Pandoraspace

WARNING:  DO NOT FOLLOW THIS DINOSAUR

Yesterday, a little boy who had seen me doing yoga showed me that his dinosaur could do yoga too.  He then took his Brachiosaurus and positioned it doing Vrikshasana (handstand).  At first I laughed at how silly the dinosaur looked, then, I felt sad because I realized that I looked like the dinosaur while doing my asanas.  Like the Brachiosaurus, my spine was misaligned.

I attended nine out of the fourteen classes of Jawahar Bangera’s workshop.  In those classes, Jawahar made me realize that, in yoga, I was a dinosaur who had to evolve in order to survive.

Jawahar pointed out that (a) my asanas were incorrectly executed because I was overly working my lower back and hardly working my dorsal spine; (b) I had a tendency to hold my breath while doing the asanas; (c) I was using my mind (instead of my intelligence) to execute my asanas; and (d) I had to work diligently on transforming the manner and means of doing my asanas to avoid injury and hopefully achieve the benefits of yoga. Jawahar then patiently taught this dinosaur how to evolve in the hope that, through time, my asanas would be executed correctly.

At the end of the last class with Jawahar, my ego was bruised and my body ached but my mind had quieted considerably.

While I am daunted by the difficult task of working on transforming my asanas, I am humbled and grateful that there is room for me to better myself.

A simply lesson on non-violence through Yoga

In order to teach us how to do Adho Mukha Svanasana (downward facing dog) correctly, Jawahar asked one of our classmates to get into that asana. As the explanations of Jawahar and corrections on my classmate took some time, my classmate began to sweat profusely and his legs and arms began to shake. My classmate, like me, was a beginner yoga student.  For beginners, pain in the arms and legs and the shakes were a common experience.  Correct practice through time will make getting into and sustaining the asana easier and will eliminate the pain and the shakes.

While my classmate was sweating and shaking it out in Adho Mukha Svanasana, Jawahar asked him if his legs and arms hurt.  I was surprised by the question as it was very obvious that my classmate was in pain.  Jawahar then told my classmate to remember the pain in his arms and legs and told him to get out of the pose.  Then, in a quiet voice, Jawahar said that our legs and arms have the ability to inflict pain on others. Quite possibly, the pain we inflict on others is the same pain we feel in our arms and legs as we get into an asana.  Immediately, I tried to remember those times when my sister and I would have spanking and hitting sessions when we were children and I was horrified at the realization that I must have inflicted so much pain on her.  Over twenty years after my parents scolded me for hitting my sister, I am now truly sorry for what I did.

As we strive, through constant practice, to eliminate the pain in our arms and legs when we do the asanas, we should constantly work to avoid inflicting the same pain on others as well.  According to Jawahar, the asanas teach us how not to inflict violence or injury on ourselves so that we may learn not to do it to others.

Perhaps this is a very simple lesson in non-violence but I must say that the full impact of this lesson will dawn on you once you feel pain in your the arms and legs as you learn to do Adho Mukha Svanasana.

Lessons in Humility and Compassion

It was in the morning class of the second day of the workshop that Jawahar told me that I had to re-learn Salamba Sirsasana. As there was another class that  afternoon, I went up to Jawahar after the morning class and asked him to teach me how to do Salamba Sirsasana correctly. Jawahar asked me if I was coming to class the next day and told me he would teach it to me then.  During the afternoon class when Jawahar finished explaining a lesson in Pranayama, he asked the class whether we had any questions. Then, he looked at me and said to the class that we should not ask him questions after class but during the classes so all could learn.  I need not tell you that that statement made me feel bad.

