Many years ago, Anna and Amma would invite swamijis for a meal after their discourses in the neighbourhood temple. It would be an elaborate affair with different dishes prepared keeping ‘madi‘and all the other strict injunctions about feeding brahmins. Anna (my father-in-law) was a devout man who followed all the traditions of his caste. In the last few years before he passed away, the nature of observances became simplified. Post his demise, it tapered to very little at home. The legacy of age old rituals died with him. The observances are still marked but most of it happens outside of home. It’s the age of outsourcing.

Yesterday was a small peep back into those years. Not so long ago and yet a lifetime away. My husband’s yoga teacher and his colleagues accepted our invite to share a meal. It took both of us back to those early days of our marriage when his parents did the same. Of course, back then, the women folk ate after all the men did. In our times, we eat together. The spirit is the same, gratitude for an opportunity to serve. We are because of our mothers, fathers and teachers. The trinity of divinity in human form…

The annual function at the Institute kicked off this evening with a talk by one of the senior teachers. He took us down a beautiful visual history of yoga through art forms across the length and breadth of the country since ages past. Besides validating the existence of yogasana since centuries, it was a treat to experience the ecstasy of the anonymous artisans. It is impossible to make art of such beauty without bhakti. That explains why the themes of paintings, murals, sculptures etc. were almost always to do with the divine. With such overwhelming bhava, where was the need to assert ones’a authorship? The creator was joyous to be the instrument of expression. There was no need for copyright or assertion of intellectual rights. After all, who really sees the murthy hidden within the stone? Who teases the music out of silent instruments? Who makes the limbs move in dance? Who brings words to life? Who really types this post? Not I, not i…

Not a coincidence, since I don’t believe in those anymore- I saw one of the images displayed this evening on IG with a little detail on the story around it. 

In humble gratitude to all my teachers, eternal and mortal.

Hari Om

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