Practice: Yogi’s Brown Bread Man Shop
In Practice, Kurt Koontz ’s newest book, he goes on three yearly journeys to Rishikesh, India to learn from Surinder Singh, a master in Swasti Yoga. These trips don’t just transform Kurt into a serious yogi, it also teaches him important lessons about love, death, family, relationships, and a new meaning of life. In these following excerpts from his book, Kurt Koontz shares striking images and stories centered on his yoga adventures, the locals he meets, and even personal anecdotes from his life in Boise, Idaho.
Yogi’s Brown Bread Man Shop
by Kurt Koontz
On my second trip to India, Narayan’s shop was among my first stops. His eyes lit up a
s he instructed his employee Bablu to prepare some chai. We became much better friends over the next five weeks. On most days, I practiced yoga with Surinder in the mornings and then stopped by Narayan’s store for chai and biscuits on the way back to the ashram. About two weeks into the trip, he invited me to his home for dinner.
Seven days per week Narayan left his home around 6 a.m., walked a mile to his business, and rarely returned home before 9 p.m. Like many Rishikesh residents, he carried a 4-foot-long wooden club to ward off dogs, monkeys, and even the rare tiger. In the middle of the day, he typically took a bath in Ganga and enjoyed a short nap after lunch at his desk.
On the night of our meal, I met him at the store and he graciously left work very early. He put on his beanie cap, gripped his animal-weapon club, and we began the walk to his home. My first surprise was an immediate diversion to the river, where he said a few words while splashing some water on his face. He explained, “I say goodbye to Ganga every day of my life.”
I discovered that I had passed by the brick exterior of Narayan’s home many times on the way to yoga class without knowing that this was his residence. He shared the modest home with his wife, three sons, two daughters-in-law, two grandchildren, and four young men who worked at the family businesses. We two ate alone, separate from the rest of his family, in his living room. One of the young workers constantly refilled my plate with chapati, dal, and vegetables. During the meal, Narayan looked and me and said, “I am so envious of your lifestyle. I wish I had a daughter.”
I was perplexed by his comment and asked, “How could you not love your existing sons?”
He responded, “Of course I love my sons! But, you do not understand that I will never have the freedom you enjoy. I could never take time and visit foreign lands.”
“How does a son prevent you from travel?” I asked.
“My entire life is service to my family,” he replied. “The responsibility to a daughter is mainly to educate her and then find her someone to marry. After marriage, she moves out.”
I had seen Narayan interact with his three sons, and I had no doubts about his genuine parental love. However, it never entered my mind that the boys did not get their own homes but instead brought their wives and children into the father’s household.
Being invited into the home of an Indian person is almost the same as an invitation to the family. Instead of tea with the store owner, I was now having chai with a brother. I was now part of his family.
Practice – Family Relationships
Accepting my own limitations also helps me accept the limitations of my family relationships.
I am very fortunate to be close to my mom. Every year, we enjoy an annual trip together to Palm Springs, California.
Our concentrated time together on these trips allows me to see that our roles are gently shifting. As her mind and body age, these changes require patience on my part and an ability to see things from a different angle.
On the last Palm Springs trip, we bought an extra yoga mat and practiced together a few times per week. Her balance was not great, so most of the poses were seated. I found great pleasure in teaching my mom, a retired teacher, about the spiritual aspects of yoga. When working with her, I also learned more about patience and how to customize yoga for the student. Teaching yoga is not about me showing off some hairy pose, but rather about allowing the student to thrive based on their abilities.
My mom is supportive of my travels but often wonders how I survive and thrive alone. Until recently, she had never been alone, so my solitude seems a mystery to her. I hope that sharing stories of my solo experiences will alleviate her fears.
My brother Nick and I are also close and speak on the phone at least twice per week. He, however, shares not one ounce of my passion for the spiritual path. He thinks it is total bullshit but does not poke fun at me (at least not to my face). In brotherly love, I often remind him that his overactive business career keeps him everywhere but at the moment.
My sister Shawna has no interest in my travel or spiritual journeys whatsoever. In fact, she avoids most contact with me. Yoga has helped me deal with this painful situation as well. In my younger days, I would have thought, “What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t my sister like me?” However, yoga has taught me that I control very little beyond the stillness of my own mind and body.
One day during a satsung question-and-answer session, someone asked Surinder, “What do I do with friends and family who have no interest in Dharma?” His answers were typically rather verbose, but this one was like a fist smashing a bug. He said, “You do nothing. They know where you are and will find you when they have interest.”
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About the Author
Kurt Koontz is a versatile author, speaker, adventurer, and yoga instructor. He is the author of A Million Steps, his first book, which was inspired by his long and transformative pilgrimage on-foot to El Camino de Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Before embarking on this journey, Kurt had retired early from a successful career in sales, in search of a new meaning in life—away from his hometown of Boise, Idaho. This yearning led him to learn more about his community, the world, and himself. His latest book is Practice.
