Between Spice and Stillness: A Body in Balance

The smell of spice was everywhere on this hot and humid Delhi morning: golden turmeric, deep-red chili, warm cardamom, and smoky cumin — an intoxicating blend that floated and settled on your skin. Everywhere, color danced and pulsed: saffron saris, indigo turbans, piles of chili powder bursting like embers, and sandstone buildings washed in teal and faded rose. All the while, the market buzzed with vendors calling out prices, bicycle bells ringing, and the rhythmic clatter of rickshaw wheels over stone.

Color saturated the scene. Women’s saris glowed in shades of saffron, fuchsia, and peacock blue. Fresh powders were piled high in brilliant reds and golden yellows. The old buildings wore coats of time-softened paint, cracked but vivid: teal shutters, faded rose facades, bright laundry strung like prayer flags between balconies.

Our guide had begun explaining the various spices, but my attention drifted — transfixed by something else. As you can see here, a young woman passed in front of us, balancing a large parcel on her head, two heavy sacks in her hands, and a backpack slung across her shoulders. And yet — her posture was perfect. Upright, centered, calm. She moved through the chaos effortlessly, with a quiet dignity that felt almost out of place in such a noisy world.

 I couldn’t help but think she likely never went to a finishing school — those institutions of the 19th and early 20th centuries where girls were taught to walk with books on their heads to improve posture, a practice once grounded in Victorian etiquette. And yet she she moved with a natural poise we’ve forgotten.

My son walked just ahead, carrying nothing but his Supreme waist bag — a gift from his sister that, at the time, I didn’t realize was “a thing.” I had packed our water bottles in a collapsible burlap pouch I’d picked up in Kathmandu years ago. Practical, yes. Graceful? Not quite.

But it was young woman who left the deepest impression on me that day, and maybe on the entire trip. She was carrying a load heavier than ours, yet walked more freely than any of us. And she wasn’t an isolated example — in India, I’ve seen women carrying bricks on their heads while laying walkways near the river across from the Taj Mahal, and others walking along city roads with massive bundles balanced effortlessly. What we try to reclaim in yoga studios — posture, alignment, presence — they embody daily, not as a practice but as a way of life. Her posture wasn’t taught. It was earned — evidence of a body shaped by rhythm, repetition, and necessity.

Back home, I tried walking with a book on my head. No sacks, no backpack — just a book. I couldn’t manage more than a few steps without wobbling.

What have we gained in our modern lives? What have we lost?

We sit in cars, slouch at desks, or an operating room stool for some of us – or as you may be now –curled into ourselves in bed with glowing phones lighting our faces. Head forward, shoulders rounded, spine compressed. Meanwhile, in the world outside, there is posture, grace, strength — and a forgotten intelligence of the body.

There’s a truth in how we carry ourselves.

And there’s beauty in watching someone carry the world, and never lose her center.