I did not, therefore, expect much after that set down. Jawahar did make good his promise to help me correct my Salamba Sirsasana during the next day.  I expected no less from him in that respect.  I was, however, surprised and touched when I realized that many of the asanas Jawahar made the class do were designed specifically to help me improve my Salamba Sirsasana. While doing those asanas, Jawahar painstakingly corrected me (and my other classmates as well) and tried to make me understand how to correctly execute them. It was then that I felt humbled by the attention devoted by Jawahar in teaching me how to improve my asanas. While he is a very exacting teacher, Jawahar also showed me great compassion by understanding my weaknesses and not belittling me for it. Rather, he accepted my weaknesses and worked with me to eliminate them.

When we students later expressed to Jawahar our gratitude for the invaluable lessons he had imparted, he simply stated that this is what he does.  And yet, in reality, Jawahar has become one of my best teachers.

Transforming myself through the destruction of my asana

I know very little about the subject of which I am about write. I am only a student of Iyengar yoga and a beginner at that. I am a Catholic and my knowledge of the Hindu religion is likewise very limited. Consequently, I advise the readers to view this article merely as the ramblings of a yoga student in the aftermath of a disappointing exam.

It is my understanding that the Hindu god, Shiva, is both destroyer and transformer. It is said that Shiva destroys a thing in order for it to be rebuilt and transformed into something pure and true.

In today’s class, my teacher, Jawahar Bangera, mimicked Shiva when he totally destroyed my Salamba Sirsasana (not to mention my ego) and asked me to re-learn it.

Salamba Sirsasana is the headstand, which is sometimes known as the king of all asanas. While I still do not know why Salamba Sirsasana is the king of all poses, It is one of the few poses I learned early on, and because of that, it is a pose that I love to do. Before the workshop with Jawahar, I thought that I had been getting better and better at Salamba Sirsasana. I was mistaken.

Like everyone else who learns how to do Salamba Sirsasana, I learned it by doing it against the wall for more than a year. I found joy the first time I was able to get my legs up on the wall. I was happy when I was able to move my legs little by little away from the wall. I was in awe when I first noticed heat generated by my body as the blood flows down to the brain. I began to believe in the pose when, sometime after doing the headstand, there were days I felt active but could not do the asana because my body was tired and days when I felt slugging and could do the asana. It was then that I learned that headstands are a good gauge of the true state of the body, i.e., when the body needed rest. Recently, I had been particularly pleased with myself as I could get up to Salamba Sirsasana independently, that is, without the aid of the wall.

On the first day of the workshop, Jawahar told us to do Salamba Sirsasana. Strangely, before I even got up, Jawahar asked if I needed assistance with getting up and I said no. He did not correct my pose on that day and allowed me to stay in the pose for all of five minutes. So, I went home thinking that I had done just fine on the first day of the class. Of course, I was wrong.

At today’s class, Jawahar could no longer keep to himself the fact that my Salamba Sirsasana was completely wrong. My ribs were jutting out and I was working my lower back too much. Worse, he told me that I had to re-learn headstand by doing it against the wall again. Jawahar said that my Salamba Sirsasana was created by my active mind. At this point, I must say that the one instruction that is repeated throughout yoga classes is that one must keep the mind passive. According to Jawahar, I had gotten into the pose by crook (as in by hook or by crook) and so my pose was crooked. After that, I was sent back to the wall to re-learn the pose the correct way. This was, of course, a crushing set down for me on many levels. It feels like being in Grade 6 only to be told I have to go back to Kindergarten.

Right after this crushing set down, Jawahar says that re-learning Salamba Sirsasana is character building.

Jawahar has done his work in destroying my Salamba Sirsasana and teaching me the right way to do it.  Now, it is my turn to transform myself and step up.

I have been fortunate to have several character building situations in my life but I never though that yoga would present me another such experience. In the past, I would immediately step up to the character building situation by accepting my mistake, learning from it and doing better. While this recent event with Jawahar has humbled me and made me feel disappointed in myself, I find that I am uncertain of whether I am able to find the strength to step up to this situation. Just looking at the wall brings me a sense of dread.

But, I have never been a quitter. At least I have not quit on anything I believed in. So, for now, I have decided to re-learn Salamba Sirsasana (and all the other asanas).

