Why I put myself through a month of self-deprivation

A road well-travelled

I came because my obesity was defeating me. I was locked into a spiral of constantly punishing myself for not winning the battle, and each failure only made the struggle worse. This made me both angry and depressed so that – in Ayurvedic terms – my Doshas were all out of balance. I sent an advance email to the doctors explaining what I wanted to achieve (I’d recommend anyone planning to come here to do the same,) and explaining that I felt confused, unstable, angry and unhappy. I wanted to find happiness in my lifestyle, which patently had the potential to be extremely fulfilling – living with a soul-mate in an idyllic location with huge opportunities to create a beautiful home. Well, it wasn’t quite that straightforward, but I knew that we had a great opportunity and I didn’t want to waste it for both of us.

Obesity is not a problem that hangs around the waistline; it exists primarily between the ears. Obesity, at least in my case, is the result of a mindset that has a deeply rooted belief that I am incapable of looking good. Consequently I have reinforced this belief by creating and maintaining superfluous body-fat. This then creates a barrier that protects me by ensuring that other people don’t get too close, which would challenge my core belief about being unlovable. The problem with all of this is that the answer is not to remove the excess weight, because the fat is the symptom, not the cause. The answer is to make drastic changes both to the mindset and to the lifestyle, which is, of course, much more difficult. As I just said, the problem is between the ears.

And part of the reason it’s tough is that when a fat person becomes slim it is deeply disturbing.

Several years ago I shed a large amount of weight through a determined programme of diet and exercise and the help of a kind and supportive dietician. I lost more than 40kg and was left with an apron of excess skin that I then had surgically removed, resulting in a dramatically different profile from the chest down. And then the weight crept back on. This was probably due at least in some part to the decision of my wonderful dietician to relocate to the West Country, which my mind foolishly, but understandably, interpreted as rejection and desertion. But the more significant reason was that I couldn’t identify with the different person that I saw in the mirror. When I see personalities who have famously changed their physique – politician Nigel Lawson and the TV personality Stephen Fry spring to mind immediately, I always sense that I can see an insecurity and fear in their eyes as they fight their demons in that same battle of coming to terms with an appearance which they strain to accept,and with which they struggle to identify.

So this time I am going home with a visibly changed physique and a different lifestyle that incorporates exercise, both out and about in the open air, and in solitary yoga. It also demands a dramatic reduction in the amounts of food and alcohol that I ingest. It’s a lot to ask.

How will the old man cope with the new man? I don’t know. What I do know is that right now I am happy and contented, and I believe that the time ahead will not slide back into the painful experiences of the past.

The biggest lesson that I have learned in my time here has been to accept myself as being OK – Lord knows I’ve struggled with that one for decades. It’s nothing to do with waistline or a general lack of athleticism, it’s about accepting myself for who I am, not for what I look like.

The biggest decision I am taking away from here with me is that having decided to accept myself, I now won’t let anyone tell me that I’m not OK. It sounds a bit like a Gay Pride anthem “I am who I am” and all that, but that’s just how it feels, - and that’s OK, too.

If you want to kick a habit, or just get away and reassess who you are and what you’re doing with your life, there’s nowhere I know that would provide a better opportunity. Just bear one thing in mind:-

Expect to change.

Thanks for following my ramblings over the past month; it’s been a wonderful experience and recording it has helped to share it and hold on to the day-to-day memories.

It's not about weight loss, but by the 23rd day on the programme, I had lost 16.8kg = 37lbs.

This is when it all begins...!

So... to sum it all up

OK, enough of this philosophy and religion; but since the final week of treatment was enemas and laxatives I didn’t think you’d want anything descriptive about my day-by-day activities for that period. Let’s take a moment to try and sum up what staying here is all about.

The main building

To start with, it’s not a spa. There’s no luxury, no pampering and no sense of being gently cosseted and surrounded by the glitterati in sequined bath- robes,(though the lady with the high-heeled sling-backs does make an effort.) It’s not a clinic. The doctors and therapists are experts and they’re purists, but all they can do is make suggestions and recommendations. They don’t enforce the rules, and it’s up to you if you prefer to ignore them, but if you do your own thing, you shouldn’t expect the best results.

Soren and Ali

It’s a rare mix of personalities. Thank goodness I had Søren and Steini (Holland and Iceland) next door. A couple of guys slightly younger than me who were on the same flight from Dubai. We arrived together and no we’re staying at the same hotel in Calicut before flying back to Europe. Then there was Ali, the water engineer from Oman, who was another great bloke to spend time with. The three of us often chatted and compared notes, which was refreshing in an 80% female environment. That’s the sort of gender ration that you just have to face up to if you’re a man and you do this sort of whacky semi-spiritual stuff. If I hadn’t met up with these three guys, my month would have been very hard work.

