Yoga Is Not My Cup of Tea (A Satirical Take)
✍🏻 Dr. Mukesh 'Aseemit'
This morning, as I lazily glanced at the front page of the newspaper being ceremoniously held by Shrimati ji sitting beside me, I was shocked—What! Yoga Diwas came and went just like that? Once again, we’ve missed the opportunity to “celebrate” it.
Photos in the newspaper showed sprawling pandals filled with folks decked out in traditional Yoga outfits—men and lugaiyaan all looking like spiritual ninjas, pinching one nostril with one hand and scratching their backs with the other, in poses that could hypnotize the unsuspecting viewer.
What grabs my attention most in these Yoga shivirs isn't the asanas, but the Yoga mat and Yoga dress. This is Yoga branding—without these, apparently, Yoga isn’t even possible! I mean, a person wrapped in tight Yoga dress, perched atop a Yoga mat, is the best ad Yoga could ask for.
Let me clarify—I’m saying Yoga, not Yog. Because until our sacred desi traditions are dipped in a foreign syrup and served cold, we don’t find them palatable.
That’s what happened to Yog too. Hidden in the tattered old pages of Patanjali’s Yog Sutras, its value was invisible to us until it went abroad and got itself ISO-certified, so to speak.
But foreigners are clever creatures—they always sprinkle a bit of their masala over our traditions before returning them to us. Usually, they just add an “-a” sound to our words and voila!
So Yog becomes Yoga, Kaam becomes Kama, Tantra becomes Tantraa, Mantra turns into Mantraa, and Sutra into Sutraa.
And just as it happened with Yog, so it happened with the famous Kaamasutra.
We Indians couldn’t really embrace Yog, but the imported Yoga won our hearts with open arms.
And now that Yoga is being promoted by celebrities, actresses, and sportswomen in slinky Yoga dresses, our attraction has grown tenfold.
These days, TV channels have turned into Yoga darshan with women posing in dramatic Yoga postures, leaving us viewers frozen in sthitpragya mode.
Now that Yoga is echoing across the globe, not talking about it would label us purane khayaalat waale.
And let me tell you—I’ve read, heard, and watched more about Yoga than most people. Just... never actually done it.
Because let’s be honest—Yoga mujhse nahi hoga. Even the thought of it makes me short of breath, nostrils flare up like pressure cookers.
Don’t get me wrong—I don’t doubt the power of Yoga. It has given us global recognition. It’s making more people breathless abroad than here in India.
My Shrimati ji has all but given up on convincing me. She snatches my keyboard in the morning, hands me the remote, and switches on a Yoga channel—always the one where a female Yoga teacher is demonstrating Yoga.
Naturally, I keep watching... deeply absorbed in the "performance" of Yoga.
Then one day, Shrimati ji brought out a Yoga mat, probably an online purchase from her midnight shopping spree.
“This isn’t something you only watch, it’s something you do,” she announced.
There was no escape now. The mat was here, her expectations were set, and if I didn’t do Yoga, I’d have to hear taunts daily:
"I spent two thousand rupees on this mat—at least use it enough to get my money’s worth!"
So, I set out to wear the mat down into oblivion as quickly as possible.
We began with Surya Namaskar. The moment I bent down into the posture, my eye contact with the Yoga instructor on TV broke.
When I looked up again, I felt like my reedh ki haddi (spine) had declared independence from my body.
My favourite posture, of course, is Shavaasan. Five minutes in, and I’m deep asleep. After thirty minutes, Shrimati ji shakes me awake:
“Are you doing Yoga, or are you napping?”
But Yoga isn’t just about aasanas. There’s also pranayam, our modern Yoga Guru, the brand ambassador of breathing, told us so.
Much like how toothpaste in middle-class India means Colgate, Yoga now means Kapalbhati.
So I started Kapalbhati. After just a few rapid exhales, everything clogging my nose came rushing out in a glorious, gooey tribute to inner cleansing.
Well, at least the nose got detoxed—mann ka mail (mental grime) will follow someday, hopefully.
No, I didn’t quit Yoga after that. Shrimati ji continues reminding me of the Yoga mat cost every few days.
Once, during Vrikshaasan, I stood on one leg, lost balance, and crashed like a vatvriksha (banyan tree) in a storm.
Another time, I got carried away by the motivational words of the instructor—“Yes you can!”—and attempted Uttanpaadasan.
I contorted so badly, legs stuck behind my neck, that my wife had to be called in for an emergency extraction.
My efforts continue. The Yoga mat, which I suspect has lifetime validity, refuses to wear down.
So, on this auspicious Yoga Day, I offer you my heartfelt greetings.
Maybe someday I too shall say with pride—
“Yes, Yoga mujhse bhi hoga!”
