Once upon a time, my body used to love the pigeon pose. Usually practiced toward the end, after repeated downward dogs and upward dogs, lying down on the mat with one leg stretched out, and the other folded and tucked under, was releasing and relaxing.
This was before I put on 20 Kgs and had a baby. Following the birth of my daughter, this pose has become a challenge, my body has evolved to dislike this pose. The only explanation that I can come up with is the change in my hips. These hips that have borne the brunt of my pregnancy, childbirth, and now the weight of my one year old.
These days, as soon as I stretch myself into the pigeon pose, I feel discomfort borderline pain searing outward from my hips. My body whispers to me the memories and patterns locked into those hips- those of pregnancy, childbirth, parenthood and of increasing responsibilities. Despite the pain, I still go into the pigeon pose. “You cannot always do what you like- you have to also explore what makes you uncomfortable” the voice of my yoga teacher finds me on my mat from time to time, pushing and prodding.
There is another aspect of my life that has changed since my daughter. Travel. Getting away from it all for short work trips used to be a very attractive alternative. Hop on the plane, forget yourself in a series of movies and people watching binges, arrive at your work destination, meet with colleagues, and immerse yourself in the project. No house to clean, no dinners to cook, no mail to check, and no commute. I become a hotel hermit. I work. I sit and I soak up the silence.
But travelling is no longer what it used to be. It comes with healthy dose of guilt and loud pangs of separation from my beautiful, delicious, and chubby daughter. As I write this, I am on my first work trip post baby and I am missing her desperately- her smell, her tantrums, her curls, and her voice. It feels like I have left a part of me behind.
Everything is fleeting, in yoga, and in life. A pose or an experience that you enjoy today may not be same tomorrow. In this impermanence, there is a certain level of anxiety, comfort, and a wistful dose of nostalgia that is hard to shake off. The best we can do is observe, accept, and move on. And this is what yoga teaches me.