The location is not in itself a holiday destination. With typical Indian entrepreneurial spirit, the website and literature explain that trips to the Game Reserve and the city of Mysore can be arranged – and the staff will do so willingly and ensure you enjoy your day out. But those are not mainstream activities. You will probably have to rearrange your treatment schedule (which consumes most of every typical day here.) And if you do go out for the day you still need to think about your diet and medication. If you want to do the sights it would make more sense to do them as a separate part of your trip, before or after coming to AYV. On the other hand, when there’s a religious festival locally, the staff will rearrange everything to involve the AYV guests and personnel so that everyone feels part of the local community. A local festival is scheduled a couple of days after my departure, and they’d arranged white clothing for everyone, made-to-measure at a nominal cost of €5 per person. Everyone would join in the local procession carrying brass trays decked with flowers. That would have been a truly unique opportunity to experience something you don’t get with any tour operator.

On the other hand, the location is one I found totally seductive. AYV is undeniably in the middle of nowhere. There are tiny jungle stores in walking distance where schoolchildren can buy sweets and families can buy rice, dried pulses and other essentials, and if you walk along the river bank to the rope-drawn ferry across to Kuvula Island, there’s a little stall selling bottles of soft drinks and sticky cakes (which you won’t buy if you’re following doctor’s orders, but the location is very photogenic!) Apart from that, it’s a half-hour drive to Katikulam where you can find plumbers and ironmongers, agricultural suppliers, a juice bar, fabric shops and even an internet café with a slow web connection.

This is Kerala and it’s nature in the wild. At night-time you can hear the scrabble of the monkeys on the roof, or even the trumpeting of an elephant in the woods, and if you choose the right day to walk upstream, you’ll find the crocodile basking in the sun on a mud-flat.

AYV is not a luxury resort, and the amenities are relatively undeveloped or minimal. In the relaxation area by the main gate you can unwind to the constant splash, ripple and babble of the river below – but the loungers are falling apart and you can rip your clothes on a loose nail or spear your finger with a splinter from the rustic bamboo. The only other seating area is up on the dining-room balcony, but that’s primarily a dining area – not a relaxation area. Consequently you have only your verandah, which is cool and shaded (both plusses and minuses on that score ) and it can be solitary if you’re not located in a part of the estate where other guests are likely to stop by for a chat.

The accommodation is basic, almost to the point of being primitive. It’s certainly spacious – my room is something like 9m x 7m but it is dark-panelled with bamboo ply, it has a dark red tiled floor and is lit by a few low-energy bulbs on un-shaded lamp-holders that are fixed to the walls. This makes for a rather dingy environment. There are no coat-hangers because there is no hanging-space anyway, and it is almost impossible to see things on the shelving that is provided for storing clothing. The bed is large, and the thin mattress makes it not just firm, it’s relatively hard – but this is a gift to anyone with a weak back who has suffered (as I have) from too many soft, overstuffed hotel beds. There’s a western-style loo, and a shower that is usually powerful, plentiful and hot. There’s a small mirror over the hand-basin which is (as they ALWAYS are) fixed below eye level so any full-sized male has to stoop to shave. I can handle most of this, but the bed-linen is awful: a lumpy duvet that seems to be stuffed with kapok and is covered with multi-coloured floral patterns, giving a sad reflection of a distinct lack of attention to important details.

I am being deliberately critical to ensure that readers are not totally seduced by my overall enthusiasm because none of the above negatives was a real problem for me. The over-riding positive factor about being here is the staff. Nothing is too much trouble, from the gardeners and cleaners to the treatment staff and the front desk, and the doctors and yoga-master: everyone is smiles and helpfulness. In the kitchen, the two women who prepare the food take enormous pride in their work, whether it’s the minimalist meals on the Weight Management programme, or the traditional spread for Sunday lunch. Yes, of course it’s different, but it’s fresh and varied, and if you have a catholic palate and are open to tasting new flavours, you will discover some delicious new tastes.

You might just come here just because you’re enthusiastic about yoga, you might be curious about Ayurveda, or you might have a definite objective. I came here for a purpose, and it was not to visit a spa, resort or holiday destination. Nor was it to poke around dusty shops or watch the monkeys in the jungle, though these have been added bonuses.  If you think about coming here, you need to ask yourself two related questions, and be quite clear about your answers:

Why do I want to come here, and what do I want to achieve?

One last stroll down the lane

No more vomiting, no more stomach ache and diarrhoea. 

One final stroll down the lane in the early morning light, then off to Calicut after breakfast.

I sorted out the packing and I think I'll sneak in under the weight limit and I gave away some of my old clothes to the staff.

