To Sir, With Love.

My Yoga Sir passed away last year. He was my rock. I went for Yoga for the last  twelve years for him and because of him. He cheered me up when I was low. At 7a.m., I am always sleepy and wanting to rush home to make breakfast. The Yogasana happened somewhere in  between deep sleep and crazy planning for the day. He put things in perspective for me. I could tell him anything and he had the ability to get to my real worry. No, he was no Life Coach or a new age Guru. He was someone who practised and lived life by Yoga. He never complained or cribbed about being alone . He lived in the same house where his parents lived. He had got the house painted and repaired before he left for greener pastures. He had a  younger sibling who was also alone. Her spouse had passed away and she lived on her own. At 84, Ramanthan Sir used to travel to Chembur to spend the weekends with her and help her out.

Still remember the day I got the news. After buying groceries, I could not find a cab. I was waiting at the junction, when I bumped into a Yoga friend. She said Sir passed away and she is going for the funeral. she shouted out Sir's home address as her cab sped off.  I was shocked. I had been bunking Yoga class for a fortnight. Today was yet another Monday, where I had promised myself I shall start Yoga and missed . Never seen a man so young at heart and so independent. Men and women of all age groups went to him with all their problems physical or otherwise. He had the ability to connect to each one of us. He never had a negative word about anyone. I had had spells of reaching class at 8 am when it gets over. He always encouraged me and said At least you took the effort and came to class. He was committed that we do not miss class. He wanted us to always inform him, if we were not coming for class. But because I was doing this serial bunking, I had stopped messaging him. How could I tell him I was sleeping at 7 am when at 84, he never bunked yoga and reached class at 5.30 am irrespective of the Mumbai rains or whatever. 

His house was in a building where I had been earlier to meet a relative. It was an old well maintained threee storied building where Gujarati and Tamilian families lived. Children were playing cricket in the compound, which is such a rarity these days.  They guided me to his flat. I knew the layout of the flat. It had 3 big rooms and a kitchen and nice balcony. There was minimum furniture. Kitchen had spare stuff. He could not cook. The neighbours took care of him earlier when he had fallen sick. Today also the neighbours had opened their doors for all the visitors pouring in. I saw his half opened bag which he carried to the Yog class everyday. There were books in most rooms and on all empty counter tops. His shirt was hanging on the handle of the Godrej Almira. The rooms were freshly painted. He still had to settle his stuff. The furniture looked well used but sturdy. In the kitchen, I saw a few unopened Amazon boxes. Things he had ordered but never got to open. He had called his close friend, a Doctor, at 4 pm saying he was not feeling well. He fell down and passed away due to a heart attack before the Doctor could arrive with another friend.  He never wanted to die. He never talked about age or health deteriorating with age. He said "Age was in the mind". The way he looked at health was very different from how most teachers in this profession do. Whenever I went to him, with aches and pains of a physical kind, he told to to stop thinking about it. Sure enough, it disappeared on its own. This I observed not once but quite a few times with my body. When on his earlier bout of fever, the neighbours provided him with food. He kept telling them I am embarrassed to take food from you and I do not know how I can repay this. Strange, but no one from his building came for the Yoga class. Lot of them seemed took advice from him. His relationship with the young couple who were his neighbours was of friendship and not charity. His sister was so beautiful as she sat on the chair besides the body. 

I went to the South Indian temple in Matunga and then decided to drop by and meet the sister. I rang the neighbours and said Hello to them. Then I rang her bell. The door opened after a couple of minutes as she had problem in her knees. I introduced myself. The neighbour stood there till she was sure, I was safe to be sent in to the house. Aunty made me sit in the same room. She was watching TV live feed of the temple I had just visited. Her nose ring was beautiful diamond studded traditional design and she was glowing draped in a beautiful south cotton Saree. Very well groomed with an inner glow. It was dusk, we sat in silence as Pradosham Puja continued at the Ram Mandir. After some time, the neighbour came with some  bank papers to discuss with her. Sir had donated 16 lac of his savings to the Yoga institute. The institute never gave him his due and here he was their largest donor ever.  The house and the balance money was for the sister. I saw that the Amazon boxes had been opened. Sir was into technology and adopted new things in life with a lot of enthusiasm. The sister passed away within three months.  I heard about it after another three months. Her house was taken by the government till they find the next  of kin. Sir s house was on Paagdi system where the rents were low and the ownership of the flat remained with the builder or the owner of the plot of land. After the sister's passing away, the owner took over Sir s flat. 

In March 2020, just before the Lockdown, we commemorated his First Death Anniversary at the Yog class along with Woman s Day celebration. The mood was sombre. I was the anchor for the event. He did not like long speeches. He was a man of action and today I was giving a speech in the memory of the great man he was and his contribution to our lives.