Tony Yogi

Tony Yogi

After years of suffering, Tony Westhead had had enough. “I’ve had enough!,” he shouted.
It was 9.30 am on Saturday and he had just woken up. Reluctantly, he got out of bed and opened the window. It was raining. “I have have definitely had enough!” he repeated,' and closed the window and got back into bed. So no one could hear him, he pulled the duvet over his head and shouted, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Tony had turned forty last week. Born 1950, Poole, Dorset. 1960 – 1980, Camden, London. 1980, Chelsea. 1990, I’m here in this hole. 'Bollocks!' he screamed.

Then he threw the sheets back and looked down at his body. “Not bad, could be a lot worse.” He thought about going to the gym, but the reality that he’d had enough hit him very hard. He dropped his head back, and shouted. “Help me!”

He remembered something, lifted his head, and said, “Yea why not?”
He got up, went into an untidy living room and picked up a magazine.
“Where is it? Ah!”

Yoga classes all levels.
10 – 12.30
Saturday
St Leonard's Church Hall.
Cranbourne Road.

He looked at the time. “Still got half an hour. Ten minute stroll to Cranbourne Road. Yea, shit, shave, wash, easy.”

A feeling of dread came over him as he approached the hall. The feeling of dread he’d been working on for years.
‘Fear issues’ his therapist Margaret called them.
“Too many fear issues, for too many fucking years!” he thought.
The words came out in a ragged cough.
“Some rage issues there too I think,” he said, smiling at his own little joke.
Reaching the large oak door with a;
‘Please be quiet Yoga class in progress’ notice pinned to it, his fear got the better of him. He turned, bounded down the steps, pretty nimbly for a man of forty he thought, and bumped into a very attractive young woman.
“Whoops, sorry about that,” he said.
He picked up the sausage shaped bag she’d dropped.
“Really sorry,” he repeated.
She took the bag from him, and carried on walking as if nothing had happened. He watched as she went through the door that terrified him. “Miserable bitch.”
As he began to walk away, he noticed a small pink, silk bag and picked it up.
“Her purse?” he mused, just in time to see three young women run straight past him, and through the same door.
He took a deep breath, and remembered once more, that he’d had enough.
“Right!” he said.
He strode boldly back up the stone steps, pushed the door open, and entered a brightly lit, but very quiet hall. He saw about ten people, all women, lying down on yoga mats. He looked up at the huge old clock, 9.45, it said.
He tried to see if anyone looked like they may be a leader or a teacher. At the front of the class was a small man, sitting cross-legged, with his eyes closed. He then tried to see the owner of the purse, but with everyone lying down he couldn’t really tell.
The door he had just come through opened, it was a man, he said,
“Hi! Am I late?”
Tony looked around to see whom the man was addressing, and quickly realised it was himself.
“Oh, er no I’m not, er. I think it starts at ten.”
“Cool man. I’ve heard a lot about this class. Are you a regular?”
Tony briefly considered lying, and said, “No, this is my first time.”
“Okay cool,” the man said again, “catch you later.”

Tony thought, “Well I’m here. What have I got to lose?”
He lay on the mat, behind the other man, and waited - and waited.
After what seemed an eternity he looked up, It was just coming to ten am.
The little man at the front still sat with a serene smile, and the rest of the people lay like corpses. The door opened, again, and three very beautiful women entered.
The serene man opened his eyes.
“Come in ladies, we are just about to commence our journey.”
The women giggled, moved quickly to spaces around the room.
“Commence our journey?” Tony was thinking. “What the hell have I let myself in for?”
A gong sounded, and everyone, except Tony, sat up with a straight spine.
“Good morning everyone,” Mr. Serenity said. “I hope you are all feeling very well.”
A few mumbles, and several prayer composed hands, echoed around the room.
“Do we have any newcomers here today?” he asked. “Anyone that would like to introduce him or herself?”
He was looking at Tony, as were several of the late arrival gorgeous women camp. Tony looked behind him, and turned purple, not because he was embarrassed about being new, but because he was looking around. Just as he was about to say something the other man spoke.
“Hi everyone,” he said, with prayerful hands at his forehead. “I’m Reese. This is my first time here. I’ve heard many good things about this class, and I’m looking forward to the challenge from, Mr. Burnacca.”
Tony had managed to feel composed, til he heard -Burnt knackers?
“You sir. You new to yoga?”
“Burnt knackers, burnt knackers, burnt knackers,’ “Yes that’s right.” Tony managed to say.
“What is right sir?” said Mr. Burnacca.
Tony couldn’t help himself; he looked around again, and heard several sniggers.
“I’m sorry, what was the question?” he said, looking the right way again.
This evoked several laugh out loud laughs.
“Don’t worry,” said, Mr.Burnacca. “I hope you enjoy the class.
Now everyone. Inhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale……. and ……. exhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale. Deeeeeeeeeeeeply inhaaaaaaaaaaaale, and deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeply exhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale.”
Tony tried to breathe, as Mr. Burnacca wailed down the microphone.
Then, to his horror, loud beats started to pound the atmosphere.

‘Bomp – bomp – bomp – bomp - “What the fuck?”

“Everybody UP!” shouted the teacher.
The class bounded to its feet. Tony, coming up what seemed like ten minutes later, was already sweating.
“We haven’t done anything yet!” he screamed inside his own head.
As the beats pounded, and Mr. Serenity emitted strange noises Tony couldn’t comprehend, he thought he was going to die, or worse, that he may become disabled as a result of this terrible mistake he had made.

Then without warning, the sound of his mind seemed to echo around the room. “I’ve had enough!”
He collapsed onto the wet rubber Yoga mat.

After several lifetimes he lifted his head, opened one eye, and saw that everyone was lying down. He raised his head some more, and peeked at the other man who was lying very still, peaceful, and above all, dry.
Tony dropped his head back; he thought maybe the class had finished.

He had lost track of time on the twenty-fifth round of something called ‘Sureesnamascar.’ He concluded this must be the name for this strange routine of, up and down, and up and down, again. He was quite proud that he had almost managed to keep up with the other’ man.

“But why is he dry?”

“Hello sir. How are you doing there?” It was Mr. Serenity.
Up closer, Tony could see he was of Indian persuasion.
“Well he would be wouldn’t he?” he thought.
“Are you okay?” Mr. Serenity repeated.”
Tony lifted his heavy head. “Erm yea. I think so,” he said, trying to move his legs.
“You look very hot. Maybe you should take off this jumper you are wearing?”
Tony heard sniggering again - lots of it.