Yesterday began with a drive to the YouthAIDS office located in the Opera District in Mumbai. It is also in the heart of the red-light district, a part of India that I would never have any reason to venture into if I weren't doing this relief work.

We walked through a dark alley and up a flight of stairs to a refreshingly clean and bright office. We were led to another floor where 12 rubber yoga mats were spread on the otherwise bare floor. Clustered together in the center were eight women in brightly colored saris. They were of varying ages—the youngest was about 15 and the oldest was about 50.

Although these women are all commercial sex workers, they are also peer educators for YouthAIDS. (As sex workers are at the highest risk for HIV/AIDS, it is important that YouthAIDS work within their system.) Their stories all vary slightly, but most of these women come from small villages around India and Nepal. They are all illiterate, and they turned to prostitution to avoid poverty and starvation. Some were sent to Mumbai, thinking another kind of work was awaiting them. Others are here because their husbands left them when they got pregnant or because their own mothers were sex workers. They all felt they had no other option.

Once I realized that these women were forthright, I felt comfortable asking them all sorts of questions; from their health status (many were HIV positive) to whether or not they've ever felt loved (yes), and whether they even like sex (no, not particularly).

Malika shared that she lost her virginity at 10, one week after her first period. She was dressed all in white and fed cola laced with whiskey. She woke up soaked in her own blood. No one had explained sex to her so she didn't know what to expect. Sita was sold to a brothel at 16. She could not speak the language and was told she could "buy" her freedom by paying off her debt. Six years later she is still paying. Shruta was abandoned by the man she loved when she was seven months pregnant. Her parents would not help her, so she sold her body in order to take care of herself and her baby. None of these women were aware of HIV/AIDS or STIs when they began. None of them knew condoms existed. All of them were alone in a culture that does not take care of its women. So they were forced to compromise their bodies and spirits.

When I asked them if they'd like to try yoga, they giggled and clapped like little girls—perhaps feeling like they were being naughty or breaking a law. Apparently the practice of yoga doesn't make its way past India's deeply-established tradition of sex and discrimination. Unfortunately, the people who could really benefit from its healing and emancipation properties were denied because of their place in society.

I knew yoga's health benefits might not interest them. And since most of the women are Hindi and devotion is an intrinsic part of their culture, I spoke about how we can use our bodies as an expression of our devotion. I explained how each gesture, including the placement of the hand, the expansion of the lungs, and the turn of the spine, is an offering. I told them that yoga practice is a living ritual and an embodied prayer.

I stood in Tadasana and prepared to demonstrate what I meant. I placed my palms in Namaste and told them that I would offer each movement and every breath in dedication and respect to all of them. I prayed out loud and asked God to protect them on their journey. I asked may they always be safe from harm and know joy and peace in their hearts forever. I could feel them watch me as I demonstrated Suryanamaskara B (Sun Salutation B) and I moved slowly, and with as much grace as I could pull forth, to make my body a living prayer for them. My own heart swelled in gratitude for that moment. I was aware of the gift I was given and I felt honored as I glided through such old and familiar movements, yet made brand new with the intention that I had set upon them. They clapped when I was done and bowed gently in Namaste with gratitude for my offering.

Then, I asked them to go to their mats.

Teaching yoga to heavy-set, middle age women in saris with an interpreter is something that should never be witnessed publicly. Hair was flying out of buns, bracelets were jangling, saris unraveling, and red Bindi marks smudging across foreheads. We all played and laughed as they tried to do what I asked of them. It was an absolute mess!

I asked them to stand in Tadasana with their hands in Namaste. I told them that I would lead them in a Sun Salutation and asked them to dedicate it to a young girl who needs some love. Perhaps a daughter, or a friend, or another sex worker who was ill, scared, or alone. The room fell quiet and the women prayed silently, and together they moved their bodies, no longer thick and ungraceful, but slowly, elegantly, as though presenting the most sacred of gifts. Seeing them move so reverently, aligned with God and each other, reminded me what yoga is really about: connection.

Once they were in Savasana (Corpse Pose), I went to each one and adjusted them as lovingly as I could. I wanted them to feel a touch that was not invasive or sexual. A touch that had no other agenda other than service and love. I prayed over each one and felt my heart open in gratitude. I could feel their bodies, so over-used and tired, relax in my hands.

After Savasana, we sat together in meditation. I could hear the sounds of India outside the window, but everything inside that room was deep and still. We placed our palms in Namaste and we prayed together for peace and for the end of poverty. We prayed for tolerance and for the end of violence. We prayed for their clients, that they become educated and less stubborn. We prayed that new sex workers would stay safe and be willing to learn. We prayed for a cure. And we prayed for ourselves, that we all remain in service to the great Goddess, and to each other—to remember that the Goddess dwells within. We prayed to remember that we're all holy and must live each day in glorious self-respect and unwavering love.

After the prayer we all looked at one another and smiled. We were sisters beyond border, race or religion. With our palms still together, we bowed our heads, feeling the power of Namaste, we honored the light within, and beyond.

I asked them if they had any questions? "Yes," one said. "Can I hug you?"

What is it about sex workers and hugging?

"Of course!!" I said, and one by one we hugged and kissed each other. The women kept stroking my hair and face and giving me so much love! I kissed and fawned over them in return. It was incredible. Somewhere between Downward Dog and Triangle Pose, I became their adopted daughter. It was beautiful.