Yoga in the Birthplace of Yoga

Having been expressly directed to try yoga (having never tried it before, besides when directed by my mother, hardly a master, years ago) in India - the birthplace of yoga - I could hardly pass up the opportunity to start my day with a free hour on the rooftop of my guest home. Bright and early I clamoured up the steps and drew the first of many deep breaths for the morning due to the great view. The yoga master did not need words and simply began the class for the three of us through example. Things began well enough, as we started stretching but toward the middle I realized that my mighty thighs are not meant for the lotus position (a key position for yoga apparently). I did my best and there were some popping of joints and slight straining of muscles but nothing I couldn't handle.
Toward the end of the lesson the yoga master began a move, and just like before I attempted to replicate it. For a split second I was balanced, before a shift in weight sent me crashing loudly into the pole in the middle of the room. Untangling myself I came up to find the two girls in the class giggling at my fall, while the yoga master continued to stand rigidly in position. Moments later he left the position and came over to assist and I realized that I was supposed to have watched his pose and waited until AFTER to try the headstand, with a spotter. Oops!
The next move was to lie limply on the ground (aka nap) which I was brilliant at, if I do say so myself.