It started with a procession. It was what marked an event as somewhat public, as a thing of importance – being seen. Mina was roughly given a place to stand – not to mingle, not to make friends with the other contestants. The judges of the yogasana competition would pass bye and summarily greet the competitors, who would then fall behind them in the procession; they would walk around the – school. This was a school, with some minor redecoration since the Raj had become India. They would proceed around the school ins some sort of procession, encouraged to repeat the chant-
Mina wouldn’t. She had some idea what they might chant, and knew she didn’t believe a word of it. This was just… cover, she hoped. Yoga was not a competition, accept maybe against one’s own desires. The older priests would say that. This was lip service to those that believed them. She hoped.
Uddyam – well, even if he had been here to cheer her on – as a non-competitor, he’d tail behind the procession. Not be at her side. But they had both agreed that being around the house was not what he needed – He could do handywork. But he couldn’t do his work. His letters from the tent cinema the past months showed little of the melancholy he had developed with his new wife. He’s come home during the monsoon season – her home? His home? And they would continue to figure things out from there.
This wasn’t a distraction from how quickly her third husband had cooled on himself. Certainly not their relationship – he was as kind as he could be, when he could manage it. This was to distract from the time she thought she would have him there.
Maybe the man just needed a little more time to grow up.
The judges. Hmm. this was very… religious clothing they were half wearing. She returned their nameste, bowing just a little bit lower than she would have liked to. She could just… wander way from the procession. But no, she would get though this.
Someone – one of the judges – to a moment to draw on her bindi. Her forehead. She was used to a little dab – just the safety of conformity when going out in public.
They were drawing lines.
She would not scream. She would not show discomfort. This was for show. This was for show. She was not being marked for their god. This was for show. Vibhuti – they’d expect to see it later, wouldn’t they.
The line moved on.
She tried to look present, to see how many were turning to look at their competitors. Lines. Lines. Lines. Not even a proper prayer to whatever god they had determined appropriate.
She recovered herself as she followed around the school. Far ahead there was a chant, the echo of those who could respond blotting out anything that could be understood this far back.
Some more bored souls would inevitably be caught up in the line, follow them in just to see what was going on. This would count as growing fame. This would count as merit.
For an hour she was simply trying not to do anything with her forehead.
She barely managed to follow directions – which mostly were an long lines of “Will the senior group please follow me”.
It was the laughing that actually brought her out of it. Not hers. Children’s. A number sat there waiting, looking confused, but a few were up playing tag – it – this – might be their school. All these adults around, but a few moments of nobody telling them to sit and pay attention to a lesson, despite all the strange adults about. She had to wonder what it might be like to go to a school like this… when submitting the forms, she half wondered if maybe she could just – dye her hair, get some stylish glasses frames, compete as a teenager. But it had hit her that she didn’t even know what that was for children these days. The closest she had was her governess days – and she couldn’t pull off looking that young and tiny.
Every group was carefully kept away form the other, as if they could be contaminated by observation.
There was to be an interview, a performance, a rating. A few sheets – mimeographed – were passed around, acceptable poses for each part set, by name and crude sketch. One was to listen for their number to be called, come to the mat, preform asan 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 – the fourth and fifth seemed to be they yogi’s choice – Mina was not the most comfortable with that phrasing. It implied spiritual knowledge that – well, where there would be no competition.
This was to be a exhibition, was it not? The reason to not show the other, younger groups was not to give the adults time to prepare beyond their normal means – Of which a few had started. Repeated squats, running in place, so continued to stare forward, as if psyching themselves up – or the opposite. It was yoga, after all. Whatever they did, it would certainly be better to be warmed up then to pull a muscle.
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