Before the workshop, I could not find much information about Jawahar Bangera. I only knew that he was a senior teacher of Iyengar Yoga in Mumbai, India and that he had trained Rina and some of the other teachers of the Iyengar Yoga Center Manila (IYCM). From Alya, I also heard that Jawahar was a tough no-nonsense teacher but one who was compassionate nevertheless.

I learned that IYCM was sponsoring a workshop by Jawahar sometime in July, and at that point, decided that I was going to attend all seven days of the workshop. Unfortunately, I got very busy and was not even able to cram for this workshop. In fact, I only paid the fees on the first day of the workshop as I was uncertain whether I would actually be able to attend.

So, unlike Faeq Biria’s classes, I am totally unprepared for this workshop with Jawahar.

I was rather peeved when I saw this picture posted on my sister’s blog. This was a photo taken by my beloved grandfather of the Baguio Day parade sometime in the late 1940s or early 1950s. The first thing that came to mind when I saw it was why my sister was given a copy of this photo while I was not. Anyway, I am sure there is a perfectly good explanation for this. But, being me, my knee jerk reaction is – THIS IS UNFAIR, MOM!

Having gotten over my short outburst of temper, I am extremely pleased to post this picture on my blog (albeit belatedly) as it gives me yet another opportunity to write about Baguio and its people.

On 1 September 1909, Baguio became a chartered city. Each year thereafter, the people of Baguio celebrate Baguio Day. I do not know when the Baguio Day parades began, but certainly, Baguio Day was celebrated even during “Liberation” (right after World War II) as evidenced by the photo. In the photo, you see a band marching down Session Road (or at least I think this is Session Road).  Baguio appears to be less cluttered then and it seemed like life was simple.

Last 1 September 2009, Baguio celebrated its 100^th year of “cityhood” and a grand parade was held on that day. It is sad that my grandparents did not live to see the parade on this occasion. I am sure they would have been as delighted as children to be part of the fanfare.  Perhaps they would have also seen many people who they knew.  I would have probably had a great time at any Baguio Day parade but the sad thing is, I do not recall having attended any Baguio Day parade ever. Shocking isn’t it?

While I missed the Baguio Day parade again this year, I console myself by the fact that I have not forgotten what a wonderful place Baguio had been while I was growing up.

Sometimes, specially when we are very busy, we forget who we are. If we are fortunate enough, however, something comes along to remind us about ourselves.

One of my parents’ friend who knew me as a child recently posted a picture of himself, Joe Sage, Bob Stone, my sister and me. This picture was probably taken by my dad. We were in Baguio; in the café owned by Briccio Santos that was in front of SPED, and I was just seven years old.

Although over twenty years had passed since the picture was taken, I vividly remember that afternoon in that café. My parents took my sister and I along as they met with friends. Although the café faced a busy street, the place felt relatively secluded because there were plants that shielded the café from the street. We sat on some tables outside and I remember looking down on the rich red earth and kicking some stones around. I also remember that it was a pleasant afternoon and the sun was out.

We must have been there for hours. At some point (most likely because I was bored), someone (either Joe or Bob) was teaching me how to play the flute. I was extremely frustrated because no sound was coming out of the flute even if I was getting a headache from expelling so much air. It was then that I realized that I had no talent whatsoever for music. This fact still hold true until today.

I do not know why I remembered that day vividly but looking at the picture now reminds me of who I am – the bored child who has no talent for music.  I miss that time in my life when I could spend a whole afternoon in Baguio doing seemingly meaningless things like sit in a cafe, kick stones and hopelessly attempt to play the flute.

Green is my favorite color…

Hyatt Terraces

Hyatt Terraces Hotel in Baguio ceased operations completely on 16 July 1990.  On that day, a terrible earthquake hit Baguio and Hyatt collapsed.  I know three people who died in Hyatt during the earthquake - two friends of my parents and a former teacher.  Other than this tragic memory, all my other memories of Hyatt were good ones.

