Sunday, 7 December 2008

This was my room  for five weeks recently whilst I studied yoga at the AYRI (ashtanga yoga research institute) in Mysore which is Karnakata, Southern India.
Waking early and pulling on my yoga clothes, wrapping a dress over the top and making a cocoon of myself in a shawl; I would tiptoe through the dark house and head out underneath the coconut palms to my yoga practise and dogs would bark at this strange shadowy figure brandishing a yoga mat.

India smells like petrol and woodsmoke, drains and jasmine.
India sounds like a one man band on a motorway.
It feels like living at a free festival. Wild dogs, wild kids, singing colours and moments of absolute peace.
It feels like home.

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