Yoga in India: The heat, the noise, the heartache... I loved it

Back in the innocent days of 2019, I wrote for this newspaper about embarking on yoga teacher training in Ireland rather than going to somewhere such as India for a shorter period but with full immersion.

I compared the costs, and the pros and cons of each option, and eventually decided to take my initial yoga teacher training here in Dublin. What happened next, of course, was that my training moved online. Travelling to India, which had been a long-held ambition of mine, seemed a distant dream.

Stuck in lockdown for what felt like forever I took additional yoga courses and did an advanced 300-hour online programme with a studio in Texas. The training was wonderful, but it seemed my India ship had well and truly sailed.

We arrived at 3am and spent 90 minutes in a taxi dodging sleeping dogs, I counted 47 — as well as some cats, cows, and pigs. It was a white-knuckle ride of beeping horns and speed

Thankfully, travel opened up again eventually and the Indian government even waived their visa fee for tourists. I found a yoga studio based in Co Louth (Namaste House) doing a yoga teacher training hybrid, partially in their studio here and finishing with a 10-day intensive in Goa. At this stage I had all my qualifications but I asked if I might tag along. Perhaps I could help out in some way? They said yes. Despite having zero interest in yoga, my husband decided to come too for a holiday. We were joining the close-knit group of students on the final leg of their yoga teacher training journey.

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India was exactly like I imagined in my head, but also nothing like I imagined.

The heat, the noise, the intensity, the animals, the beauty of the trees, the landscape, and the ocean. So much to take in. We arrived at 3am and spent 90 minutes in a taxi dodging sleeping dogs, I counted 47 — as well as some cats, cows, and pigs. It was a white-knuckle ride of beeping horns and speed. This was Goa, the most westernised part of India, at 3am, not Delhi at rush hour, it was a culture shock.

We got some sleep before the most dramatic dawn chorus I have ever experienced. At 5.50am each day the jungle woke up. Despite being just off a main road we were truly immersed in nature. That took a bit of getting used to but it was a beautiful raucous way to wake up each day and I think about it now with affection. We didn’t go five minutes the whole trip without seeing an animal, bird, insect, or reptile — a monkey being the most exciting blink-and-you’ll-miss-it encounter, a gecko in my toilet roll being the funniest.

We soon settled into our new routines and once I let go of trying to have any control over anything ... control of my hair, the possibility of staying cool, keeping my feet clean, I just rolled with it.

And I loved it.

We often did four hours of yoga and meditation in a day, which was pure joy. Of course, the students had additional classes, lectures and study time too. I did not need to be involved in these, so I got to go for cocktails with my other half, who would be waiting patiently at the beach, the pool, or the local cafe, poor thing! It was a trip of two halves for me, the best of both worlds. I got to teach a class too which was an amazing privilege.

This nameless homeless dog, (I later named her Delilah), followed us everywhere and I carried pouches of dog and cat food and treats for her and whatever animals we met, in my handbag

I guess I had a western idea of what the yoga culture would be — like it would be laid out for me like a Grafton Street of spirituality, ready for me to sample it all. Did I forget yoga is a philosophy and not just a physical practice? Not for a minute, but still I had it wrong. Yoga is part of Indian culture, it’s not a separate entity. Namaste is a greeting in place of Good Morning. Ganesh, the elephant-like Hindi deity, was everywhere; not just a statue to be taken out when you’re taking a yoga class. I often wondered about cultural appropriation versus cultural appreciation and I think I understand it better now.

I can’t think or write about India without mentioning the street dogs, of which there are many. There was one particular black and white female dog who came to every yoga class. She took a real shine to the yoga teacher. One day I cleaned her eyes for her and gave her some water and you can probably guess what happened. Despite the warnings from everyone, I got emotionally invested.

This nameless homeless dog, (I later named her Delilah), followed us everywhere and I carried pouches of dog and cat food and treats for her and whatever animals we met, in my handbag.

It was a military operation for us to try to sneak out of our resort without being followed by her, and we failed at every turn, at one stage hiding on the floor in the back of a taxi so she couldn’t see us. This dog is in almost every photo I took, and for the yoga studio too, she was there through the whole thing, she was part of the teacher training.

India is a lot — an assault on the senses is a cliched phrase but it’s apt here.

Not everyone can say that the beautiful idyllic palm tree picture that is their mobile phone screensaver was taken by them, from their vantage point lying in a hammock, relaxing from a day of four hours of yoga practice, but I can, and for my Indian experience I am truly grateful.