Perhaps my best memories of Hyatt were the Easter Egg Hunts. On several occasions, my parents took my sister, cousins who spent the Holy Week in Baguio and I to Hyatt for the Easter Egg Hunts.  I remember that, before each hunt, the ground floor of Hyatt would have on display the bunnies and chicks that would be given as prizes.  The pastry shop would also be selling huge chocolate eggs.  To build our excitement, my parents would take us there to see the bunnies and chicks and to buy us some chocolate eggs.  I have never won the egg hunt.  I usually go home with some consolation prizes and a few chicks.  My younger sister, on the other hand, would always win the grand prize of the egg hunt (but that was because someone would always help her hunt for the eggs).  The grand prize was usually a bunny and cash.  For several years, we housed the bunnies my sister won in my grandparents’ house and my grandmother would always complain that the bunnies ate her plants.

If there was a time in my life I would not hesitate re-living, it would be those Easter Egg Hunts at Hyatt.

Photo by: Lito Tesoro

Memories of the 1990 Earthquake

Nineteen years ago today, a terrible earthquake hit Baguio.  I am lucky to have survived it.

I was in high school then.  When the quake happened, I was still in the school auditorium for an extra-curricular activity.  I remember waiting for my turn to be called for the extemporaneous declamation try-outs when the earth moved violently up and down.  I felt like a ball being dribbled.   After what seemed like eons later, the earth began to move horizontally in long rapid succession.  I positioned myself beside a post and thought about how my family was doing.  Where were they?  Were they alive?  In the seconds that passed, I must have made a million promises to God in exchange for keeping them safe.

In between aftershocks, I ran down to the quadrangle, and from there, I saw that Sky World building, UB and FRB building had been badly damaged.  They looked like stacked up cardboard boxes that had fallen to one side.  Worse, students of UB were jumping from the ledge to the pavement.  Every few seconds, the earth would shake and I would wonder how long the tremors would last.  Then, the sky darken and hail came pouring down.

An hour later, I could no longer bear not knowing if my family survived the quake.  I decided to go home, aftershock or no.  I told my friend and her sister that I would walk them home as their house was along the way to mine.  When we got to their house, their older brother in turn walked me home.

When I got home, I was so relieved to know that my mom and sisters were alright.  My grandparents and my dad were in Manila at that time and we had absolutely no idea of how they were.  We were worried.  So, when my mom and I heard that PILTEL was offering, for free, the use of its cellular phones so people could contact their families, I went to its office in Session Road and lined up for five hours to place a call to Manila.  When I got on the phone and asked for my dad, I was told that he left for Baguio the day before and that my grandparents were safe.

When I got home, my dad was there and he hugged me so tightly that my ribs hurt.  He told us that he found out about the earthquake a few minutes after it happened as he was meeting with his friends from the press who got wind of the news immediately.  He drove part of the way for twelve hours  and walked the rest of the way for another eight hours to get to Baguio.

When we knew that our family was alright, my parents and I started to look for friends to see if they were alright and to find out how we could be of any help to them.

During the days following the quake, we slept outside the house for fear that the house would collapse on us when a strong aftershock happens.  There was no electricity for more than a month.  There was no water for weeks. It rained all the time. No one was selling food and we were just blessed to have ample supplies at home.  The most terrifying part of this all was that the aftershocks happened for months after the quake.  On each aftershock, I wondered how long it would last, how strong it would get and whether we would survive.  To this day, I get very tense when there are tiny earthquakes that happen.

I only remembered these sad memories of the earthquake when, for the first time in nineteen years, I saw pictures of the aftermath of the earthquake today.  I had never seen pictures of the quake before as we had no electricity and, months after the quake, I had no real interesting it looking at pictures of the aftermath.

After seeing those pictures, I am happy to be alive and to know that, during that devastating time of my life, I had family and real friends around.