KERALA, India -- Kerala in southern India is renowned for its
serene backwaters, wildlife reserves and isolated beaches.
But the state's fastest-expanding raison d'etre is ''ayurveda''
(literally ''knowledge of life''), an alternative therapy that
combines diet, massage and yoga to tone up body and
mind.
In a small white office
overlooking swaying coconut
palms, a ceiling fan whirring
above, a heavy medical tome,
stethoscope and
blood-pressure gauge on the
desk between us, I found
myself face-to-face with an
ayurvedic doctor. He
smoothed back his
immaculate hair, adjusted his
tortoise-shell-rimmed
glasses, then stared into mid-
space. The silence was golden, but disturbing, so I started asking
questions. Finally, after exhausting the niceties, the doctors
questioning began. His gentle probing into my daily routine, energy
levels, personality and even bowel movements was aimed at
revealing my ayurvedic constitutional type, which, in turn, would
determine the treatment for my rejuvenation.
Ayurveda has existed in India for more than 2,500 years (it
featured prominently in the Vedas Hinduisms sacred texts), but
today it is Kerala that maintains a virtual monopoly on its
research, development, products and general application. Most
Keralan households use some of its methods on a daily basis, and
specialised clinics, doctors and masseurs abound.
Like many alternative therapies in the West, ayurveda has its
bogus incarnations, so dont assume that the ayurvedic massage
offered at a beachside shack in the resorts of Kovalam or Varkala
is the real thing. So stick to the trained practictioners and, if
possible, follow the holistic approach offered by certain hotels
where daily massages are combined with a specific diet, medicine
and yoga exercises.
The basic concepts of ayurveda reflect a good dose of common
sense, and I was more than happy to follow the doctors advice.
The key to the therapy regardless of an individuals balance of
vata (wind or air), pitta (sun or fire) and kapha (moon or water) is
to avoid any excess of sun and perspiration and remain aware of
the body and its functions. As a classically stressed vata-pitta
case, it didnt take long for my treatment to take effect.
Never have I felt so relaxed, but nor have I ever been encouraged to
do as little as possible, so it is hard to pinpoint from where the
benefits actually came. It may be that Im just naturally indolent.
Yet as I underwent my two-hour morning ritual at the hands of
Bindup and Kemar, my eternally smiling masseuses, I drifted on to
another plane. In the past Ive been pummelled in Vietnam,
kneaded in the Caribbean, gently manipulated in Bali and
pulverised in Mexico, but nothing compares with the sensation of
ayurvedic synchronised massage. Four firm hands move in
sweeping, circular and diagonal motions creating a unique,
sensorial choreography. The tense edges of the body, liberally
basted in herbal oil, are smoothed into a harmonious whole and
the mind is set free.
Most surprising of all was the sirodhara massage, which,
although applied only to the forehead, is designed to relax the
entire body. After binding my closed eyes, Bindup and Kemar
trickled warm oil from a suspended brass urn gently over my
forehead and hair.
This action was repeated again and again for around 40 minutes,
and felt rather like being caressed with a feather or by the fingers
of some benign god. As the oil permeated my mind and soul, my
befuddled brain seemed to unscramble itself and lift off. Meditation
or mental levitation took over.
Sounds became curiously amplified. The metallic clanks of the urn
and its chains conveyed the masseuses activities as they
replenished the oil and, as the days went by, I came to dread one
familiar sound: a heavy click as the electric plate heating the oil
was switched off.
This signalled the imminent end to my supine, sensorial bliss. I
would sit up for a last back massage, stretching fingers and toes.
Finish the girls would utter, before maneuvring me off the perilous
oil-field of the massage table on to a stool where I would come
down for five minutes. Then it was time to shower off the liters of
herbal coconut oil that covered my body and hair before staggering
to my hotel room to collapse.
When I finally left the semi-deserted resort of Kovalam where I had
undergone the treatment (not to mention walked along deserted
beaches drenched in monumental monsoon surf, watched
fishermen at every stage of coir production and chatted with the
coconut vendor) to embark on a 20-hour train journey north, I may
not have miraculously dropped any years but my energy levels
were certainly boosted. Not only that, I felt sufficiently relaxed and
confident to stop smoking that very day and didnt even pounce on
a beer. (Observer News Service)
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