I have done yoga on and off for the last seven years. By on and off I mean that I'll do it religiously every week and then stop for a year or two for some reason.
I stopped doing ashtanga yoga when I moved to Ibiza so a year and a half ago. I was going to start there but never got round to finding a good teacher locally. In my last month, I did loads of Bikram yoga which was great but I still prefer ashtanga.
I've recently returned to my Saturday morning yoga class. I'd been meaning to start up ever since moving back but the thing that really propelled me back to class was that I've been swimming a lot in the mornings and often I'd find that after a swim, my body literally ached to do yoga, to be stretched and lengthened again.
I went to class about six weeks ago. Fortunately my body didn't feel too tight and it didn't feel as if I'd gone backwards too much. My body is very unsupple, always has been, so any length of time away from regular yoga often makes a huge difference. But things seem to be okay. In fact, I found I got into positions I'd never been able to get into before - simply because I'd forgotten that I'd never been able to do them. I found myself in one position and then thought "hang on, I couldn't actually do this before..."
I've done a couple of classes since. My body feels completely different. More open and strong and I don't know why that is. Last Saturday I got into a headstand properly and held it for a minute without toppling. I've never been able to get into a headstand before, I've always positioned myself by a wall and flung my legs up onto the wall and then slowly, gingerly moved them away and tried to keep my balance. But this time I managed it. You have to have fairly strong stomach muscles to be able to get into the position - maybe all those stomach crunches have made a difference after all!
I was so excited by my progress (it only took seven years to do it!) that I told my older sister when I saw her later.
"I've done a headstand and I'm going to do a grasshopper next"
"What's that?" she asked.
I went to demonstrate it and got into the position. I could only hold it for about a second before I toppled backwards but I still did it. That meant two firsts in one day - result!
This is one of the things I love about yoga. I am constantly making progress but it is millimetre by millimetre. And for someone as impatient as me, I'm surprised that I don't get frustrated by my slow progress. But I know that is because my body can only do what it can do. If I try and force it into something it's not ready to do, I'll get hurt. For someone in such a hurry to get every where and do every thing, it's good to have something where I make gentle progress but it's always a huge sense of achievement!
Monday 14 September 2009
Friday 11 September 2009
My dad's operation
My dad had total knee replacement surgery a few weeks ago. He's 81 and it was the first time he'd ever stayed in hospital. He wasn't even born in a hospital so it must have been quite a strange experience for him. He came out a week later and is now recovering at home and hopefully he'll be fully recovered soon and able to resume normal life.
I'm not sure how my dad felt about going into hospital or having the operation. We don't talk emotions in my family, which is a little strange for me because I do. But the whole experience seems to have aged him about two decades so he now looks like the old man that he is, as opposed to the young whippersnapper that I always think of him of. It looks like he's shrunk and I'm wondering where his spirit is, I really just want him to be back to how he was before....
Watching your parents age in front of you is no easy thing. I remember last year when I was back from Ibiza for the Luxury Travel Fair, staying at my parents place. Me and my dad left the house at the same time and walked round towards the bus stop together. As we got to the zebra crossing his bus was coming so he ran to get the bus and as I crossed the road, I turned to watch him. It suddenly struck me that his shoulders were no longer straight, he was completely dipped on the right hand side because of his bad knee. A few months ago his knee was causing him so much pain he had to start walking using a walking stick. I think my dad must have found this really difficult as it's a sign of getting older and he's not into the ageing process. I remember the first time I saw him walk with that stick, I caught my breath - suddenly my dad looked like an old man.
I'm not sure how my dad's operation has affected anyone in the family, him included. All I know is how I've felt about it. The day my dad was having his operation I was flying up to Edinburgh for the night. At the back of my mind was the thought of how quickly I could get back if anything went wrong. Perhaps a better daughter wouldn't have gone at all and I found myself grappling with guilt but I went, staying in contact by phone before, during and after his operation. The thing that worried me was not the operation itself but his age. Does getting better get harder as you get older?
When I got back from Edinburgh the next day, my mum said "your dad's doing so much better already. They've taken his oxygen mask and drip off!" (obviously this would have been said in Urdu, she doesn't talk in English to me). When she said this, I realised going to Edinburgh was the best thing I could have done as if I'd been there the day of the op, I would have gone straight to the hospital and seeing my dad with an oxygen mask and drip would have hit me quite badly. I hate hospitals anyway, hate seeing people in pain or suffering. I remember when I was a kid and my dad still used to work evenings in Macey's chemist. One time when he was at work, someone came into the chemists to rob them I think. My dad got hit in the face and his glasses were broken. My mum told us what had happened and I went and hid in my room, sobbing all night about someone hurting my dad. I've never been a daddy's girl but I am very close to him, always have been.
