What I liked
The strength with which Mayuri approached the performance.
What I didn't like
Some dramaturgical intervention can shed some of the fat that still stubbornly hang on to the script.
My overall impression
I was asked what my favorite kind of yoga was during my first week of grad school. Back home, in India, Yoga was what dancers did to stay fit, or the RSS promoted as a back to roots Hindutva tool, and my aunt ran a clinic of to make a few extra bucks to fend off my abusive, alcoholic uncle and it was called – joe-og. My white teacher was confused that all indians were not magical and that some of them (read me) smoked, drank, and inquired about scouring weed (this was in the deep South). Closer home, i.e. here in LA, colleagues have asked to rebalance chakras, or have touted the benefits of vocal yoga. I had no idea that I was harboring so much of the trauma and anxiety from that simple interaction and from these subsequent refrains of white people teaching me my culture until I saw Anti-Yogi. Hats of Mayuri, all that was bottled up inside, came bubbling and gurgling up to the surface as I laughed, cackled, and applauded Anti-Yogi. Not to forget the Bengali in me was just ecstatic to see a Ma Kali in full Bollywood action.
