Disco yoga puts purists in a spin

A few weeks back, a class at London's swanky and voraciously popular Triyoga Centre caused a bit of a stir. Teaching were dynamic duo Sharon Gannon and David Life, a pair of high-profile yoga "gurus" from New York and founders of the ¸ber-chic East Village Jivamukti Yoga Centre.

In the US, their yogic salons have elevated them to cult status; you stand a chance of snatching a mat next to the likes of Christy Turlington, Uma Thurman, Diane Keaton, Willem Dafoe and a slew of other lotus-eating celebrities. London was lucky to have them for a lesson, and the class was, not surprisingly, stuffed with disciples (according to one eyewitness, there were nearly 50 in the room) champing at the bit for a scrap of their signature Jivamukti " powerflow" yoga, a fancy version of Ashtanga which would appeal to anyone who might want to crunch their butt and abs to toned perfection.

An hour in, however, Amy Ku Redler, a well-established Londonbased yoga instructor, left in exasperation. "I had a groin injury," she explains, "and I asked if they could suggest some alternative exercises. They weren't able to, and I didn't see much point in staying in a class where I was basically working on my own."

In the same class, Simon Low, the director of Triyoga, accidentally slipped out of an advanced position and injured his back from swerving to avoid someone near to him in the crowded room. Low remains supportive of the class and the teachers, but he is not alone in sustaining physical damage during a demanding yoga drill: horror stories abound about ricked backs, dislocated hips and torn ligaments as a result of pushing oneself too hard on the yoga mat.

The session's calamities are indicative of aspects of a huffy yoga war that's been brewing for a while now. The new divide is easily explained. Yoga "purists", who prefer the slower, more classical forms of yoga like hatha and iyengar, dismiss new-fangled forms as potentially dangerous and - worse - "quick-fix" or "supermarket": a reference to their speedy physical results. Redler and other instructors like Mary Stewart, Sophie Alexander and Faustomaria are proponents of these forms, which are taught at the Iyengar Yoga Institute in Maida Vale and the Innergy Yoga Centre, and enjoyed by celebrities such as Mick Jagger, Stella McCartney, Lili Dent-Brocklehurst, Joseph Fiennes and Terence Stamp.

The instructors of the more evolved forms like Ashtanga, on the other hand (Low, David Life, Sharon Gannon and celebrity instructor Leela Miller) are confident in and effulgent about the physical and mental benefits, which, incidentally, renowned yoga junkies such as Madonna, Geri, Gwynnie, Sting and Trudie regularly lap up and sing the praises of. (Ashtanga, by the way, is a more athletic and dynamic form than hatha yoga and involves jumping from one posture to another, offering a more "aerobic" workout).

Because of its increasing popularity, and the celebrity endorsement it receives, there is an increasing thirst for bigger, better, newer versions of yoga. Centres globally are offering classes in yogilates, disco yoga, crunch yoga, power yoga, yoga booty ("butt and thigh yoga"), nia ( aerobic yoga), yoga to percussion, tribal drums, incense - anything, in fact, which isn't, well, plain old yoga.

The "purist" camp hold that this increase in demand has led to larger classes such as the unfortunate one at Triyoga, poorer teaching (some courses can qualify you as an instructor in just four weeks, or even - shock horror - by post), not to mention huge stockpiles of cheesy merchandising. In the States, a mantrachanting alarm clock is a steal at $35 a pop; you can also buy a range of videos, deluxe yoga mats, yoga mouse mats, yoga-oriented capri pants, face creams, lotions, gels and deity candles; this is all in addition to the regular yoga books. This range of rather naff hybrid forms appeals in particular - say critics - to money-rich, time-poor individuals whose ulterior motive is to get fit fast, simply trading in the aerobic treadmills so popular 10 years ago for their baggy DKNY pants and the sweat of the mat.

Simon Low, an ex-record boss who has been teaching yoga for 15 years and built Triyoga into a prestigious yoga "market", defends the new-wave versions: "The more challenging forms of yoga are not for everybody. People who are unfit or have no experience of yoga are recommended to start with a gentler form to understand the basics."

There's one point at least on which everyone seems to be agreed - middle-aged Westerners are not usually the ideal subjects for Ashtanga. The form was developed in the 1930s in India specifically for teenage army recruits; and phalanxes of Brahmin boys prancing around in the balmy climes of southern India are a far cry from the ranks of Londoners who sweatily slog it out under grey skies. Some of us, at least, might be better off sticking with the Stairmaster.