A fortnight ago I could barely stumble to the fork in the road, a couple of hundred metres down the track, but this morning I was barely thinking about walking, it was easy and relaxed as I strode along.

It was around 6.30 and people were just starting to stir. In many homes the front door was open and I could glimpse through to the television early morning show flickering on the set in the sitting room. 

Farmer with his milk

Milk collection point

The clerk at the dairy depot was waiting for the early-rising farmers to bring in the yield from their treasured one or two cows, and everyone had a cheery good-morning for the big Englishman with his hiking poles and camera.

It was still misty as I followed the track across the irrigated fields past the stand-pipe with its designer tap... 

Driving his home-made car
 

Designer bathroom fittings

...past the boy with his home-made car and 

...past the lily-pond with the exquisite lotus flowers.

Lotus flowers

The jungle on either side constantly revealed new treasures,

...a glimpse of pale pink flowers framed by banana trees and palms, 

then a rubber plantation, silent and mysterious in the mist, with the collection tins nailed to the trees waiting for the new season’s tapping

Rubber plantation in the morning mist

I climbed up the slope to the estate and looked back now that the mist had cleared and knew this was a view I would remember – and that I would also know that early morning walks are a great way to clear the head and plan the day, one of the guiding principles of Ayurveda.

Looking back from the estate down the lane I followed

Rejuvenation therapy

Three great guys - the massage therapists

These guys know my body pretty well by now. They have seen it lying on their massage table every day for three and a half weeks and they’ve done their best to reshape it. They know how to beat my back and stomach so the bruises don’t show – one of those techniques said to be taught by the North Korean secret police to Third World security forces around the globe. 

I am joking, of course, just joking, but only just! 

Sometimes I lay there thinking “- what in heaven’s name am I doing here...?” while they persuaded me to eat or drink some vile concoction or lie still, breathing deeply while they injected me from the rear. Today was said to be luxurious relaxation, but it wasn’t long before I began to wonder if it was all some sort of charade that they staged for their amusement.

They sat me down on a stool and started to attack my head. It could have been a massage, but it incorporated some pretty hefty blows to the skull and full-bodied side-swipes. Smiling all the while, the therapists then took handfuls of warm, gritty mud and started to massage it into my scalp. After a couple of minutes I looked like the butt of the joke in some scene of slapstick clowning, and while I waited for the doctor to burst through the door with a custard pie in each hand, the second therapist produced a large banana leaf and a ribbon of tape and proceeded to shape this into a crown which he tied around my head. Fortunately there are no mirrors in the treatment room.

I eyed the two guys with suspicion and expected one of them to crack up with the Hindi or Malayalam equivalent of “Got You! April Fool!” but their expressions remained serious and stern. When I asked what happened next they explained that I would now have a full body massage, and the liquid used would be a smooth puree of rice that had been cooked in milk for 48 hours with 5 different herbs. Could I still take them seriously? Smothered in herbal rice pudding and have it massaged into most – if not all – of my crevices...?

So I climbed onto the massage table and they set to, stimulating an indescribably uncomfortable sensation as the sticky, slimy liquid was smoothed over my entire body and pummelled in with herbal bags for half an hour. Later I found out they were absolutely right, this slushy liquid did do wonders for my skin but even when they rinsed it off and left me lying on a dangerously slippery massage table, I still wondered if they were having me on.

Then I realised that if they left the banana leaf on my head, then it was probably a joke, but when they removed it and gently shampooed the mud out of my hair, I realised that this really had been their genuine rejuvenation treatment.

So now you know. 

Not sure if I look or feel any younger, though.

Negative attitudes and positive thinking

The river in the early morning mist

Day Four of the 5-day enema programme. 

I was in an angry mood this morning, and I think it started with my camera. A few years ago I bought a high quality Nikon digital SLR as I felt it was time to graduate from my beloved Pentax 35mm. But I find the Nikon infuriating. All its supposed manual options are so complicated to invoke that it is obviously the work of engineers trying to see how much technology they can cram into a camera, rather than the work of enthusiasts producing equipment that will respond with intuitive flexibility. What I hate most is that I now have a creeping sense of senile incompetence. I love photography and in 1965 I was a prizewinner in the Pentax World Photographic competition. I want to shoot more prize-worthy pictures, but technology is defeating me. Most of the photos in this blog have been shot on my Nokia phone because it’s so unobtrusive and convenient. I’m very tempted to sell the SLR and go for something much smaller and with simpler controls. 

We’ll see.

