You Say Goodbye, and I Say Hello. (Kind of.) And why we don’t say “Namaste” at our studio anymore.
You’ve probably heard and uttered the word, “Namaste,” at the end of a yoga class. We all have! It seems to have become some kind of unwritten rule, a universal sign that class is over, and/or an untethered ritual. But what does it really mean? Does it truly come from the yogic tradition? Why do we say it? And why might you decide not to say it?
Namaste is a Sanskrit word that is often translated as “hi” or “hello” and sometimes interpreted by the western yoga culture as “the love and light in me sees and honors the love and light in you,” or something like that. The word is made up of two parts: namas comes from the root namaha, which literally means to bend or bow. Te literally means “you.” Taken together, it simply means “I bow to you.” It’s pronounced NUH-muh-sthey. Although we often hear it pronounced NAH-mah-stay.
Traditionally, it’s used by Hindu and Nepali people to greet a respected elder, teacher, or holy person. You may have also heard the word, “Namaskar” in place of “Namaste” in a yoga class or elsewhere. Te is the singular form of you. Kar comes from the root, kara, which means “doing.” Namaskar means roughly the same thing as Namaste, and they are often used interchangeably; however, Namaste is used as a respectful greeting more often in northern India, while Namaskar is used as a respectful greeting more often in southern India.
And of course, like many words, this word’s use and meaning have evolved over time. In Spanish, we often translate the word, adios, as “goodbye.” That’s how it’s used all over the Spanish-speaking world. But more traditionally and literally, it means “with God,” as in “go with God.” Namaste is little bit like that because the namas portion was traditionally used in a spiritual or intellectual context - one would bend or bow to a teacher, an elder, or a holy person; however, today in western yoga studios, it’s kind of used as “the end” or “goodbye” since it’s commonly used at the end of a class. And of course, It’s usually used without the traditional context and pronunciation and interpreted in a new way (“the light and love in me…”).
Ending a yoga practice with Namaste is a relatively new and western practice. When men were practicing yoga asana 1,000+ years ago, they didn’t end the practice in this way. It’s unclear how it started, when, or why. One thing is certain, though, it’s not a traditional part of yoga asana, and a teacher saying it first to students (and students repeating it back) at the end of a practice, seems contrary to its translated meaning and traditional context.
So, should we say it?
Yoga is a 5,000+ year old practice that has evolved over time and geography a lot. What we think of as “yoga” in the west is often just the asana or postural practice. And many of the postures one might practice in a contemporary yoga class were not part of the asana of 1,000+ years ago even though the teacher may use a Sanskrit word for it. Cultural appropriation - or the use or adoption of customs, philosophies, or practices of a culture by a (commonly) dominant society without acknowledgement - is common in the western yoga studio. And using Namaste at the end of a practice is a prime example. The word is used without acknowledgement (or often, knowledge) or where it comes from, its authentic meaning and pronunciation, and/or its traditional context. Yoga and the word, Namaste, come from the same culture, but saying Namaste is not yogic tradition. Further, ending a class by saying Namaste is not a correct use of the word in meaning or context. In fact, this misappropriated use of the word and way of ending a yoga practice doesn’t seem very yogic at all, especially when it is usually mispronounced. And certainly phrases like “Namastay in bed” or “Namaslay,'“ popular on stickers and sweatshirts, are disrespectful and likely offensive to some.
Even though, in some cases, yoga’s evolution in the West has come from a desire to make the practice of asana more accessible and Vedic philosophy more applicable, practitioners might begin to consider an authentic evolution and one that acknowledges and respects traditional lineages. Teachers and students alike might begin to reflect on what feels right to them - saying Namaste to end a class, using old Sanskrit for contemporary postures? What are the ways you might acknowledge yogic tradition respectfully? Should we use the Sanskrit names for postures and ideas if we run the risk of mispronunciation or don’t know the true translation?
The responses to these questions will be different among teachers and practitioners. But the very reflection on these questions, itself, is part of yoga. Slowing down to consider our actions, uses of language, and contexts of situations and experiences is mindful, authentic, and necessary.