Tag: indology

What is Yoga without Sexual Assault?

Stains on the Lineage: Ashtanga's Reckoning

          On September 6th, 2025, an anonymous collective of Ashtanga yoga practitioners on Instagram (@1percenttruth_) accused Taylor Hunt, longstanding Ashtanga yoga teacher, of “inappropriate sexual behavior.” They alleged that, among other forms of physical and emotional abuse, Hunt frequently coerces female students into sexual relationships. Two weeks have passed since their bombshell, and in that time, countless students and prominent leaders from the Ashtanga community have come forward to corroborate these claims.

          The entire episode reeks of déjà vu. Back in 2018, a series of sexual assault allegations against primary Ashtanga guru and founder, K. Pattabhi Jois, very nearly destroyed the lineage. The esteemed yoga teacher was posthumously accused of groping, humping, and even fingering his female students under the guise of providing postural adjustments.

A Common Thread: Abuse Across Modern Yoga Traditions

          The Ashtanga case is only the latest in a long line of global yoga/ sexual assault scandals. Throughout the 1970s and 80s, guru Satyananda Saraswati of Yoga Nidra faced investigations for child sexual abuse, and Integral Yoga guru Satchitananda Saraswati made headlines in 1991 for molesting his students.  Bikram Chowdhury, creator of Bikram Yoga, accumulated five sexual assault-related lawsuits by 2014. The #MeToo movement in 2017 spurred a new onslaught of allegations, with Pattabhi Jois and Kundalini Yoga’s Yogi Bhajan joining the list of offenders. Nowhere in the yoga world feels safe – every lineage is a new can of worms, writhing with slimy intent underneath thin tin lids of ‘spiritual detachment.’

          Every time these gurus come under fire, their respective communities are forced to grapple with the realization that their yogic teachings are ethically compromised. Some teachers, feeling that their philosophies are irrevocably tainted, close the doors of their studios permanently. Some condemn their gurus’ actions but refuse to abandon their pedagogies – instead opting to change the names of their studios (‘Bikram Yoga’ became simply ‘Hot Yoga’) or adopt new trauma-informed techniques (now, instructors often ask consent before providing posture adjustments). Still others reject the entire tradition of guru-disciple lineage (guru-śiṣya paramparā), which, they claim, feeds into cycles of sexual violence. They call for a “post-lineage yoga:” a movement that rejects the autocratic guru in a good-faith effort to democratize yoga, even as it flounders with the complexities of spiritual authority and orientalist epistemology.

          Abuses are so interwoven in every fiber of these yogic traditions – from the modern brand names to the ancient education model – that perhaps the very fabric of yoga is sullied beyond redemption.

          The question remains, then: what is yoga without sexual assault? Other lineage-based communities, such as Indian classical music, have successfully curbed misconduct by improving oversight and enforcing ethical standards. Yet, in the yoga world, sexual assault continues unabated, festering in the intimate and vulnerable confines of studios and ashrams. Why do these spaces – intended for healing and soul-searching – so often become ones of exploitation and coercion? And how does yoga itself abet these harmful patterns? The answer, I believe, goes much farther back than New Age misogynists and #MeToo. 

Predatory Metaphysics: Gender & Power in Pre-Modern Yoga

          Today, over 80% of global yoga practitioners are female. But in premodern India, circa 7th-13th centuries CE, yoga was a male-dominated tradition. Yogins (male practitioners of yoga) make frequent appearances in medieval ritual texts, art, and literature; they are usually human men who, by virtue of devout spiritual practice, have attained god-like metaphysical powers.

          Yoginīs (female practitioners of yoga), on the other hand, are rarely mentioned. In texts on Tantric yoga, they are overshadowed by male ritualists; women, after all, are thought to be mere distractions from the spiritual path. When yoginīs do appear in ritual texts, they are terrifying and grotesque; fierce witch-like spirits who fly over the cremation ground, their feet turned backwards and their hair splayed wild as they accost innocent men. This textual canon reflects an age-old paradigm of patriarchy: men are impressively powerful, but women are only dangerously so.