I went to see my dad the day after I got back from Edinburgh. In my head, he'd be up in his bed all chipper and cheeky and joking with the nurses. What I saw was an old man who looked like he'd shrunk, he looked frail and feeble and vulnerable. He wasn't eating properly as he didn't like the hospital food - I didn't blame him, it looked pretty dreadful to me. I went with Rahila my older sister and as she's a doctor, she grilled the hospital staff on how my dad was doing. They told her that he'd taken a fall in the night. He'd failed to mention it to us himself. He'd got up in the night to use the bathroom and instead of calling someone to help him, my independent dad decided to go alone with his zimmer frame. Somewhere on the floor there was water and he slipped. I don't know how long he was there before someone found him but we had to tell him off for going alone in the first place. But I guess it must be hard for him. His whole life everyone has depended on him, relied on him and he never likes to ask for help. He's fiercely proud of everything he's achieved alone and asking for help doesn't seem to come naturally to him (I can see where I get it from then!)
I found that first visit to the hospital really difficult. For my dad hours lying in a hospital bed may make him think of his own mortality. Going to see him in hospital made me think of his mortality. I felt horribly strange afterwards, it's not something I like to think about. By chance I was seeing my friend Wilding after the hospital. Somehow, since moving back to London, Wilding has become one of my closest friends and he's one of the two friends I've seen the most since getting back. He was a good person to see because I knew I could say or feel anything with him, if I'd wanted to cry he wouldn't have got embarrassed or uncomfortable by my tears. This is progress for me as I'm usually so intensely private with my innermost feelings so good to know that I'm now more comfortable talking about things.
The next day I went to see my dad again. I still found the hospital visit difficult. I got home drained - in the words of the Manics "you're tender and you're tired". The week of my dad's operation I had nothing planned socially apart from the trip to Edinburgh. This was a good thing as I found things hard and I would have cancelled all social plans. As usual I didn't give any thought to how I might feel about this all but maybe there's no point doing that as one of the things I've really learnt about myself over the years is that I can't pre-empt how I'll be feeling about anything. I didn't expect to be knocked sideways as much as I was by seeing my dad in hospital. That evening I had two choices - stay home or get dragged out by Wilding for a drink. I went for the latter option - at least I knew that if I wanted to talk about stuff, I'd have someone who I felt really safe and comfortable with to talk to. As it was I was okay and we had fun, cooing over a puppy called Willis that the owners had brought to the bar with them. We must have been cooing a lot as they came over and plopped the puppy on my lap for a while and that was kind of cute and cheered me up no end.
On our way home (we live two streets away from each other), we stopped off at the chip shop. The chip shop is a couple of doors up from Macey Chemists where my dad used to work in the late 60s and early 70s. I got chatting to the chip shop owner and asked him how long he'd had that shop. Thirteen years he said. I then asked him if he knew my dad (my dad is pretty famous in Dulwich and Peckham). He did. I got excited that he knew my dad - it made me realise that my dad has this total other life as he wheels through Dulwich and Peckham that we know nothing about - I can imagine him in it but I've never seen it. I told the man about my dad's operation and I was touched when he asked me to pass on his best wishes to my dad, it seems like lots of other people care about my dad too.
Funnily enough, when I started this post I was feeling a bit wobbly about my dad (although he is doing much better and will soon be fully recovered). Now I feel a lot better - writing always seems to help so much. I guess I just need to capture somewhere what's going on inside. A few years ago when I had the launch party for my interiors business, I did a little speech and at the end, in front of about 250 people (mostly friends and close family) I did a very big thank you to my dad. He had no idea I was going to say what I said, nor did anyone else in that room. It was an emotional moment, not just for me but for everyone listening. I had people come up to me afterwards saying "I've always wanted to say what you've just said..." It was one of those goosebump, lump in the throat moments - I could barely talk at the end and had to quickly put a record on. But my dad has been amazing to me. He's allowed me to be the person I am, even if I've been doing things that the wider Pakistani community would frown upon. He's been on my side and supported me, even when he's been completely baffled by some of the things I've chosen to do, some of the paths I've merrily skipped along.
