The Time I was Mansplained During Yoga Class
Dear White Male Yoga Teacher,
I was peacefully lying down in savasana waiting for class to start when
you abruptly woke me out of my slumber.
“Do you know what power yoga is?” you asked. I cracked my eyes open
to see you standing over me, no shirt, six-pack glistening with sweat,
legs spread, and hands-on hips. I could tell for reasons unbeknownst to
me, you were definitely feeling yourself.
“Yeah, I do,” I responded nonchalantly.
“What does it mean to you?” you persisted.
I could not believe you were serious. Did you think you were some sort of yoga God, and the rest of us were just peons? Why was I being
interrogated in yoga?
“It’s like fast-moving,” I said. I was hoping my obvious disinterest would
convince you to leave me alone.
“Uh-huh,” you replied. “Well, she’s ready, he’s ready, she’s ready, she’s
ready,” you said, as you pointed to various other people in class. “Are you
ready?”
I was both aggravated and unimpressed with your douchery.
“I am Indian, and I’ve been practicing yoga for years. I know about
Patanjali’s sutras, ahimsa, and karma yoga. I know that power yoga is a
western concoction, and this studio strips all references to anything
Hindu, which is incredibly offensive, but I bought a Groupon, so here
I am. So I am good, and I don’t need an explanation.”
You looked utterly shocked, as though it was impossible for you to
believe that somehow someone else could possibly know anything
about yoga, much less a woman who you likely presumed wasn’t
Indian. Instead of apologizing for your foolishness, you turned
around and simply walked away.
Turns out I wasn’t the only woman who thought you were a tool and
you were soon let go after a few other complaints.
Byeeeeee!!
xoxo,
Still Think You’re a Dingdong