          The yoginī’s distinct role in medieval texts points to a long history of sexual skulduggery in yoga. In 7th century Tantric yoga texts like the Brahmayāmala Tantra and the Siddhayogeśvarīmata, the yoginī is a female ritual partner who provides bodily fluids for the male ritualist’s cāru (impure offering). These fluids are attained through a variety of sexual rites, in which the yoginī’s body is worshiped as a vessel for shakti, the divine feminine energy.

          The 9th-10th century yogic text, the Kaulajñānanirṇaya, describes yoginīs as goddesses themselves and prescribes male practitioners to invoke them through ritual. This text promises that the yoginīs will appear to any successful (male) ritualist and “kiss” him with their vulvas, thus bestowing him with their supernatural powers. In such rituals, the yoginī exists to benefit the yogin; whether worshiped as a ritual object or as a divine being, the woman must surrender her sexual power for a man’s spiritual gain.

          This gendered power dynamic is itself an outgrowth from an older, classical school of philosophy: Samkhya. In the Samkhya-Yoga ontology, women are potent sources of shakti: the fertile feminine force that animates the cosmos. However, premodern yogic texts were written exclusively by men and for men. Therefore, these texts tend to concern themselves not with the female practitioner, but with the male practitioner’s cultivation of feminine power. These texts suggest that yogins need not spend their own shakti – they should instead harvest it from yoginīs, who, of course, are assumed to have no use for it themselves.

On the Restoration of Tattered Textiles

          Up until 2018, those who testified against K. Pattabhi Jois were dismissed and often met with vitriol. He was a great man and a great yogi, his defenders roared; how could he have hurt you? Yet, as many eyewitnesses have since confirmed, Jois’s abuses were hardly discreet. They were committed openly under the bright fluorescents of Ashtanga studios, so thoroughly entrenched in the practice itself that no one dared – for decades! – to question the master and his ancient methods.

          For the yoginīs of the Ashtanga lineage, their shakti is not really their own. It is policed by men, crafted according to male standards, and eventually stolen: an impure offering to the deified male guru. Taylor Hunt – like K. Pattabhi Jois and many other yogins before him – gains power by draining that of his students. He elevates his own status by violating women.

          The Ashtanga community is forever indebted to the teachers and students of 1percenttruth_ who are bravely working to expose physical abuses in yoga. But an insidious system of gendered metaphysics continues to pervade yoga spaces around the world, perpetuating a worldview that both enables and justifies the exploitation of women’s sexuality. Sexual assault is not just a taut thread that wrinkles a few lineages; it is the loom upon which these yogic traditions are woven. As we extricate one from the other, we must be prepared for the entire tapestry to unravel.

Acknowledgements

  • Amelia Wood for her important work on abuse in yoga.
  • Theodora Wildcroft for her bold attempt at redefining yogic education – I admit that I harbor a healthy skepticism of post-lineage yoga, but ultimately, it is the only way forward.
  • Christian Novetzke, Shelby House, and the other members of the Spring 2024 JSIS public writing workshop, who supplied invaluable edits and discourse for this piece.
  • The brave students and teachers at @1percenttruth_ , and everyone else who has survived abuse in a yoga space. Thank you for sharing your stories. We believe you. You are not alone.

Featured image (“Dakini with Consort”) courtesy of The Huntington Archive at the University of Chicago

Yoga Wasn’t Meant to Save the West

          DISCLAIMER: The Woke Yogi is not an official site of the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.  The views expressed on this site are entirely those of its author and do not represent the views of the Fulbright Program, the U.S. Department of State, or any of its partner organizations.

The Promised Land

          Every Wednesday night in Rishikesh, an organization called Bhakti Yoga Rishikesh hosts a kirtan and dharma talk in the loft of a local guesthouse. Spiritual seekers of all nationalities and religious backgrounds gather in this intimate space, seated knee-to-knee on floor cushions, listening in rapture as a guest speaker delivers a sermon on yoga philosophy. These speakers are as diverse as the audience to whom they speak, ranging from Brahmin monks raised in the Vedic tradition to German scholars who spent decades studying yogic texts.

