I embarked on an Ayurveda residential program with the hope of treating my chronic cough. Little did I know that the journey would be as memorable as it was medicinal.
From the moment I arrived, the irony hit me immediately, along with a faceful of sacred incense. It was as if the universe was playing a cosmic joke on my respiratory system. I took one deep, hopeful breath and promptly launched into a coughing fit so violent I think I cleared out my sinuses for the next decade. The treatment had begun.
We were introduced to the ancient art of labeling at our first doctor consultation. I was designated as ‘Vata,’ and my sister was christened ‘Pita.’ It’s nothing to peethify about, but this apparently pivotal classification, which sounded like Pokémon names, dictated our subsequent treatments.
The real fun began with our meditation sessions. Our teacher’s accent was a labyrinth of confusion. When he soothingly declared, “I will remove your tensions and worries,” my ears translated it as, “I will remove your tonsils and ovaries.”
As if deciphering accents wasn’t enough, nature decided to add to the chaos. Ants seemed to have their own retreat on one side of the bed. Whenever it rained, they staged a full-scale invasion, sending my sister into a screaming frenzy that could shatter glass.
Her high-pitched distress calls were only matched by my own when faced with the dreaded enemas. The mere sight of the enema equipment was enough to make me lose control of my bowels. The volume was decidedly bigger than the volume of my intestines, and I was sure it was all going to come out of my mouth.
My sister, on the other hand, was treated with ‘ghee’ therapy. This resulted in her burping like a well-fed baby while I moaned like a tortured soul through various treatments. So the soundtrack of our room was a bizarre duet: her gentle, satisfied burps harmonizing with my guttural, soul-crushing moans.
The social embarrassment was its own special therapy. Every waiter and housekeeper seemed to have been briefed that my sister was on the “virechana” program (a polite term for “cleansing” that basically means “don’t let her near the buffet”). They’d look at her with profound pity and concern, firmly steering her away from the normal food and toward her sad, allotted portion of soy and paneer. My diet was jackfruit and ragi rotis. The sympathetic glances and the dietary restrictions turned our meals into a comedy of errors, making us wonder if detoxing was worth the ordeal!
The food was fat-free, salt-free, sugar-free, and also taste-free. The daily massages stripped layers from the outside, and the enemas took care of the inside. It’s no wonder I was lighter by the end of the trip.
The massages were a luxury but also a necessity to untwist us from the day’s yoga poses. Dog, cat, and cow poses were our daily contortions, making us feel less like graceful animals and more like hippopotamuses trying out for Cirque du Soleil.
Our schedule was relentless: yoga, meditation, massages, pranayama, joyless food, medication, repeat. We had one brief respite in the form of an excursion to a local temple, but it was over before we could say “namaste.”
Stripped of food, dignity, and flavour, we did what any modern woman does in a bizarre healing prison – we turned to online retail therapy. In the end, despite the coughing fits, the screaming, the enemas, and the taste-free meals, we emerged lighter, wiser, and with much heavier luggage. The program had its moments of bizarre charm. It was an experience where every cough, scream, burp, and moan made this Ayurveda escapade one for the (comic) books.
.…. from Gita’s Chronicles of Chronically Underwhelming Experiences
