I was saddened but not surprised to read yoga teacher Puravi Joshi’s recent newspaper account of her less than zen-like experience working in an industry that is supposed to be all about inner smugness … sorry, I mean peace. Joshi recounted a litany of micro-aggressions doled out by studio bosses who made her audition for prime classes, critiqued her physique and gave western explanations about Hindu gods being like “cartoon characters”.
For the past 20 years I have been haphazardly “practising” (as they say) yoga but I have finally decided to roll up my mat for the final time. “But why?” I hear you ask. It’s true that for a while it looked as if yoga offered a quick fix for all of life’s biggest challenges – materialism, anxiety, ageing, spiritual bankruptcy – but alas, in the aftermath of Covid, many studios faced actual bankruptcy. Now, as centres struggle to stay afloat, it’s becoming harder to find a “normal” class. By that I mean one where people show up without a £1,520 Prada mat. One where you do a bit of deep breathing, a bit of ouchy stretching, a bit of lying on your back thinking about what you’re going to watch on Netflix when you get home (possibly not Bikram: Yogi, Guru, Predator).
Instead, studios are offering gimmicks such as disco yoga, gin and yin yoga, paddleboard yoga, rooftop yoga, doga (yoga for you and your downward-facing dog), yoga with cannabis oil, yoga among the dinosaurs at the Natural History Museum and yoga brunch.
More serious classes don’t hold much appeal either, as these are teeming with competitive handstanding and unsolicited lessons in Hinduism 101. On one occasion, a non-Indian teacher (which is the norm) had the temerity to correct my pronunciation of a Sanskrit mantra. This was the last straw. I really wanted to send her an angry email afterwards. But then a YouTube class caught my eye: “Rage yoga – class includes cursing and alcohol.” Maybe I’ll get my mat out for one last time …
• Anita Chaudhuri is a freelance journalist
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