          Yet, despite their differing backgrounds, many of these spiritual teachers share a core message: that “the West” is a cesspool of materialism, capitalism, and individualism, populated by people who are overworked, wealth-obsessed, disconnected from their bodies, and out of touch with nature. By contrast, “the East” (India, in particular) is a spiritual place, characterized by collectivism, laid-back attitudes towards work, and a connection to the earth. With surprising regularity, the speakers of these Wednesday night dharma talks construct a binary of East vs. West to instill the value of yoga for ‘Western’ practitioners.

          Bhakti Yoga Rishikesh is not alone in these ideas. Indeed, much of the yoga industry in Rishikesh rests on this messaging: that ‘the East’ is the moral antithesis of ‘the West,’ defined broadly by cultural practices, social behaviors, and spiritual beliefs. I have encountered many foreign yoga students who spout similar sentiments – that other people from [insert home country here] are too focused on money, too apathetic, too stressed about things that don’t matter. These respondents tell me that they’ve come to Rishikesh in search of an alternative lifestyle, and many of them seem to view themselves as *enlightened* just for having left ‘the West.’

Problematizing 'the East' and 'the West'

          What is ‘the West,’ anyway? The United States and Canada easily make the cut, but Latin America usually doesn’t, despite being firmly situated within the western hemisphere. Often, when we speak of ‘the West,’ we mean wealthy, developed countries (what academia calls the ‘Global North’). But Australia and most of Europe are in the eastern hemisphere, so we can dispel any notion of ‘the West’ as a geographic locator. And if ‘the West’ merely indicates wealth or development, where does that leave underdeveloped countries in Eastern Europe, such as Ukraine and Moldova? What of the millions of Americans who live below the poverty line – does their socioeconomic status preclude them from ‘Western’ identity?

          More confusingly, what is ‘the East?’ The geographic area suggested by this phrase is comprised of thousands of distinct ethnic, cultural, and linguistic communities who are united by little more than rough proximity. To group them together under the umbrella of ‘Eastern’ is to flatten their vast differences. Such homogenization was a tactic of early orientalists and colonialists in Asia, who deemed all Asians uncivilized to justify imperial control. In this way, the rhetoric employed by yogis in Rishikesh reflects a form of internalized neo-orientalism. They adopt overly simplistic language, reducing diverse individuals to a set of archetypal traits so they can more easily position themselves in opposition to an outsider group. It’s textbook tribalism: a classic “us versus them” mindset.

          I might have expected such reductive discourse to be peddled within Indian circles, for many Indians are (understandably) keen to scapegoat colonization and Western influence for modern India’s problems. Quite to the contrary, however, the audiences of these talks are more commonly seas of white: foreigners from Europe, Australia, and the United States who, disillusioned with the ways of life in their countries of origin, are desperate for someone to blame – and some way to escape. This manufactured East vs. West dichotomy is a marketing strategy. It targets the woes of wide-eyed ‘Westerners’ to sell yoga in a neat little package. 

          But, as we know, neat little packages rarely contain the whole story.

Outcomes of Chaos

          The glaring flaw in this East vs. West framing is the implication that ‘Westerners’ are the only demographic that stands to benefit from yogic teachings. But yoga first emerged around 3,000 years ago, well before British colonization and certainly well before globalization. If India really is this serene, spiritual place, a moral utopia with none of those pesky ‘Western’ problems, then why did Indians develop yoga in the first place? Why would they need yoga at all?

          Contrary to what some yogis in Rishikesh would have you believe, yoga is a product of its environment. It was conceived to address a series of widespread societal issues that lower the quality of life in India. Yoga is a counterculture response to a set of uniquely South Asian problems – not a contrived remedy for ‘Western’ ones. Let me give some examples:

Cleanliness

          India, like other industrializing nations, has a massive problem with environmental pollution and poor hygiene standards. Of the world’s 30 cities with the worst air pollution, 21 are in India. The country also suffers from poor waste management infrastructure. Open defecation remains the standard in rural areas, and littering is common practice everywhere – in most regions, trash clutters every street and clogs every waterway. As a result, contaminated food and water pose a significant threat to public health in India, causing millions of illnesses and thousands of deaths every year.

