WHEN I NOTICED a sign at our hotel offering yoga lessons, I told my friend Sholeh, “Let’s sign up.” I had been practicing at home and was determined to take yoga in India, where it all began.
We changed into our sweats and went to meet our instructor, a young man in his early 20s, lanky and big-eyed. He led us to a room that looked like a dining hall, but the tables and chairs had been pushed against the walls. He instructed us to lie down on the concrete floor. The air conditioner hummed from a wall unit in the corner, circulating cold air with a hint of cardamom, lemon polish, and mop water.