How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Embrace Christian Yoga

I volunteer at a yoga studio now. My life = ridiculous.

— Kishwer Vikaas (@Phillygrrl) June 18, 2014

I’m doing Christian yoga. To be more precise, I am in the first stage of a 40-day Christian yoga program. One week ago, I signed up for the program at my local ashram — a colorful space with Lululemon items galore.

I know what you’re thinking. “Brown girl signs up for yoga — what’s the big deal?” Simple. I have always hated yoga with a singular passion because of its peculiar relationship with my South Asian heritage.

The history of yoga has always troubled me — even before I interviewed Chiraag Bhakta, who goes by the moniker Pardon My Hindi (PMH) about his installation #WhitePeopleDoingYoga. During his research, PMH discovered a study of wellness magazine Yoga Journal done by Roopa Singh, Esq. for the South Asian American Perspectives on Yoga in America. [See “A New Initiative Seeks to Restore Yoga’s South Asian Heritage” by Kavita Das for more.]

The study revealed that over the course of two years less than one percent of the magazine contributors were South Asian. Even more damning was the fact that there was never a South Asian on the cover — despite the fact that yoga originated in India and dates back to pre-vedic Indian traditions. Bhakta also noted that the practice of yoga had been watered down through materialism. According to his artist’s statement, what was once a practice that eschewed worldliness now has become a $27 billion dollar industry.

But before I knew all that, I signed up for my first-ever yoga class while attending college in 2006. I had time to kill before a class and I decided to try something new. I spent the entire class giggling while the fervent co-ed teacher in front of me played Bollywood music. The entire atmosphere seemed at odds with the “oms” and “namastes” she sprinkled gratuitously between bows.

So began eight years of my love-hate relationship with yoga. Love because I truly found something I could actually do semi-well. It appealed to me because it wasn’t a team sport. My success didn’t bar others from a good performance on the yoga field. And it relaxed me.

But I hated the majority of the yoga teachers I met who wore far too many over-styled, over-priced yoga items and who seemed more in love with themselves than dedicated to their students. Some years I stopped yoga altogether. Twice I got kicked out of yoga classes — once for giggling and the second time because I didn’t do the poses well enough. More often than not, some teachers would look to me for direction. As if I, a total yoga newbie, could offer insight simply because of the color of my skin.

Flash forward today. Today I live in California — land of the overpriced yoga mat. I am humbled by grandmothers on either side of me who can balance their body weight on their palms. Sometimes the teachers play Katy Perry. All of the time they misprounounce “Namaste.” But it doesn’t grate on me like it once did.

Maybe yoga appeals to me today because I am older and wiser. Or maybe it’s because I am even more foolish than I was back then. There’s no question that I am at a transition point in my life’s journey. So naturally a 40-day Christian-themed yoga program would appeal to me — a Christian.

Or maybe it’s because after talking to my grandfather, I discovered my family on my mother’s paternal side was Hindu and I feel closer to the yoga sages of old? I don’t know. I just know that when I unroll my mat and fold my hands together — I feel at peace. I’m still rocking my #WhitePeopleDoingYoga sticker though. And waiting for all the brown yoga teachers and students to come out of hiding.

Even as an infrequent, self-loathing yoga attendee, I'm still sad when I'm the only person of color in the class. WHERE ARE ALL MY PEOPLE?

— Kishwer Vikaas (@Phillygrrl) June 18, 2014

You can find Kishwer Vikaas on Twitter at @phillygrrl.