          Taken within this framework, the classical yogic precept of Śauca, or cleanliness, reads as a practical public health intervention. This philosophy dissuades people from polluting their environment and, by extension, their bodies. Likewise, the yogic texts are rife with practices that claim to aid digestion, from herbal treatments to twisting postures to Nauli Kriya. While these techniques may promote digestive function in healthy individuals, it’s likely that they were originally intended to address serious gastrointestinal issues that arose from unclean conditions.

A street vendor uses his ungloved hands to prepare paan, a popular Indian street food.
A street vendor in Kolkata preparing paan, a popular street food.

Silence & Solitude

          As of 2023, India is the most populous country in the world, with a population of over 1.4 billion. That’s about 492 people per square kilometer (or 1,275 people per mi²). Unsurprisingly, India is plagued by excessive noise. Anyone who has visited urban India can attest to the constant cacophony of car horns honking, but it’s not just traffic that punctuates the morning air – it’s also the yells of street vendors, the howls of stray dogs, the tinny blare of political adverts over loudspeaker, and more recently, the baffling phenomenon of people watching Instagram reels on full volume.

          It’s no wonder, then, that some texts suggest Ekānta, solitude, and Mauna, silence, as modes of yoga practice. These teachings are straightforward strategies for quieting people’s minds… by literally lowering noise levels on the streets. Yogis have always retreated to forests and secluded hermitages to engage in spiritual practice, but perhaps they were not intensely devoted so much as they were incredibly overstimulated.  

A large crowd of people at the Ganga Aarti in Varanasi, India
The Ganga Aarti ceremony at Assi Ghat attracts large crowds of spectators every evening in Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh.

Celibacy

          Sexual violence is so prevalent in India that the nation has earned the moniker “the rape capital of the world.” In 2022, over 30,000 cases of rape were reported, and nearly 200,000 more were awaiting trial. I’ve written at length about this unsettling trend (read my articles on Durga Puja and Guru-Śiṣya Paramparā), and it’s worth noting here again: individuals who harbor misogynistic attitudes and commit sex-based crimes are not “a few bad apples” – they are products of systemic injustice, enabled by Indic philosophies and political theories that date back millennia.

          Given this long history of sexual violence, it is possible that the classical yoga texts prescribed Brahmacarya, or celibacy, to curb libido and prevent sexual misconduct.

A naga sadhu sits cross-legged at his camp. He is naked and smeared with ash, with messy hair and closed eyes. Naga Sadhus have historically been used as symbols of the 'exotic East.'
Naga sadhus, monks of the Saiva Hindu tradition, gathered in large droves at the Maha Kumbh Mela, a large pilgrimage event in January 2025. These sadhus are often brahmacaris, or practicing celibates.

Contentment

          In India, Plan B is Plan A. Indian culture operates on polychronic time, so meetings and events seldom start at the established time. Government corruption is rampant – many bureaucrats and law enforcement officers demand bribes before agreeing to perform their duties. Prices for goods and services are often negotiated, rarely fixed. Broadly speaking, life in India is chaotic and unpredictable, even for lifelong residents.

          I wholeheartedly believe that this lifestyle directly led to the formation of Saṃtoṣa, the yogic doctrine of contentment. Yoga teaches us to accept things as they come, to relinquish expectations, and to live in the moment. Personally, I’ve found that this mindset is crucial to enjoying life in India.

Cleaning Up the Mud

          Yoga wasn’t meant to save ‘the West.’ It was forged in response to the same suffering that many South Asians struggle with today. Pollution, overpopulation, sexual violence, corruption – these are very real, endemic issues with tangible consequences for the people who live here. And unlike foreign tourists, who can temporarily cosplay as renunciates before returning to the comfort of their home countries, most Indians have no escape. This is their only bed, and they have to lie in it.

