and natural. Seeing the three of them, it gave us the courage to be natural as well, to follow our svadharma and not to be carbon copies. Through their example, we could understand what The Bhagavad Gita says: “It is better to follow one’s own dharma, however imperfectly, than to follow the dharma of another, however perfect.” (3:35).
Guruji’s mastery and dynamism brought him many “spiritual children,” and we were showered with knowledge from these talented and inspired teachers. I will always be grateful for my teacher Bonnie Anthony. She introduced me not just to Guruji’s brilliant teachings, but she also embodied his teachings. She showed me that the acquisition of great knowledge can live harmoniously with great humility and purity. She allowed me to see how hard she strove to accurately bring back the teachings from India to us all with her precise notes and diligent, repeated practice. Through her example, I saw that one So we saw how he successfully organized his life around yoga, and not yoga around his life, and this helped us organize our lives around yoga as well.
must work hard to realize the teachings and that others will benefit only to the degree that they are able to realize the teachings themselves. I know Mary feels a similar debt to Mary Dunn. She says, “Mary Dunn both taught and embodied the joy of transformation, that a life in yoga is a work of art and can be artfully lived.”
Later, we were blessed to continue learning from his emissaries: Manouso, Faeq, and Neeta who traveled far and wide spreading the message each in their own unique way, sharing not just what they were taught but what they had understood through their own practices. We are grateful not only for their teachings but also for being the examples of what a kindled spirit is: someone who, close to the flame of Guruji, was transformed by it and able to bring that spark across the ocean to us all.
As Geetaji says, “Nothing was hidden, from the time he began to practice to his illness and death.” Guruji practiced in the hall, so we could all learn how to practice through his example. From him we learned what practice should be: vibrant, intelligent, sensitive, experimental, penetrating, constant, honest, shared, balanced, and changing through the years as he changed, matured, and aged.
We spent hours with our colleagues, friends, and Guruji himself working together on projects, studying, listening to Guruji being interviewed. He expressed to us whatever was on his mind, so that we might come to know a yogi’s mind and habits. In the process, we forged strong friendships and global communities full of purpose—we became a sangha. And when the time came for us to take the reins, making archives, associations, and conventions, we remembered his example: Guruji would set a time for the tasks of his life: letter writing, study, book writing, interviews, and then he would leave the library behind at the appointed time. So we saw how he successfully organized his life around yoga, and not yoga around his life, and this helped us organize our lives around yoga as well.
Guruji was so kind. We heartily enjoyed the chai that he would send down for us to boost our flagging energies after a long day of practice and projects. One time after he had worked quite hard on a backbend practice, he was about to leave the practice room when he saw me struggling to catch the rope in Chakrabandhasana. He was no longer young in years by that time and even though tired from the practice, he did not fail to trouble himself to hand me the rope so that I could catch it. I
was so touched by his kindness, humility, and humanity. Small acts, immense meanings. We learned to be kind through his kindness and thoughtful through his thoughtfulness in these and so many other small and large ways.
Everywhere we turn, we are surrounded by his bounty in the form of our friends, community, health, livelihood, marriage, teachers, books, videos, stories, memories, and examples. He has permeated our lives in every corner, and we feel such deep gratitude that we still have so much of him with us and still so much of him yet to realize through our practice.
Eddie Marks and Mary Obendorfer are both certified at the Intermediate Senior I level and live in Kalaheo, HI.
GRATITUDE. IMMENSE GRATITUDE
by Kofi Busia
That’s what I remember most. Guruji was always so grateful. I was lucky. I met five of the six who took his first class in the West. His gratitude for the way they so enthusiastically told the rest of us about him was unmistakable.
Every year he came to London to teach, he would always sneak into my car if he could. He seemed to appreciate my no-nonsense way of driving around the city. He always made a point of visiting those five ladies at least once. The love and adoration they had for him was palpable—their joyous smiles that he had come to see them. He returned it in abundance. When they came to classes, you could see others wondering who these people were to whom he was, in his own way, being so deferential. Long after they were dead, his eyes would go warm at the mention of their names. He was equally grateful to everyone who passed on to others the way he had found to bring salvation and good fortune to the lives of all.
I don’t know how or why it happened, but Beloved Guruji got it firmly into his head that I had rendered him some kind of service for which thanks were due. Nothing would dislodge that notion. I benefitted, so many times, from the gratitude and generosity he seemed to think appropriate. I drove him all over the U.K. and travelled with him on trains as he spread his gospel of yoga to his growing, enthusiastic audience.
My wife and I invited him to our wedding, but since it was a Saturday, he could not come. When we met him the next day, he gathered those present around the Patañjali statue in the London Iyengar Yoga Institute, gave us £300 (about $500), and conducted a blessing ceremony for us. And the next year, he told Silva Mehta not to organize classes on our first anniversary. He spent the whole day with us walking around Hampstead Heath. We had a picnic and flew kites: memories we still treasure. Another time when I was in Pune, he was practicing on his platform. He said, “Go practice with Prashant.” My heart sank. I carefully positioned myself out of his sight. That didn’t work. “Come here where I can see you.” Three days in a row I had to endure that. On the middle day, Geeta joined us. When I went to take my leave on my last day, he said, “Now, you can be having your Advanced Certificate.”
