Geeta Iyengar: an interview with Rajvi Mehta p.1

Do you recollect when and how you were first introduced to yoga?

I don’t specifically remember how I was first introduced to yoga. From the age of three, I would watch my father practice and playfully follow him. I wasn’t very serious about it at that time, as any child would be more focused on entertaining themselves. My parents didn't formally teach me, but my father often turned practice into a game. If you watch Guruji’s 1938 practice film, you’ll see how Guruji’s own Guru, T. Krishnamacharya, made his two daughters perform back arches and other postures on his feet. Similarly, Guruji would do the same with us. When he was in Sarvangasana, we'd perform back arches, front bending, and so on. At times, when he executed Urdhva Prasarita Padasana, we would balance on his feet, curve back, and then return to his hands. Thus, we were all practicing ‘yoga’ in a playful and fearless manner.

I began to practice sincerely and consciously only after experiencing a bout of nephritis. The illness left me feeling very weak, and for the first time, I truly understood what being unwell means; my body could not bear the sickness. One day, I realized that doing asanas made me feel better. I felt a vital energy within myself, uplifting my sinking mind. From that day forward, I practiced regularly after returning from school, often without even waiting for a cup of tea or coffee. I knew that if I waited in the kitchen, I would be tempted to eat something, so I would dive straight into my practice, putting in 40 to 45 minutes of sincere effort. Guruji’s album served as my reference guide. I would look at the pictures and attempt the asanas in whichever manner felt right to my body, without understanding their names, purposes, or the methodology behind them. Ignorance at that stage, I believe, was a blessing.

Geetaji, can you share some of your early experiences after Guruji actually started teaching you?

I remember the first time Guruji formally taught me was around 1957, two years after I began practicing on my own. One Sunday evening, after returning from Bombay, Guruji was performing Sirsasana and Sarvangasana. I was practicing at that time too, and he pointed out a variation of Sarvangasana—Parsva Pindasana—and explained what it meant to stretch. My body was quite flexible and could bend easily, yet I had no understanding of what should be done from within. My knees readily touched the floor in Parsva Pindasana, but when Guruji instructed me to lift my spine, it was the first time I experienced the concepts of stretch, lift, and lightness. This realization was a significant clue for me.

Another incident that stands out is while I was practicing Kurmasana. I was quite thin, which made the pose easier for me. That day, my body, including my feet, lifted when I performed Kurmasana, and I realized what lightness—anga laghava—truly meant, something Guruji often spoke about. I felt as if all the knots in my body had been untied.

Before that, in 1955, Guruji used to teach the cadets of the National Defence Academy. During my holidays, I would join him. One day, the hall was unavailable, so he had to hold the class on the lawn outside the main building. A cadet raised a question about Urdhva Dhanurasana, and Guruji asked me to demonstrate it. I have no idea how I managed to perform it on the grass that day, how I curved back and managed to get up again! That was a learning experience in itself.

I would say that Guruji's own sadhana, his dedication to practice, and the manner in which he conducted classes all served as indirect teaching moments. I learned a lot—courage, simplicity, strength, emotional stability, and steadfastness—just by observing him.

What was it like to have a father as a teacher, especially in the early days? Was he harder on you than the other students, or did he have greater expectations for you?

I cannot speak to how he was with other students, but I do know he was a strict teacher, especially with me. I remember he would push on my spine or back if I struggled with certain poses. This pressure helped me move and opened my mind to what was possible. Children often do asanas without awareness of where they hold tension, whether in the shoulders or back. Guruji would press and guide me, enabling a deeper understanding of my body.

He appreciated my efforts, especially after I began practicing more seriously following my nephritis. He observed my dedication over nearly a month and noted that I was practicing regularly upon returning from school, often foregoing coffee or snacks until I finished. He acknowledged that I was genuinely making progress.

Though he was strict with me, his teaching approach was consistent for all his students. He taught me as he taught others, but his method naturally helped me understand my own body better. For challenging asanas like Kapotasana and Vrishchikasana, he would occasionally give me guidance, depending on his schedule. It wasn’t like he was waiting specifically for me; rather, he taught me whenever I was practicing, and he was available.

One memorable class in 1961 stands out, where Guruji instructed us during a session with Sri Krishnamacharya present. We had to demonstrate a variety of asanas while he lectured. We performed many poses without much understanding, lacking the life that proper practice brings. During this session, Guruji watched closely and provided detailed explanations, pointing out how to position the armpits, elbows, and more. He would say, “Now lift here a little more and see how it feels.” This guidance opened a new understanding for all of us.