          None of this is to say that yoga can’t serve people outside India. It certainly can, and it does. Perhaps neo-orientalist narratives encourage people worldwide to open their hearts and their wallets – which has undeniable benefits for India’s economic and cultural capital. But yoga didn’t emerge from a vacuum. In mistaking yoga as a cure-all for ‘the West,’ we risk erasing the contexts that gave rise to its wisdom. And by collapsing complex cultural systems into tidy binaries of East and West, we’re prone to forget whose problems we’re trying to solve.

          When I first arrived in Rishikesh, I too wanted a simpler life — one closer to nature, further from the challenges of modern life. But yoga isn’t about escape. It’s about presence. Yoga asks us to embrace contradiction, complexity, chaos. It teaches us to stay with the uneven ground beneath our feet. If we want to engage deeply with yoga, we cannot abstract it from its messy roots. Instead, we must clean up the mud from which it grew.

A water lily grows from muddy waters, surrounded by lily pads.
Lotus flowers are potent symbols in yoga. They bloom from muddy waters, signifying the yogic journey of shedding impure material binds to reach spiritual enlightenment.

Ways You Can Help:

  • Advocate for policies and initiatives that aim to reduce particulate matter pollution, such as India’s National Clean Air Programme.
  • Talk to your Indian friends and family members about the negative impacts of environmental pollution. Many Indians are flippant about littering, car idling, and buying single-use plastics – explain how these activities lower life expectancy and quality of life.
  • Raise awareness about the adverse effects of noise pollution. In the meantime, carry headphones or ear plugs with you, and ask your cab drivers to lay off the horn.
  • Donate to Parichiti or MAVA (Men Against Violence and Abuse), two outreach organizations dedicated to ending sexual violence by empowering women and educating men.
  • Report all cases of corruption to the Central Vigilance Commission or to Lokpal India. If you are an Indian citizen, pressure the central government to enforce the Prevention of Corruption Act (POCA), 1988. Whenever possible, refuse to pay bribes and vote for representatives who support anti-corruption legislation.  
  • While in India, adopt a chalta hai (“things happen”) attitude. Change takes time! Model the changes you want to see, and accept that most things are out of your control. You’ll be happier, I promise 😊.

Death of the Guru

DISCLAIMER: The Woke Yogi is not an official site of the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.  The views expressed on this site are entirely those of its author and do not represent the views of the Fulbright Program, the U.S. Department of State, or any of its partner organizations.

The Last Lineage Holder

          The shala walls are lined with photos. In some, a teenaged boy prays with his family; in others, the same boy, slightly older, demonstrates advanced yoga postures. Many more photos show the man in middle-age, pacing between rows of mats or posing with crowds of smiling students.  At the front of the room hangs the largest photo by far, adorned with strings of marigolds and bathed in incense smoke. In old age, the guru smiles down upon his disciples.

The altar to the guru at Sharath Yoga Centre, which features a large image of K. Pattabhi Jois. A shirtless man performs upward facing dog pose in front of the altar.

          Sharath Jois was, until very recently, considered the primary lineage holder, or paramaguru, for the entire Ashtanga yoga tradition. He inherited the lineage from his grandfather, K. Pattabhi Jois, who created and popularized the Ashtanga sequences. Today, Ashtanga is one of the last remaining yoga styles to emphasize guru-śiṣya paramparā (GSP), the ancient South Asian tradition in which knowledge is meticulously passed from guru to disciple in unbroken lineage. It was precisely this tradition that drew me to practice Ashtanga in Mysore: I craved access to the original teachings, supposedly so whole and pure, undiluted by modern interpretation and therefore irrefutably authentic.

          But shortly after I received my confirmation to attend classes at Sharath Yoga Centre, mere weeks before I was scheduled to arrive, Sharath Jois passed away. His death was sudden and unexpected, leaving the Ashtanga community reeling. For the first time ever, the lineage was without a paramaguru.

