Vino & Vinyasa: An Orgasm of Life in San Francisco

Yoga stretched bodies, taunt and in various shades of exercise, in a mocking show of entertainment, seeing how far their litheness would take them. Then, bottles of tart California Sauvignon Blanc gazing at their projected derrieres, ready to be opened to the thirsty clientele after their ritual bodily purge. A salute to the sun, and then, a salute to the remarkable qualities of the grape in the W hotel in San Francisco.

There is surely something paradoxical about tantalizing one’s purest essences and attaining a life free of pollutants such as the ‘evil’ alcohol while still enlisting the valuable services of a winery. But these people, be they members of a curious, San Francisco based leisure class who seem eternally sponsored by some private source, or professionals who need some avenue of release, happily consume yoga and alcohol in equal measures. The philosophy of abstinence has been conveniently discarded. Everything is there to be had.

The instructor at the front, Sean Haleen, sounds like a Disneyland tour guide. He is, or so the pamphlet says, from Lululemon Athletica. In truth, his mantras might well be those of one as well. Pop ritual meets ancient lore. ‘Lengthen your heart forward’; ‘We celebrate part of ourselves’; ‘Finger tips to the earth’ (We are four floors up.); ‘We respect the energy’. In truth, respect had to be the last word on the minds of those observing this carnival from the side. Partygoers keen to get a swig of gratis libation were getting agitated – why was Haleen getting so enthusiastic? Had he missed looking at the clock?

There are a handful of Americanised Indians who don’t see the teasing irony in this display. Haleen’s pop lingo is barely believable. Bodies are oddly out of sync with the universe, and seem to resemble Pavlovian dogs that got confused over commands.

Yoga has become the marketing fad of the Western world, the boutique solution to a chaotic, perhaps ill disciplined life. San Francisco was already having a taste of it, along with the acid waves of the 1960s. Everyone was seeking a fix, a ready-made utopia and this was no different. Today, the fire burns less brightly, but it is still there. All in this city want a hit of something grand.

Opportunities for that are laid out on a table beside the Yoga boffins, the necessary propaganda that is meant to give the patrons food for thought. One leaflet comes from Lululemon, and promises to help you ‘define’ values and ‘say hello to your future self’. Yoga positions are displayed alongside such suggestions as ‘Writing Powerful Goals’ and various things to ‘Keeping in Mind’. On the reverse side, slogans abound: ‘Dance, Sing, Floss and Travel’; ‘Children are the Orgasm of life’; ‘Do one thing a day that scares you’; ‘Sweat once a day to regenerate your skin’. Yoga has become the martial law of the self-help brigade.

So, to the question posed by the advertisement – ‘Who’s ready to get their Ommm On?’ – the answer is evidently many. The pop ritual concludes. Haleen has done his dash. The bottles are opened. The mats are rolled up. A quick dip in the pool. The drinking begins, and the Ommm is sufficiently, and to many happily, liquidated by this other orgasm of life.

Binoy Kampmark was a Commonwealth Scholar at Selwyn College, Cambridge. He lectures at RMIT University and is currently in San Francisco. Email: bkampmark@gmail.com

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