Why I’m Not Quitting Ashtanga
It may be losing favour amongst some teachers, but Ashtanga will always have my heart…
The other day I sat down for a coffee with a yoga teacher friend who I had not seen in years; we used to teach at the same studio at the beginning of the pandemic, but I had since left to teach in another space, while she was now running her own yoga studio. We were talking about the popularity of certain time-slots and yoga styles and I asked how her Ashtanga classes were going. She told me she only had one Ashtanga class left on the timetable but that she was thinking of dropping it completely, as she had started to become “disillusioned with the practice”. As we began to discuss the reasons why so many seem to be falling out of love with the practice, I thought to myself,
“Yoga is funny. For a practice that’s all about equanimity, compassion, and mindfulness, what many students don’t know is that behind the scenes, yoga is a business like any other, mired by controversies, misunderstandings, and competition.”
Nowhere is this more apparent than in Ashtanga-Vinyasa yoga.
If you’re not familiar, Ashtanga yoga was developed by K. Pattabhi Jois in the 1940s. Jois claimed that he was taught the practice by his teacher, Krishnamacharya (who was also Iyengar’s teacher). Ashtanga is a set sequence of poses, traditionally taught in a very specific way (for example, the poses are often counted in Sanskrit). There are six sequences that increase in difficulty and level of flexibility required (the last two series — Advanced C and D — were rarely taught to students, however), and, traditionally, students are only allowed to progress to the next series once their teacher “permits” them to, based on whether they have mastered all the poses in the previous series. Ashtanga classes usually take one of two forms: either a ‘led practice’, similar to a regular yoga class where the teacher instructs and guides the class (but unlike regular yoga classes the instruction is usually minimal), or “Mysore-style”, where the students all show up to class at a set time but then practice completely on their own, unguided (with the teacher there simply to adjust and check everyone’s practice).
I stumbled into Ashtanga yoga (literally and figuratively) quite unintentionally; I had signed up for a 200hr yoga teacher training with All Yoga Training back in 2017, not realising that it was an Ashtanga training (nor did I know what Ashtanga was at the time anyway). Fortunately for me, I had chosen a non-dogmatic Ashtanga training school, but, unfortunately for Ashtanga, its reputation precedes it. Just as I was being introduced to Ashtanga, I was also introduced to Ashtanga’s (or really, its teachers’) ‘bad rep’ for being extremely strict and uncompromising (I have since heard stories of ‘traditional’ Ashtanga teachers hitting students with a ruler, or humiliating them in front of class for ‘not listening’).
Adjustments are another area that Ashtanga has earned a bad reputation for. Hands-on adjustments are a contested topic in their own right, but are not as central to other yoga styles as they are to Ashtanga; since Ashtanga teachers never practice the class themselves while teaching (cues are verbal, not usually visual), one of their main roles is to walk around giving adjustments where needed, particularly in a Mysore-style class. Yet there’s often an emphasis in Ashtanga on ‘going deeper’ and ‘pushing yourself’, leading many Ashtanga teachers to force their students further into the pose with harsh and abrupt adjustments that often favour whether the pose looks ‘correct’, at the expense of how it feels to the student (and whether they wanted an adjustment in the first place!). The result is countless tales of students (and Ashtanga teachers) sustaining injuries during the practice (either immediately, or over time), some of which may be permanent.
Then there’s Pattabhi Jois and the allegations.
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In recent years, the facade of yoga as a spiritual endeavour, that yoga teachers are all about peace and love, incapable of anything else, has been ripped away, its ugly history, built on years of exploitation and abuse (often sexual) by certain yoga schools, lineages and ‘Gurus’, now hard to ignore. (If you would like to educate yourself I highly recommend the book “Yoni Shakti” by Uma Dinsmore-Tuli, the preface of which details many of the allegations.)
Similar to what happened with Bikram, many students and teachers started to come forward with allegations of sexual abuse against Jois; much of it seemingly happened under the pretence of ‘adjustments’.
Besides the allegations, there’s also the fact that many teachers feel that there is an issue of ‘gate-keeping’ (of Ashtanga) by the Jois family. Students are only ‘allowed’ to move on to the next series if their teacher says so, but this teacher must be also be ‘approved’ by Jois’s grandson, Sharath (who has taken over the family business). While, in practice, teachers can — and do — get accredited by schools who are not affiliated with the Jois family (since Ashtanga yoga is not trademarked, nor intellectual property, the way some styles are), it sometimes causes tension and, dare I say, elitism, amongst certain Sharath-approved practitioners.
Talking through all of this with my Ashtanga colleague, I could see why she had become so disillusioned with Ashtanga, as she had known it.
And yet, this was not the Ashtanga I was taught.
While I could understand how this kind of Ashtanga could be hard to love, this wasn’t my Ashtanga, the Ashtanga I had been introduced to, taught, and practiced.
Right from the start, the Ashtanga I was taught by All Yoga Training was intelligent, accessible, and non-dogmatic. We were taught how to modify the primary series even for complete beginners, and to break down the poses in a clear, understandable way, based on safe and functional alignment. This is a revelation for my students, many of whom have been to ‘traditional’ Ashtanga classes (where there is very little instruction, if any) and were never actually told how to get into the pose properly, or what the target area (or sensation) is. We were also taught how to give hands-on adjustments in an appropriate and safe way; the importance of consent, the art of touch (e.g. firm without being forceful, and no ‘creepy fingers’!), your own positioning, and understanding the purpose of adjustments. It’s Ashtanga for a modern audience and context, whilst still acknowledging its traditions and roots.
I see a lot of Ashtanga teachers trying to rebrand the practice now, calling it “feminine Ashtanga” or “gentle Ashtanga”. But, in doing so, I fear they’re buying into the idea that Ashtanga itself is inherently problematic, that there’s only one interpretation of ‘traditional’ Ashtanga, and everything else must be a deviation.
I don’t buy it.
Ashtanga yoga can be taught and practiced in a way that doesn’t risk injury or trauma, nor requires teachers to claim authority over what their students can and cannot do. It can be a wonderful practice of discipline, self-inquiry, and strength, a routine to calm busy minds and build resilience. This is the Ashtanga I was taught, and continue to pass on to my students.
So no, I’m not quitting Ashtanga. I’m reclaiming it.