Palm trees and other lush greenery surround colorful residential buildings in Mysore, India.
Even if you have no interest in Ashtanga yoga, I highly recommend a visit to Mysore in Karnataka, India. The city has such a chill vibe, with beautiful greenery and delicious dosa!

          When the news of Guru Ji’s death arrived, many students had already booked their annual trips to Mysore. No one knew what would happen – would the shala close its doors for the season? If so, would it ever reopen? After several weeks rife with speculation, shala staff announced that classes would proceed as scheduled. There would be only one small difference: in lieu of the guru’s teaching, all students were to engage in self-led practice.

          This request was not altogether radical given the unique pedagogy of the ashtanga tradition. Even under regular circumstances, all practitioners do self-led or “Mysore-style” practice five days a week. They still go to the shala daily, but rather than following a teacher’s verbal instruction, the students move through a pre-set, memorized sequence at their own pace. The teacher(s) walks around the room to give guidance to students individually. I have found that this teaching style promotes a more meditative experience – without having to listen to the teacher’s cues or worry about what posture comes next, I can focus more deeply on my internal alignment and breath.

          In the wake of Guru Ji’s passing, however, the notion of an entirely self-led season seemed only to heighten the uncertainty clouding the ashtanga community. Students were still expected to pay the usual course tuitions – so what incentive did they have to show up at all, let alone practice in good faith? I was skeptical, to say the least. Judging by my own shaky self-discipline, I doubted that anyone would travel all the way to Mysore just to teach themselves.

          I could not have been more wrong. When I arrived for my first day of class, dozens of mats were neatly lined up before the altar. The room, though quiet, was animated by movement. Students in the front row contorted themselves into impossible folds, even as those towards the back were just getting warmed up with Sun Salutations. On occasion, students would pause their own practice to give their neighbor hands-on adjustments. Many advanced students lingered in the shala after completing their own practices to assist students who had just begun. It seemed that in the absence of a central authority, the ashtanga community had come together to carry the lineage forward collectively.

Next in Line

          What I witnessed in Mysore resonates with sentiments I have heard from many of my respondents in other parts of India. When asked if they follow a particular guru or adhere to a specific lineage, most of my respondents say NO – they favor a self-guided approach to spirituality instead.

          One of my respondents, a yoga teacher from Uttarakhand, explained simply: “I’m not following any [gurus]… My journey is my journey. I am following myself.”

          Another respondent, a yoga teacher from Gujarat, told me that he wholly disagrees with spiritual seekers who blindly follow their gurus: “They’re sheep!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “They don’t think for themselves.”

          My friend from Rajasthan also confessed that he’s wary of trusting any one spiritual leader. “These gurus or these ‘God-men—” (he paused to shudder at the word), “—they aren’t always right. It’s best to learn from many different people and come to your own conclusions.”

          Even my aunt, a devout Hindu from West Bengal who studied under a guru for decades, warned me about spiritual authorities who claim to be enlightened. “Always do your own research,” she instructed me. “Anyone can say that they know the truth about the universe, but it’s just their interpretation of the truth.”  

          Their responses shocked me. Prior to starting my fieldwork, I expected to find a thriving culture of gurus and ‘God-men’ in India; I imagined that strict lineage-based practices would be the standard, offering a simple way to distinguish Indian yoga from its bastardized Western counterparts. Evidently, such a clear distinction does not exist. Modern yoga practitioners around the world reject the possibility of an all-knowing guru – and many distrust gurus at large. Even Ashtanga, the lineage that I have always perceived as unconditionally guru-centric, seems to function just fine without its foremost figure.

Is the Guru Dead for Good?

          And if so, what has prompted the passing of this age-old tradition? Perhaps we are simply seeing the global trend towards individualism play out on the yogic stage. People around the world crave more privacy and self-determination than ever before, and their dwindling sense of co-dependence renders the guru obsolete. Alternatively, we might blame the explosive growth of the virtual yoga industry. In the past, spiritual seekers had to leave their hometowns or even their home countries to identify suitable teachers. Now, hundreds of yoga influencers offer digestible tidbits for the modern yogi on every social media platform. Even the most charismatic gurus cannot compete with the convenience of discovering God in your living room.

