Yoga and the Art of Lying Down

I have stayed at several Ayurveda centres, and they all incorporated sessions of yoga in their programmes. But yoga is not something that comes naturally to me. I am not (and never have been) well-coordinated physically. Despite the fact that I rowed in my school’s First Eight at Henley Royal Regatta, I was hopeless at even the fundamentals of gymnastics. I think it broke my father’s heart, since he captained the school football team and also won a silver cup for the cross-country mile.

Yoga, as I have always imagined it - nigh impossible!

Yes, I have always had very negative feelings about my physicality, and it’s been a hang-up since my father first nick-named me “Jumbo” at the age of about three. It was an image I have tried to shed many times, and I decided that on this visit to Kerala, I would make the effort to join the early-morning yoga class and not let my clumsiness detract from my efforts to get some benefit out of the exercise.

Eagles soared threateningly overhead

And so, on Saturday morning, I made my way to the flat roof of the building at 7am, picked up a sponge yoga mat, and stretched out, enjoying the early morning warmth as I lay on my back and watched the eagles circling overhead. For a moment I wondered if they were vultures eyeing me over, but I think they were just Fish Eagles out for an early-morning soar.

The instructor arrived and the first part was easy. Breathing Through the Nose: I can do that. Then we did Standing Still with Feet Together: I pretty much had that mastered after a couple of attempts. We did Hands in the Air, Hands Out Sideways, and Head Turning to the Right and the Left. In a few minutes, I was full of confidence.

After that, things started to get more complicated, but the teacher was skilled at coaching students of a wide range of abilities, so that there was benefit for everyone. It was all about stretching and breathing, and it all made sense. I felt better for it, even if I still felt like the dummy in the class. At the end of the hour, I felt loose and more flexible; by Day Two, my toes were getting closer to my fingertips and I was glad I had decided to join the early morning group.

Arjay and Anand

Unfortunately, I had to change my plans on Day Three and give yoga a miss, at least for a day. The problem was that my two masseurs, Arjay and Anand, had been focusing on my lower back, and since the previous evening, I had been totally unable to move around anywhere, without using a walking stick.

Arjay and Anand are the two top therapists at Mattindia, and they really do know how to “hit the spot.”  Let me describe the fundamentals of Ayurvedic massage.

The massage bench is more than 2 metres long and is one solid piece of hardwood, treated and stained by years of massage oil and other medications. 

Traditional Ayurveda massage bench

I start by sitting sideways, with the two therapists standing one in front and one behind me. While Arjay supports my chest, Anand starts to work on my back, alternating between broad, gentle strokes and moments when he presses his thumbs on my spine and seems to be trying to rearrange the vertebrae. He locates pressure points and I gasp, groan and squeal as he pushes hard into my back. Then they switch roles and Anand supports my back while Arjay takes a turn at being the  torturer and starts to work on my chest, reaching up to concentrate on my shoulders and the side of my neck – both of which have been mildly troublesome for several months.

I then lie on my back while more oil is applied and they start on the full length of my body, switching between long, soothing strokes from my chest to my ankles and exquisite pain as one or other of them decides to work on the sole of my foot, or the inside of my thigh.

Finally, I lie down, covered with a thin cotton sheet while the two guys pour streams of hot, medicated water all over me. It is the most heavenly sensation,  and more than compensates for the anguish of the pressure-points.

I limped away from my session today, but although my back aches painfully, I noticed that my posture has changed and I am definitely walking more upright. Maybe I'll make it to yoga tomorrow.

Travelling and Arriving - the Age-old Journey

Up at four, taxi at five

On Thursday morning in Lincoln, my faithful SONY bedside clock-radio crackled me awake shortly after 4am. Roughly 24 hours later, after a short connection in Doha, my flight landed in Cochin. Taxi, train, tube and planes had brought me halfway around the world to the enveloping warmth of a South Indian morning. 

“Warmth” sums up South India for me. The heat is not stifling, nor oppressive; it’s embracing and comforting. If you fight it and try to be busy and efficient it will taunt you into being irritated, but if you relax into it, it responds like a tropical swimming pool and floats you luxuriously. The other “warm” aspect of being in Kerala is the warmth of the people themselves, who exude a desire to be gentle and helpful, whether or not you’ve met them before, and no matter what the circumstances. When locals call their territory God’s Own Country, it describes the people and their interactions, every bit as much as all the other aspects of the scenery, traditions and culture.

I proceeded patiently through the friendly chaos of the baggage reclaim area and then walked out into a sea of expectant faces. These were the anxious eyes of hundreds of relatives, all coming to meet the warriors, coming home from the war . . .

The expats come home on leave

 Except that in this case it’s the IT engineer back from Germany, or the barrister back from chambers in the City of London, the nurse returning from work in a European hospital,  or the hotel chambermaid, back from working in the 5-star environment of the Gulf.

India is a nation of travellers, moving around the world in search of a better life. They take their traditions and their culture with them, but these are not nomads. They blend their way of life with that of their adopted national identity. In barely a single generation, a new dynastic culture is forged. 

Initially, this way of life stays close to their heritage, but gradually, it merges into a new culture, and in time into a new race. I'm English for many generations, but my roots are in Norman farming, a thousand years ago, before my ancestors crossed the Channel with William in 1066. And for that matter, we all date back to Olduvai Gorge in East Africa, the birthplace of Homo Sapiens.

A few years ago, I was channel-hopping one wet afternoon, and stumbled upon the Welsh language channel of the BBC, which was broadcasting the National Eisteddfod from Wales. I stumbled upon the finals of the children’s country dancing competition. As the children pranced seriously to traditional Welsh melodies, one 11-year old competitor caught my eye. He wore his Sikh turban with pride. Such instances give me hope for the future of a truly multi-cultural society in Britain.

As I left the arrivals terminal, I glimpsed the familiar face and broad smile of Vinu in the crowd. Vinu’s mother is office manager at Mattindia and Vinu – who is studying business and tourism at college in Cochin – works part-time as a private taxi service for Mattindia’s guests. He had driven me around on a couple of occasions earlier this year, and I had swapped copies of my business books on “Negotiations” and “Presentations” for a memory stick of beguiling Kerala music. His courteous friendliness is another kind of Keralan warmth that I find so endearing.

Halfway along the drive back to Mattindia, we stopped for a freshly squeezed fruit juice at a smart café. The dishes on offer included sanitized versions of pizza and Chinese noodles alongside just a couple of Indian classics like Biryani. But no samosas, no stuffed Nan bread, and no dishes from the mouth-watering variety of the Kerala breakfast menu.

This is the downside of multiculturalism. Sometimes, in the race to embrace and adopt new ideas, a culture loses some of its definitive and best-loved elements. In London today, you will find authentic Muslim cuisine on Brick Lane, but you will have to hunt to find the once ubiquitous Cockney delight of Jellied Eels.

Jellied Eels, Pie, Mash and Parsley Liquor - it tastes much better than it looks