Shubhra Krishan - The 9-to-5 Yogi. How to Feel Like a Sage while Working Like a Dog

Shubhra Krishan is the author of Essential Ayurveda: What It Is and What It Can Do for You and Radiant Body, Restful Mind: A Womans Book of Comfort. Journalism is her profession, writing her passion and Ayurveda her deepest conviction.

Shubhra lives in New Delhi and dreams of healing the world, one Uma at a time.

Hay House Publishers (India) Pvt. Ltd.
Muskaan Complex, Plot No.3, B-2 Vasant Kunj, New Delhi-110 070, India
Hay House Inc., PO Box 5100, Carlsbad, CA 92018-5100, USA
Hay House UK, Ltd., 292-B Kensal Rd., London W10 5BE, UK
Hay House Australia Pty Ltd., 18/36 Ralph St., Alexandria NSW 2015, Australia
Hay House SA (Pty) Ltd., PO Box 990, Witkoppen 2068, South Africa
Hay House Publishing, Ltd., 17/F, One Hysan Ave., Causeway Bay, Hong Kong
Raincoast, 9050 Shaughnessy St., Vancouver, BC V6P 6E5, Canada

Email: contact@hayhouse.co.in
www.hayhouse.co.in

Copyright Shubhra Krishan 2011

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

The views and opinions expressed in this book are the authors own and
the facts are as reported by her, which have been verified to the extent
possible, and the publishers are not in any way liable for the same.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in
the form of a phonographic recording, nor may it be stored
in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for
public or private use other than for fair use as brief quotations
embodied in articles and reviews, without prior written
permission of the publisher.

The characters in this book bear a striking resemblance to persons
living in major metropolitan cities.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

ISBN 978-93-80480-61-9

Printed and bound at
Rajkamal Electric Press, Kundli, Sonepat, Haryana (India)

For
My father,
as always. I am,
and this is,
because you were.

Three quotes you will never see on an Ayurveda-friendly fridge:

Sleep til youre hungry, eat til youre sleepy.

Anonymous

Vegetables are interesting but lack a sense of purpose when unaccompanied by a good cut of meat.

Fran Lebowitz

Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside.

Mark Twain

U ma (the heroine of this book) doesnt exist. And yet, she is so real. I see her everywhere, every single day. In the boardroom. At one party after another. But most often, in the mirror. And each time she flits past me or bobs up before me, that haunting Diana Ross song ripples through my heart: Do you know, where youre going to? Do you like the things that life is showing you?

A few years ago, the answers to those questions made Uma wince and want to cry. And one day, when the questions became too dizzying, too painful, she toppled off the corporate ladder and nearly broke her soul.

Today, she stands at the top of that ladder, all smiles.

What changed?

Well, Uma is now a yogi. No, she hasnt shifted base to some-impossibly-high-place-in-the-Himalayas. Its South Delhis hip Hauz Khas that she calls home.

She prefers her little black dress to a saffron robe, thank you.

Her work does not involve concentrating on a mantra. Shes totally focused on success.

No, she hasnt managed to learn how to stand on her head, but yes, she has her head squarely on her shoulders now.

Inside Umas now-yogi-like firm frame beats a soft, romantic heart. And the man who lives inside it looks more like an urban professional than a mendicant.

This is her story. My story.

Maybe yours, too?

Shubhra Krishan

M om: you to me are everything.

Bhaiya and Dippy, for their love and support.

Nonnie and Cheeni: the apples of my eye.

Shirin and Chetna: my anchors in every storm.

Dr Manoj Aggrawal, the 9-to-5 yogi who brought me back to life.

Sathya, the 9-to-5 yogini who makes me believe it can be done.

Ravi (the Hay House editor) without whose patience this book would have been done in half the time! Every time I made a guilty promise to rush him the manuscript, he would say: Take your time. A book is for a lifetime. Thank you, for making me see it that way. Thank you, too, for your invaluable insights and inputs.

My friends, who stood by me through all that happened in my life while I wrote this book boy, the things that happened, and boy, were you all there! I am so fortunate.

And finally, Uma: once you popped up in my head, this book just wrote itself out.

W hy is Uma so striking? Well, she is sexy, smart, successful and thirty.

Uma lives on the floor above us in a South Delhi apartment. In the mornings on working days, she scurries down the stairs and slides into her sleek new car. Always dressed in an immaculate business suit, Uma looks every inch the senior manager she is. Ive never seen her return from work because were fast asleep by 10 p.m.

But then one day, something happened.

I was returning from my evening walk around 6.30, when Umas car zoomed past me towards her parking slot. She braked hard, flung open the car door and, after getting down, she banged it shut loudly. Her bag slid from her hand and fell to the ground. Instead of picking it up, she began kicking at it. Once, twice, thrice, and then a series of hysterical kicks, punctuated with the choicest profanities. At some point, she hurt her toe, clutched her foot and began yowling. As I rushed forward to help her, she buckled and fell on my shoulder. Had she not been such a wafer-weight, I would have fallen flat on my back and cracked my skull.

Uma was sobbing hard now. I held her hand, retrieved her bag, and led her up to my flat.

Once inside, she sank on the sofa and continued to release loud, piteous sobs. The angst spilled out of her like long jammed-up phlegm.

At last, she looked up and virtually beseeched me: I cant go on. I need to talk to someone. Help me, please.

How tormented her eyes were! Gone was the surefooted executive. This was a woman hurting.

I said: Tell me.

I was supposed to get my promotion today, she began. I would have become VP, sales. I slogged my hind legs off; even exceeded my target. And what do I get? Nothing! Hah! An underperforming bitch is promoted over me. Why, because shes sleeping with the boss. Never mind that Uma Mehta hasnt slept properly in weeks. Shes a nobody, nothing. She held her head between her palms, rasped a few residual sobs and began stabbing at her temples with sharp coffee-coloured nails.

Headache? I inquired.