The following stories are ones I rarely shared because some were not my stories to share. I studied with PJ for a short time before his death. What I witnessed and experienced as secondary trauma has stayed with me. The way the Ashtanga community handled it, denied it, and gaslit everyone has also stayed with me.
The following is a personal narrative and reflection based on lived experience, shared in the interest of truth-telling an survivor solidarity
There are years that ask questions and years that answer
Zora Neale Hurston
I don’t write for you. I write for me, for my healing, for my acknowledgement and sacred practice of seeking homeostasis. I write to honor past relations and future ones too.
Trigger warning: the following stories are about sexual abuse
Chronicle #1 “- Do you remember? You told me Pattabhi Jois would sexually assault your girlfriend while she practiced next to you. At the same time, he would look into your eyes and sneer. I watched your eyes while you told me of the abuse you suffered. You didn’t call it that, of course. Your eyes would dart to the side as though you had lost central vision and were moving to the periphery. You were clear and confused. You had projected a father/grandfather figure onto him. I will never forget the corner of your lips as you imitated his sneer. I will never forget your sacred story of love, power, and sexual abuse in yoga.
Pattabhi Jois picked his victims, both men and women. He abused them in different ways, some sexually, some psychologically. But make no mistake, he was an abuser and a criminal. I classify the above story as evil.
Abusers love and are loved, this is no secret. I’m here to discuss the trauma inflicted on dozens, if not hundreds, of PJ students. Many are unable to talk about it. Some are unwilling to name it or face it.
I see you.
I also see the younger generation ignorantly upholding this family dynasty/legacy of harm and trauma. Make no mistake the current lineage successor is far more traumatized than any one western student. He witnessed the most abuse of everyone. He tried to protect students but couldn’t. My heart goes out to Sharath.
Trauma is passed on by blood and by story
Chronicle #2 – You were the “Pitbull Of The Shala.” You wore this title with pride. I asked you questions about the sexual assaults. I wanted to know your why. You protected your guru at all costs from outside photographers and videographers because, “They will never understand.” You said, “I have hours and hours of footage of PJ [abusing] students that will never see the light of day.” You were unflinching in your dedication to protect. You projected a father figure onto a person that was deeply troubled. I wish for you, in old age, that you’re wiser and more compassionate.
You loved a cursed guru. Release the tapes (if you still have them)
Chronicle #3 – My story – I wrote to you in 2004. My first trip to India, to Mysore, to the Shala. I was terrified. Then I watched the sexual assaults right in front of me, in front of everyone. I saw the open secret. “He is molesting female students, how can you be a student, how can this happen?” I asked. Your were understanding. “He is not perfect,” you said. “He is deeply flawed. This is a big issue even within the family. You can tell him no. I tell him no all the time. Very few women tell him no but I do and he doesn’t touch me like that.” You did not gaslight me. You were honest and forthcoming. I will always love you for that.
We then roll played how to go into PJ’s office and tell him that I don’t like the way he touches “ladies in ladies area.” You said “If he denies touching women then tell him that you want to be married one day. He will understand that.” The next day I stepped into his office. My heart was racing. I closed the door, Sharath opened it. I closed the door again, he opened it again. Fine. I began to speak. PJ denied it “Who’s touching?!” He demanded. “You Guruji, you touch ladies in ladies area.” I stood up and pointed to my crotch, my breasts, and my butt. He grunted saying “Oh no, who’s touching.” Then I pulled the marriage thing. His demeanor changed. “I see. You come take practice, no problem.” He said. “No touching Guruji?” I confirmed. “No touching” He said softly. I walked out. The next day after backbends he tried to fondle my buttocks like he did every woman that was there in 2004. I grabbed his hands, put them to my waist, and put my finger up to his nose. I said “NO GURUJI!” He grabbed my finger and said “That is correct method,” and waddled away.
This was the level of mind-fuckery. I thought, so what are you saying? Do you mean that all women should be stopping you? The fact that they’re not means what? What does that make us to you? What is a western woman’s life worth to you?
There were no answers, only questions. I took it to mean that I was on the right path. Each person had to take care of themselves. The ‘ole “Personal Responsibility” card. You know it. It’s the one that subtly blames the victims. Yeah. It keeps victims in shame and silence. But I thought if I was taking care of myself. What more could I do.
As I’m older and hopefully a bit wiser I realize…NO. That is not community. If you hurt one person, you hurt us all but I didn’t see it like that. I was 30. I was young-ish. I was naive even though I was standing up to him. So I stayed, I observed, I talked to students and asked them…why do you let him do this to you?
In my latest podcast episode, I dive into why men are the wrong guides for women seeking embodied spirituality.
All too often, when we see injustices, both great and small, we think, That’s terrible, but we do nothing. We say nothing. We let other people fight their own battles. We remain silent because silence is easier… When we say nothing, when we do nothing, we are consenting to these trespasses against us.
Rozanne Gay
During the metoo movement I received plenty of hateful messages. People accused me of being silent about the abuse. I was never silent, but I was silenced. I was ignored and minimized enough to where I felt like I was the crazy one. I was gaslit over and over again. I also gaslit myself.
Ashtanga teachers and those that benefit from the cult that is Ashtanga Yoga continue to minimize my story. They’ve changed it from witnessing sexual assault/digital rape to ‘inappropriate touching.” I used to say this sometimes when I was too scared to look at it or talk about it. But words matter.
If I knew you, if we ever cared for each other, tell my story AS IT IS.
He never tried to assault me again. That simple fact was proof. Of what? I’m not sure. Was it proof that he cared? I don’t know. Not all abusers abuse every person all the time or in the same ways. Abuse is dynamic, never static which makes it hard to pinpoint, analyze, and understand. It makes it even more difficult to process and unpack to make room for healing.
I refer to PJ as a criminal. It doesn’t matter that some women liked him to grope their buttocks. Others were traumatized by it. I can’t enter a room full of people and grope them, even if some consent, it’s still a crime. Again, language matters. Jois was an abuser.
Ashtanga practitioners and teachers have moved on and are largely unmoved by the realities and histories. They’ve compartmentalized the situation and think they are far removed or above it. They’ve somehow “resolved” it. In reality, they’re too tired and depleted from the practice to have their feet firmly planted.
Ashtangis continue the toxic, traumatized family dynasties like the Trumps, the Kardashians, and now the Jois’s. The loyalty, the silence, the damage. How proud
I don’t write this for you or for them. I write to no longer hold their stories in my mind and in my heart.
I write as an exorcism
I continue these conversations more deeply on my podcast Spiritual Autopsy, where I explore the intersections of abuse, power, and spirituality.
This post contains personal testimony and direct observations based on my lived experience in the Ashtanga yoga community. These events are described truthfully and to the best of my ability. I share this account in the interest of survivor support, historical record, and cultural accountability.
Descriptions of abuse, including terms such as ‘criminal’ or ‘rapist,’ are based on observed and reported behavior that meets the legal definition of sexual assault in many jurisdictions. These are not accusations made lightly, but assessments made through direct experience, survivor testimony, and public record.
My intent is not to harm, but to illuminate harm that has already occurred—harm that many have witnessed, endured, or silenced. Speaking openly about abuse, especially when it involves well-known figures, is both necessary and protected under laws governing free speech and matters of public concern.
These experiences are real. The pain is real. The need for justice and healing is real.
The Heart of Justice is Truth Telling
Bell Hooks