I spent the last two weeks learning 𝘒𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘶 in Kerala.

The oldest surviving martial art. Considered the mother of other forms.

Four hours each day. Two sessions. Six days a week.

It was intense. Rigorous. Far from a vacation.

At times it required pushing. Not just the body.

I even grew a bit unwell. Paused very briefly. Then stepped back in.

Not out of force, but from a strange inspiration and firm intention.

There is a certain magic in stepping six feet deep onto bare earth in a Kalari.

Sanctified by its deity shrine. Body covered in oil. Pre-dawn and dusk.

Rhythmic, elaborate movements, following the commands of the teacher. Almost a dance!

The mind naturally focused. Clothes soaked in sweat and soil.

I found an inexplicable joy in the practice. Also fun.

My body started speaking to me more clearly.

I noticed what happened when I ignored its messages.

I learned to honour my physical abilities, while negotiating their limits.

Beyond the training, the gurukulam setup gave a good shake to the structure I rely on.