I remember when I was 16 I got a job in the Crown and Greyhound in Dulwich Village. You can probably guess by the name that it's a pub and I come from a good, respectable muslim family. I was working in the restaurant and not allowed to even serve an alcoholic drink as I was under-age but still, muslim girl working in a pub doesn't really go down too well. Naturally I kept the actual location of my workplace a secret from the family, just telling them that I had a job in a restaurant in Dulwich Village. One day my dad said he'd give me a lift to work. As we got into Dulwich Village, I said "you can drop me off here". He carried on driving and pulled up right outside the pub. It went quiet in the car and I waited for the bollocking. It never came. Instead my dad said to me "I know where you work and that's fine with me. But you know how the Pakistani community likes to talk so probably best to keep your work place quiet from everyone..." As Pakistani dads go (particularly as this was in the mid-eighties), this was pretty progressive, forward-thinking. I'm not sure why he's always given me the freedom to do what I've wanted. Maybe he saw that I would do it anyway so might as well support it instead of trying to control me. I've really lucked out with my dad and I will be eternally grateful for that. And now I'm just waiting for him to be better enough to start break dancing again!
I'm not sure how my dad felt about going into hospital or having the operation. We don't talk emotions in my family, which is a little strange for me because I do. But the whole experience seems to have aged him about two decades so he now looks like the old man that he is, as opposed to the young whippersnapper that I always think of him of. It looks like he's shrunk and I'm wondering where his spirit is, I really just want him to be back to how he was before....
Watching your parents age in front of you is no easy thing. I remember last year when I was back from Ibiza for the Luxury Travel Fair, staying at my parents place. Me and my dad left the house at the same time and walked round towards the bus stop together. As we got to the zebra crossing his bus was coming so he ran to get the bus and as I crossed the road, I turned to watch him. It suddenly struck me that his shoulders were no longer straight, he was completely dipped on the right hand side because of his bad knee. A few months ago his knee was causing him so much pain he had to start walking using a walking stick. I think my dad must have found this really difficult as it's a sign of getting older and he's not into the ageing process. I remember the first time I saw him walk with that stick, I caught my breath - suddenly my dad looked like an old man.
I'm not sure how my dad's operation has affected anyone in the family, him included. All I know is how I've felt about it. The day my dad was having his operation I was flying up to Edinburgh for the night. At the back of my mind was the thought of how quickly I could get back if anything went wrong. Perhaps a better daughter wouldn't have gone at all and I found myself grappling with guilt but I went, staying in contact by phone before, during and after his operation. The thing that worried me was not the operation itself but his age. Does getting better get harder as you get older?
When I got back from Edinburgh the next day, my mum said "your dad's doing so much better already. They've taken his oxygen mask and drip off!" (obviously this would have been said in Urdu, she doesn't talk in English to me). When she said this, I realised going to Edinburgh was the best thing I could have done as if I'd been there the day of the op, I would have gone straight to the hospital and seeing my dad with an oxygen mask and drip would have hit me quite badly. I hate hospitals anyway, hate seeing people in pain or suffering. I remember when I was a kid and my dad still used to work evenings in Macey's chemist. One time when he was at work, someone came into the chemists to rob them I think. My dad got hit in the face and his glasses were broken. My mum told us what had happened and I went and hid in my room, sobbing all night about someone hurting my dad. I've never been a daddy's girl but I am very close to him, always have been.
I went to see my dad the day after I got back from Edinburgh. In my head, he'd be up in his bed all chipper and cheeky and joking with the nurses. What I saw was an old man who looked like he'd shrunk, he looked frail and feeble and vulnerable. He wasn't eating properly as he didn't like the hospital food - I didn't blame him, it looked pretty dreadful to me. I went with Rahila my older sister and as she's a doctor, she grilled the hospital staff on how my dad was doing. They told her that he'd taken a fall in the night. He'd failed to mention it to us himself. He'd got up in the night to use the bathroom and instead of calling someone to help him, my independent dad decided to go alone with his zimmer frame. Somewhere on the floor there was water and he slipped. I don't know how long he was there before someone found him but we had to tell him off for going alone in the first place. But I guess it must be hard for him. His whole life everyone has depended on him, relied on him and he never likes to ask for help. He's fiercely proud of everything he's achieved alone and asking for help doesn't seem to come naturally to him (I can see where I get it from then!)
