My dear Guruji, it’s been almost 2 weeks since you left our mortal world and thousands of students around the world - along with people who never even met you - are grieving your loss. You touched so many lives and our pain is unbearable. The question on everyone’s mind is: why so soon? We wish we had more time with you. We were planning trips to Mysore until we’re old. We took you for granted.
I will never forget the first time I set foot in the Shala in Mysore. The whole place transpired Yoga in its purest form. Your teaching reflected the many years of studying under your grandfather, who had learned from his own Guru. The light of the lineage (“Parampara”) was what made studying with you so unique. Yoga was not a job to you. It was your whole life and it showed.
Silence reigned in the Shala, not too many words, explanations or demonstrations. We were learning by doing, letting the practice itself be our guide. You saw everything. No one could hide from you and whenever we thought we could, you proved us wrong. You knew exactly when and who to help. You knew when to push and when to give space. I cannot find words to describe all the growth that happened in that room over the years.
When I first came to Mysore I was lost, directionless, with no purpose. All I knew was that there was something out there larger than me, something worth seeking, and I was determined to find it. And I did. Ashtanga Yoga gave me a reason to wake up every morning, a purpose, a discipline to keep me on track, a life calling. In your teachings I found a rare form of authenticity I didn’t know still existed.
Mysore became a second home to me. For the following 5 years my life would revolve around my yearly pilgrimage to study by your side. No matter how tough the year was, I just counted the months until I'd be back, and everything else seemed less important. Some of the people I met in Mysore became close friends, I would even say family. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged.
Mysore was my North Star and you were my guiding light.
I think the best way to commemorate you is by real life stories that happened over the years. Stories that I will cherish forever and keep sharing, so those who never met you can get a glimpse of the incredible teacher and human you were.
Stand up
First trip, March 2019. Still at the old Shala.
I’m struggling with coming up from backbends. I can drop back on my own - although not so gracefully - but standing up feels impossible. I’ve tried everything: dropping back on the bed, dropping back on stacked books against the wall, watching countless video tutorials... still no luck. I don’t have a teacher back home and I miss guidance, someone believing in me.
You start helping me from day one and every single day for two weeks.
On week 3, suddenly you stop. The assistants are helping me instead.
And then - a day I will never forget - you yell at the assistant as he’s walking towards me: “Don’t help her, she can do it!”.
I’m petrified. As I start dropping back I can hear you: “Walk your hands inside. Now stand up!”. I don’t move. The voice inside my head is telling me I can not do it. A second time: “Stand up!”.
And then, all of a sudden, the inner voice stops and yours becomes the only voice that matters. I stand up with all the momentum I can get and fall into you. “I’m so sorry”, I say, embarrassed. You laugh and say “It’s ok I’m used to it. Tomorrow Pasasana.”
You gave me the first pose of the Intermediate series on week 3 of my first season in Mysore. I was in heaven. Your faith in me gave me the power I had been looking for in all the wrong places. I knew then that you were going to be my teacher. My only one. Forever.
Why are you so shy?
Second trip, January 2020.
New Shala. I’m sitting with the rest of the 7:30 am group, patiently waiting for a spot to be free and you to say the famous “One moooore”.
Every time you say it, someone stands up and takes the indicated spot. Some students are being called by their name, nickname or nationality. No chance for me, you don’t know my name or where I’m from and you haven’t given me a nickname. So I wait for you to make eye contact. I don’t dare to stand up too soon and risk being yelled at.
And then you see me, your eyes piercing through me: “Youuuuuuu, why are you so shy? Come!”
That moment I knew. You didn’t just see me, you saw through me. My innate shyness, my fear, my lack of confidence, you saw it all. Not many words had been exchanged between us but you saw me for who I was. And with just one sentence, you taught me to stand up for myself.
Tigers
Fourth trip, December 2022. Saturday after Led class, towards the end of the season.
I’m outside the Shala with a group of friends. You come towards us and ask if we saw any tigers on the safari we went on. We didn’t. You take your phone out and start showing us photos of tigers you took on your many safari trips.
Wildlife photography is your other big passion. You know the animals by their names, you have so many stories to share, you’re not in a rush to leave, your eyes light up when you speak of wild cats.
At some point you offer to drive us back into town. On the way you keep sharing stories about the animals you care deeply for, about how you can’t wait for the end of the season, so you can go on a safari again and roam the jungle.
So much kindness and joy emanated from you that day. You were so approachable and eager to share your passion with us, making jokes about the animals, excited like a child. You were not looking to be venerated as a Guru or feared. You just wanted to have fun and connect with your students through something other than Yoga. That made me respect you even more.
Healing
Fifth trip, December 2023.
I arrived in Mysore with my right shoulder completely blocked. The knot in my upper back has been bothering me for a long while already. I have tried all sorts of treatments but to no avail. Backbending is a mess and I’m terrified at the idea of “catching” my ankles after dropbacks.
You help me almost every day with catching. My body is frozen. I’m scared of injuring my shoulder. One day, you come to help me and say: “Why fearing? Relax.” You make me catch. I feel something unlock in my shoulder, a sweet pain coming from release. Almost immediately, the pain is gone and for the first time I can enjoy catching. I finish my practice, lie down to rest and before I know it my eyes are filled with tears. Something has shifted within me, I don’t know what it is but I can feel the energy moving freely.
From that day on, my shoulder releases a bit more every day. Backbending becomes enjoyable, I catch higher and higher, the fear is completely gone and so is the pain.
This fifth and last time I practiced with you, you taught me trust and surrender. I was always good at putting in the effort, but bad at letting go. I needed to be in control because I was terrified of failing, breaking. You showed me I cannot break, I can only soften. And so I did.
Don’t come down
One of your favorite sayings at the end of every Led class during the final pose, “Utpluthih”, was: “Lift up. Don’t come down.” Even though this pose was almost impossible to hold, I did my best to never come down.
It’s hard not to be feeling down right now. I feel helpless and empty, my source of inspiration and guiding light is gone. All those years you were there to show me the way, celebrate my victories, making me stronger and more resilient through your demanding but kind teaching.
By giving me your blessing to teach, you also gave me a huge responsibility. And now it’s my turn to give back, to spread all you have taught me and keep your legacy alive. And I will do my very best to not let you down.
At one of your conferences, someone asked how you coped with losing your grandfather and Guru, what drove you to keep going and where you drew inspiration. You replied: “Yoga is my Guru. If you do your practice, Yoga will show you the way”.
Your voice still echoes in my heart, and I know you’re right. No matter how big the Guru, how important the lineage, Yoga is bigger than any single one of us. Yoga will soften the pain. And with time, we will find in us a tremendous capacity to love, share, inspire and be inspired. And we will realize that your teachings continue to live within us.
Every time I step on my mat, every time I chant a mantra in your name, every time I teach and talk about you and make sure you’re not forgotten, every time I choose kindness, compassion and humility as you taught me, you live on.
So no, even though the pain is now crushing me and my heart feels heavier than ever, I promise I won’t come down. I will keep lifting up for as long as I’m alive.
And in every breath, in every “Ekam inhale”, you will always be there by my side, taking me higher.
In loving memory of my teacher Shri R. Sharath Jois
September 29 1971 - November 12 2024