          More insidiously, the past several decades have seen a string of scandals around yoga gurus, revealing just how fraught the entire guru-disciple complex is. Throughout the 1970s and 80s, Guru Satyananda Saraswati of Yoga Nidra was investigated for child sexual abuse, and in 1991, Integral Yoga guru Satchitananda Saraswati made headlines for molesting his students.  Bikram Chowdhury, creator of Bikram Yoga, accumulated five sexual assault-related lawsuits by 2014, to say nothing of his brazen capitalistic corruption. The #MeToo movement in 2017 spurred a new onslaught of allegations, with Ashtanga’s Pattabhi Jois and Kundalini Yoga’s Yogi Bhajan joining the list of sexual offenders. Just last year, Sadhguru of Isha Yoga Centre became embroiled in international controversy amid accusations of brainwashing and spiritual coercion. The regularity of these scandals suggests not just a few bad apples but an institutionalized pattern of abuse. Modern yogis have no choice but to question the power dynamics inherent within guru-led communities – and wonder whether guru-śiṣya paramparā is even worth preserving.

          Abandoning this ancient education model isn’t without costs, of course. Gurus offer a structured yet personalized approach to spirituality. They inspire and empower their students, serving to motivate consistent practice and hold students accountable for their own improvement. Most importantly, gurus protect their students from harm. In postural yoga, gurus ensure proper alignment and physical safety, while in spiritual contexts, they guide students through practices that are mentally challenging and sometimes even psychologically dangerous. For example, many yogis believe that some Kundalini yoga exercises can induce psychosis; therefore, aspiring practitioners of Kundalini are urged to only practice under the supervision of a learned guru.

          In my view, however, the cultural shift away from GSP aligns with the core yogic ethic of radical introspection. Traditionally, gurus have been glorified as sacred sources of knowledge; they were revered as spiritual guides or teachers, loved as parents, or even worshipped as gods. Yet, yoga scriptures teach us that we are one and the same with God; we already carry divine wisdom within ourselves, and rather than deifying other people, we need only look inward to discover it. Yoga trains us to tune in to our inner teachers. Given this framing, it makes perfect sense that modern yogis trust their own intuitions over those of external authorities. This mindset is even encouraged by the classical yogic texts!

          Moreover, the guru’s declining popularity makes space for a more inclusive, democratic yoga tradition. After all, gurus are, first and foremost, gatekeepers of knowledge. Their preeminence in South Asian spiritual circles has historically made it difficult for many demographics, such as women and low-caste individuals, to access yoga. But yoga itself is not exclusionary – it is a tool for collective liberation! When we relinquish our fidelity to the all-knowing, infallible guru, we may begin to distribute power more equitably between teachers and students. We can welcome yoga practitioners of all backgrounds and encourage them to cultivate self-reliance and self-confidence, thereby modeling yoga not just in the teachings we offer but in the very way we transmit them.

          Ashtanga clearly lives on, despite the death of its guru. If my observations are any consolation, you can trust that gurus do NOT singlehandedly sustain their lineages. That duty is held by students, preserving their yogic traditions through the profound act of practice. Certainly, the coming months will pose new questions and challenges as the Ashtanga community begins to chart a way forward in Guruji’s absence. But personally, I can’t wait to see where the lineage goes next.

Authenticity

          DISCLAIMER: The Woke Yogi is not an official site of the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.  The views expressed on this site are entirely those of its author and do not represent the views of the Fulbright Program, the U.S. Department of State, or any of its partner organizations.

          Welcome to Part 6 of Sounding Off: Authenticity. If you’re new to the Sounding Off series, you can quickly get caught up on the series archive!

          The first five parts of this series have covered a lot of ground, from ancient proto-Hindu practices of oral recitation to medieval Tantric alchemy to contemporary ideologies of linguistic ethno-nationalism. This week, we’re honing in on the colonial era (roughly, 19th and 20th centuries) to explore Orientalist Sanskrit literature, yoga under the British Raj, and colonial legacies in modern yoga. As you explore the content in the tabs below, consider the question that we seek to answer, each in our own ways:

          Should we really be speaking Sanskrit in our yoga classes?