I found that first visit to the hospital really difficult. For my dad hours lying in a hospital bed may make him think of his own mortality. Going to see him in hospital made me think of his mortality. I felt horribly strange afterwards, it's not something I like to think about. By chance I was seeing my friend Wilding after the hospital. Somehow, since moving back to London, Wilding has become one of my closest friends and he's one of the two friends I've seen the most since getting back. He was a good person to see because I knew I could say or feel anything with him, if I'd wanted to cry he wouldn't have got embarrassed or uncomfortable by my tears. This is progress for me as I'm usually so intensely private with my innermost feelings so good to know that I'm now more comfortable talking about things.
The next day I went to see my dad again. I still found the hospital visit difficult. I got home drained - in the words of the Manics "you're tender and you're tired". The week of my dad's operation I had nothing planned socially apart from the trip to Edinburgh. This was a good thing as I found things hard and I would have cancelled all social plans. As usual I didn't give any thought to how I might feel about this all but maybe there's no point doing that as one of the things I've really learnt about myself over the years is that I can't pre-empt how I'll be feeling about anything. I didn't expect to be knocked sideways as much as I was by seeing my dad in hospital. That evening I had two choices - stay home or get dragged out by Wilding for a drink. I went for the latter option - at least I knew that if I wanted to talk about stuff, I'd have someone who I felt really safe and comfortable with to talk to. As it was I was okay and we had fun, cooing over a puppy called Willis that the owners had brought to the bar with them. We must have been cooing a lot as they came over and plopped the puppy on my lap for a while and that was kind of cute and cheered me up no end.
On our way home (we live two streets away from each other), we stopped off at the chip shop. The chip shop is a couple of doors up from Macey Chemists where my dad used to work in the late 60s and early 70s. I got chatting to the chip shop owner and asked him how long he'd had that shop. Thirteen years he said. I then asked him if he knew my dad (my dad is pretty famous in Dulwich and Peckham). He did. I got excited that he knew my dad - it made me realise that my dad has this total other life as he wheels through Dulwich and Peckham that we know nothing about - I can imagine him in it but I've never seen it. I told the man about my dad's operation and I was touched when he asked me to pass on his best wishes to my dad, it seems like lots of other people care about my dad too.
Funnily enough, when I started this post I was feeling a bit wobbly about my dad (although he is doing much better and will soon be fully recovered). Now I feel a lot better - writing always seems to help so much. I guess I just need to capture somewhere what's going on inside. A few years ago when I had the launch party for my interiors business, I did a little speech and at the end, in front of about 250 people (mostly friends and close family) I did a very big thank you to my dad. He had no idea I was going to say what I said, nor did anyone else in that room. It was an emotional moment, not just for me but for everyone listening. I had people come up to me afterwards saying "I've always wanted to say what you've just said..." It was one of those goosebump, lump in the throat moments - I could barely talk at the end and had to quickly put a record on. But my dad has been amazing to me. He's allowed me to be the person I am, even if I've been doing things that the wider Pakistani community would frown upon. He's been on my side and supported me, even when he's been completely baffled by some of the things I've chosen to do, some of the paths I've merrily skipped along.
I remember when I was 16 I got a job in the Crown and Greyhound in Dulwich Village. You can probably guess by the name that it's a pub and I come from a good, respectable muslim family. I was working in the restaurant and not allowed to even serve an alcoholic drink as I was under-age but still, muslim girl working in a pub doesn't really go down too well. Naturally I kept the actual location of my workplace a secret from the family, just telling them that I had a job in a restaurant in Dulwich Village. One day my dad said he'd give me a lift to work. As we got into Dulwich Village, I said "you can drop me off here". He carried on driving and pulled up right outside the pub. It went quiet in the car and I waited for the bollocking. It never came. Instead my dad said to me "I know where you work and that's fine with me. But you know how the Pakistani community likes to talk so probably best to keep your work place quiet from everyone..." As Pakistani dads go (particularly as this was in the mid-eighties), this was pretty progressive, forward-thinking. I'm not sure why he's always given me the freedom to do what I've wanted. Maybe he saw that I would do it anyway so might as well support it instead of trying to control me. I've really lucked out with my dad and I will be eternally grateful for that. And now I'm just waiting for him to be better enough to start break dancing again!
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