My intellect understands that his body is gone. But I both saw and experienced the gratitude and generosity of B.K.S. Iyengar. Nobody needs anything else in life. Those two things he unstintingly bestowed upon me, along with all I learned from him, are enough to make anybody smile. I have things that last. Guruji has not gone anywhere.
Kofi Busia is certified at the Advanced Junior I level and lives in Santa Cruz, CA.
HOLE IN THE HEAD
by Felicity Green
I met Guruji in 1974 in Berkeley, California. I felt his fire and dedication, but what impressed me most was that he said he had opened up the hole in his head. I had just finished reading The Book of the Hopi, and in their mythology, they said the people who kept a hole in the top of their head were in touch with God.
I had been practicing Iyengar Yoga with J.B. Rishi for four years, but meeting B.K.S. Iyengar was like meeting the most inspiring and genuine person I could imagine. A group of us then started teaching Iyengar Yoga under the umbrella of the California Yoga Teachers Association. When he came back to the U.S. in 1976, we started the Iyengar Yoga Association.
I went to India for a three-week Intensive. There were 15 students from the United States and Canada, and he taught fairly advanced poses not realizing what beginners we all were. My loving memories of him are his infectious laugh and his wonderful eyebrows that he said God had given him so he could frighten people.
In the beginning I was afraid of his shouting, and that helped me to break through my own fears. After a time I realized it was his teaching style. He really was the most compassionate teacher. He really cared that you broke through your own obstacles and became a better human being. He was my root teacher and as such his roots are deep in me and will be there until I die and maybe after.
Felicity Green is certified at the Advanced Junior I level and lives on Lopez Island, WA.
EXCERPTS FROM AN INTERVIEW WITH KATHLEEN PRINGLE
by Rhonda Geraci
Rhonda: Do you feel you got to know B.K.S. Iyengar?
Kathleen: Oh, absolutely—in the way you may get to know a river by swimming in it every day. You are immersed in his presence, and he moves you, and he knows who you are. Even though we had many conversations and interactions, each time that he greeted me by name I was thrilled. He helped me so much. On my second trip, I was watching the medical classes, and he pulled me out and told me to help. So, he would come by and guide me and teach me at that point.
A couple of years later, I was there for a month assisting my friend Alice Plato with her 95 percent scoliosis, and he would always oversee the work we were doing. Things got more up close and personal when I had a frozen shoulder and came to medical class. The first thing he said was, “What are you doing here? If you’re here, I should be in the medical class.” I said, “Guruji, I have a frozen shoulder,” and he felt it and said, “Oh, bad case.” Another of the long-time teachers from India came up and said, “Why do you have a frozen shoulder?” Guruji said, “It’s not her fault. Anyone can have a frozen shoulder.” I immediately was absolved of my self-doubt and shame from worrying about how I could have created it and that I had not been able to fix it. He worked with me every day. I did every medical class, and he would always come by to put me in poses—even though it was excruciating at times. Even in general classes, which I went to as well, he would come by to make me do poses in a certain way. So, he was there all the time. Since then, he has helped me with other issues. He looked over my practice and gave me guidance. He gave me so much, so much.
Rhonda: What were your interactions with him like? What was your first interaction with him?
Kathleen: On my first trip, Guruji was out of the country for the first month, and I had bonded with (and am still devoted to) his daughter, Geeta. His return filled me with both excitement and trepidation. I was aware of his reputation as a fierce teacher, someone big and grand whom I didn’t expect to have much interaction with. But just being in the same room and receiving his teachings was powerful, and the dynamics of the institute also changed. In the subsequent years, I was able to see how loving, compassionate, playful, and inventive he was. And he was still fierce and very strict. If you are not getting it or doing something wrong, there is this lightening flash of anger. But it’s like a child’s anger in the sense that it’s gone the next moment—nothing lingers, there’s no resentment. It’s just like, “No, not like this!” Then when you do it right, “Yes, like that.” And there’s a big smile. He was a force of nature. An incredibly charismatic man who seemed really, really big even though in stature he wasn’t that big. I don’t know how tall he was, but he always seemed to loom large, and when he walked in a room, his presence would fill the room. When practicing in the practice hall, he would stop the general classes and teach, or he would begin teaching individuals, and you would go over to listen and try to do what he was teaching. There was a particular feeling that you just knew you were in the presence of greatness.
Kathleen Pringle is certified at the Intermediate Senior I level and lives in Atlanta, GA.
A POET AND A YOGI
by Peggy Kelley
When I was in Pune in 1989, Guruji announced that he was retiring from teaching. His presence, however, could not have been more felt. Though Geetaji gallantly began every class with a plan and a clear sense of direction, Guruji would invariably interrupt her from his practice corner and get us working to the absolute limit of our potential. This was a big part of his genius—to craft clear enough language and demonstrate crystal clear actions in asanas, either himself or by asking one of his children or students to demonstrate, so that we could hear and see just what he was asking for. This was no mean feat, when you consider that English was not his first language. His mastery of English was a big factor in the spreading of his method and genius throughout the world; indeed he was able to wax so eloquent from time to time that I consider him as much a poet as a yogi.
Peggy Kelley is certified at the Intermediate Senior I level and lives in Austin, TX.
If you would like to read more reflections on Guruji’s life and death — or if you would like to share your own — please visit Yoga: Transforming Lives, Transforming the World, hosted by Cynthia Bates at http://weareiyengaryoga.blogspot.com. Contact Cynthia at cynthia@iyisf.org to submit your writing.
