“Where did you learn yoga? Is there a school for that in Islamabad?” I asked her. “I learnt by watching his videos on YouTube. Who needs a school?” said the lady, who might have been in her late thirties or early forties. Let us call her Rabia. I am bad at guessing a person’s age by just looking at them, so I could be wrong. She was part of a group of Pakistani Muslims who had travelled to Igatpuri in India to learn Buddhist meditation. I met the group in Mumbai while reporting on that visit.
"Aloe vera, sandalwood, mogra, tulsi, you'll get everything"
Having heard about the attack on the Art of Living centre in Islamabad not so long ago, I was happy to know that people like her were continuing to pursue yoga - which, frankly, is not Indian or Pakistani, but is much older than the time when nation states began to come into being. “I teach in public parks,” she said. “Everyone in Islamabad wants to be healthy, fit, and fashionable. Yoga isn’t about religion. It’s about working on your body and mind.”
Well, if that’s what Rabia had gathered from watching YouTube videos, Baba Ramdev was probably doing something right, I convinced myself.
This might sound a bit strange but I thought of Rabia earlier this week when I caught Baba Ramdev smiling at me from a poster on a shop window, advertising hair oil, herbal soap, wheat flour, and various kinds of biscuits. My mother had sent me there to check out his Patanjali line of products after watching a television advertisement, and was keen that I buy some detergent powder. I didn’t know if it had any special yogic qualities to turn my regular clothes into mindfulness-inducing garments but I decided to respect my mother’s choice.
The shopkeeper presented me with two options — one packet that said neem and rose (yes, odd combination), another that promised a gentle lemon fragrance. I picked the former because it was cheaper, and I didn’t want my clothes to smell like my dishes.
“Sab kuchh bechne lage hain, Babaji. Har cheez hai yahaan par, sirf condom baaki hai (Babaji has begun to sell everything. You name it, and it’s here. Only condoms have yet to come),” I said. He laughed out so loudly that his assistant looked scared. “Woh bhi milega. Patte wala. Babaji banva rahe honge (That too will be available. Made of leaves. Babaji must be getting it made),” he replied.
I had some free time, so I continued to joke with him. “Sirf patte? Usmein koi variety nahin hogi? (Just leaves? No variety?)” I enquired. He grinned, and said, “Hogi, bhai. Aloe vera, chandan, mogra, tulsi, sab kuchh milega (There will be. Aloe vera, sandalwood, mogra, tulsi, you’ll get everything).”
Which one are you planning to get?
Chintan Girish Modi is a Mumbai-based writer who believes that Indians and Pakistanis can live in peace, with a sense of humour. He tweets at chintan_connect