I am quasi-yogi. Meaning I do not like to walk around with a mat in tow and cannot touch my forehead to the base of my feet and don't talk in a jovial voice or think that humankind is all peace and love and bonhomie. In fact, I believe in the opposite. That life is not a fairytale and that while everyone deserves a fair shot at happiness almost no one actually ever gets it. We just trudge through it with ideas to a better station than we currently are at. Some may better themselves in this life, others console themselves with better prospects in the next.

Yes I am also a quasi-morose. A quasi-pessimist. A realist.

I do yoga more due to a necessity brought on by a medical affliction rather than an inherent desire to find the wonders of pranayama. The thing about true yogis is that you can spot them from afar. By their mannerism and talk. They exude a calmness and speak in hushed dulcet tones. Whether it is artificial or genuine is open to interpretation. What is for certain is that yoga has become a lifestyle unto itself with its ethos of positive energy and billion dollar yoga-pants industry. Rise ye Lululemon and Atletica. I certainly don’t feel that energy without a cappuccino at the start. And lest you think this is a tirade against a popular cultural phenom, all my posts are rants against something or the other. Bear with me here. Let me state my case.

I like yoga for what it is. A sequence of controlled movements that tests your flexibility, strength and balance. It calms your mind and benefits your health. Where I find myself ill at ease is always at the beginning and the end of a class when the instructor starts to philosophize much like a pastor in a church. They talk about life and people and setting a good intention and then bestowing the said intention out to the world. All good. Better than promoting hardline propaganda. But it still seems made-up. I do not for once doubt the sincerity of my instructor for she is fabulous. Hell, she is learning Sanskrit to better understand the meaning of the asanas. I tried to learn Sanskrit and still hate myself for it. That tells you all about her devotion to her craft.

What I wonder is if the pupils actually adhere to the principles of the practice. My class mainly comprises of UWS housewives and I wouldn’t consider them even remotely jovial. I have seen kerfuffle break out over yoga mats. I have heard snide remarks over incompetency. But most of all, I have been privy to apathy. A lady next to me once asked, nay commanded me to put my already turned off phone upside down for fear that an unsuspecting screen glow might harm her concentration. Note that the phone was off as in éteint as in apagado as in there's-no-way-in-hell-it-will-suddenly-light-up. And I know my phone's got a personality pero not that much :) There’s a whole world to look at so why fixate on my phone’s wily charms. Plus its not like she was trying to win the next nobel prize in downward dog that a little glare off my phone would make her lose her train of thought. But I obliged. Since, despite my original argument I guess I am, in fact, trying to set a good intention. And its not attributable to yoga but to a stark but loving upbringing. And a real commitment and desire to be nice to people.

I have started blending into the world of New York. I am clad in black from top down, I eat overpriced quinoa-and-tabouli salad and I pretend to go on brunches on weekends ( I run to the closest whole foods btw, they have amazing buffet ). And I do yoga.

But I still like to walk slow and take in my surroundings. I still try to make small-talks to strangers whenever situation permits. And I still cannot get to terms with how small my apartment is. Like paying fortune for a foxhole. I guess you have to be part of the crowd in order to stand out from it.