Check back next Wednesday for Part 7 of Sounding Off: Accessibility!

Authority

          DISCLAIMER: The Woke Yogi is not an official site of the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.  The views expressed on this site are entirely those of its author and do not represent the views of the Fulbright Program, the U.S. Department of State, or any of its partner organizations.

          Welcome to Part 5 of Sounding Off: Authority, and thank you so much for your patience with this release! I have been dealing with a number of personal catastrophes recently, not to mention that I just moved to India! I’ll be here in Rishikesh, the yoga capital of the world, for the next year, where I’ll be conducting research as a Fulbright-Nehru Research Fellow (hence the disclaimer at the top of this post). It has taken some time to get settled in, but I look forward to sharing my travels and research with you all very soon. 

          If you’re new to the Sounding Off series, or if you just need a refresher after our little break, you can quickly get caught up on the series archive.

          This week, we’re diving into Sanskritization: the historical process by which diverse yogic practices from many languages and cultures come to be codified and legitimized within Sanskrit texts. As you explore the content in the tabs below, consider the question that we seek to answer, each in our own ways:

          Should we really be speaking Sanskrit in our yoga classes?

Check back next Wednesday for Part 6 of Sounding Off: Authenticity!

Austerity

          Welcome to Part 4 of Sounding Off: Austerity. If you’re new to the Sounding Off series, you can quickly get caught up on the series archive! 

          In the past three weeks, we’ve unpacked a variety of premodern yogic traditions, from ultra-orthodox Brahminical Vedic Hinduism (Aurality, Antiquity) to radically subversive medieval Tantra (Alchemy). Today, we’re tackling the vast swath of South Asian history between the Upanishads and today – roughly 2500 years! – as we investigate the tradition of yogic asceticism and its evolutions through to the 21st century. 

          As you explore the content in the tabs below, consider the question that we seek to answer, each in our own ways:

          Should we really be speaking Sanskrit in our yoga classes?

Check back next week, Wednesday July 24 for Part 5 of Sounding Off: Authority!

Alchemy

          Welcome to Part 3 of Sounding Off: Alchemy. If you’re new to the Sounding Off series, you can quickly get caught up on the series archive! 

          In the first two parts of this series, we covered ancient yogic traditions like Vedic oral recitation and guru-śiṣya paramparā (master-disciple lineage). We discussed Sanskrit mispronunciations and debunked the illusion of antiquity in modern yoga. 

          This week, we’re jumping a few centuries forward, to medieval South Asia – where yogic tantra flourished. As you explore the content in the tabs below, consider the question that we seek to answer, each in our own ways:

          Should we really be speaking Sanskrit in our yoga classes?

Check back next Wednesday, July 17 for Part 4 of Sounding Off: Austerity!

Antiquity

          Welcome to Part 2 of Sounding Off: Antiquity! If you’re new to the Sounding Off series, you can quickly get caught up on the series archive.

          Last week, in Aurality, we began our journey by investigating the Vedic oral tradition. This week, we’ll continue our discussion of ancient India, but we’ll inquire a bit deeper into the structures of power that make this tradition tick. As you explore the content in the tabs below, consider the question that we seek to answer, each in our own ways:

          Should we really be speaking Sanskrit in our yoga classes?

Check back next week on Wednesday, July 10 for Part 3 of Sounding Off: Alchemy!

Aurality

          Welcome to Part 1 of Sounding Off: Aurality. If you’re new to the Sounding Off series, you can quickly get caught up on the series archive! 

          This week, we’re diving in with the Vedic oral tradition, philosophies of sacred sound in South Asian religions, and the spiritual significance of Sanskrit in yoga. As you explore the content in the tabs below, consider the question that we seek to answer, each in our own ways:

          Should we really be speaking Sanskrit in our yoga classes?

Check back next week (July 3rd) for Part 2 of Sounding Off: Antiquity!