Looking downstream

I spent an hour this morning fumbling with the camera, trying to get the right photo of the river in the early morning mist, then I stomped into breakfast in full a Victor Meldrew Grumpy Old Man mood and sat down with the newspaper at the “Silent Table.” As I mentioned earlier, Ayurveda teaches the importance of meals both in terms of content and in terms of the dining process, as part of the treatment and I studiously avoid the giggling gaggle of loud women (and their male acolytes) who take over part of the dining-room balcony both physically and vocally at every mealtime. They were all there this morning- but I’ll delete the descriptions rather than receive hate-mail in a week or two. So, Botox Brunette, Alpine Technologist and Fearsome Fashionista, you shall all remain anonymous and your idiosyncrasies shall be kept secret.

I sat with the newspaper folded to the Sudoku and fumed silently at all the things that were annoying me about many of the other guests. The critics who insisted that the food on their tray couldn’t possibly be healthy or appropriate to their condition, the self-diagnosers who exchanged their herbal hot water for coffee; the moaners who complained about the bitter medicines, the whingers who couldn’t possibly face the prospect of vomiting as part of the treatment, and the whiners who similarly challenged the need for medicinal enemas. And the beds were too hard, and there was nowhere to sit, and the paths hadn’t been paved properly, and there weren’t any shops, and, and, and... So it went on, waves of discontented discussion that were getting to me and depressing me.

Later, after my morning massage, I had my daily consultation with the doctor who asked the question I didn’t want to hear: 

“So how is your mood today...?”  

I pondered for a moment and then let rip with a passionate denunciaton of my fellow guests. This junior doctor has a charming way of getting to the bottom of things and she smiled warmly. 

“You are right and you are doing fine, and you shouldn’t let them influence you. You are letting their negative energy overwhelm your positivity.”

Simple, obvious and clearly the right answer. She continued, 

“Just go and sit by the river, or write your blog, or read a book. Don’t concern yourself with what other people are doing, focus on your own treatment and your own cure and you’ll be fine.” 

So, duly chastened by her magisterial tone, I put my camera away; I relaxed in the armchair on the verandah, took my laptop and found peace in the pleasure of writing.

What I’ve been learning here has been about all aspects of life, and this new awareness is worth even more than what the experience has been doing to my body. In the doctor’s paraphrased words of wisdom: 

“The world is very negative, and a positive attitude is very vulnerable in a negative world. The slightest whiff of negative energy can throw you off balance. Don’t let it affect you, focus on your own positive thoughts.”

I now remember the controversial advice someone once gave me:

What other people think of you is none of your business.

Equally, I must be consistent and add that what I think of them is my stuff, and totally my own stuff. Except that to accept this would verge on tolerance – which, as my children will endorse, is not one of my obvious traits. 

It’s been a tough few days; it’s tiring and there’s more to come. At the end of it, I hope I can climb out of this mood.

So, what is Ayurveda...?

Yes, you’re quite right, this piece ought to have appeared a month ago so that you’d not be wondering what this blog was all about, and then the posts would follow in a nice orderly, logical sequence like well-planned chapters of a book. Well, I wanted to get my head round it myself, and today I had the added benefit of a long chat with the yoga master. And he’s an interesting chap: trained as a conventional pharmacist then drawn into yoga initially through curiosity and a bit of family background (he’s a Brahmin – the caste of the priesthood.) Then he went to an Ashram to study yoga and now spends some of his working day quietly balanced on his head.

The Ayurveda texts – the Vedas – are written in Sanskrit, a language where nouns and verbs can carry intensely complex nuances of interpretation, making it difficult for anyone not a Sanskrit scholar even to begin to study Ayurveda. The word itself comes from Ayur - Life, and Veda – Knowledge, so the phrase the science of life gives a pretty good steer as to what Ayurveda is all about. It’s not a branch of medicine, and it’s not a religion. The best description would be that Ayurveda is a treatise on how to live. Its origins are, predictably, shrouded in the mists of time. The artists’ impressions that illustrate the stories of the history of Ayurveda show Indian gurus meeting blue-faced strangers at a sort of convention in the foothills of the Himalayas, five thousand years ago. This is manna from heaven for New-Age hippies like me, [- They came down to Earth to visit us and share their wisdom.] For the sceptics, the short answer is that nobody knows how the gurus gained access to this knowledge, and the fact that modern scientific knowledge is showing more and more of Ayurvedic concepts to be right on the money, makes the whole thing another of those spooky mysteries.

So, if it’s not a health-care philosophy, why do people come here to Kerala in search of  – for want of a better word – a cure? The answer is that the central principle of Ayurveda is that healthy life comes from achieving a balance between the three Doshas or universal elements of life. These are firstly Kapha [Water & Earth] – the physical body, secondly there’s Vata [Air & Space] – to move and transport, and thirdly there’s Pitta [Fire] - to digest and convert into energy. Ayurveda teaches that life goes along smoothly when these three elements are in balance and that all kinds of illnesses are signs that they are not in balance.
Yoga fits into Ayurveda naturally because of its emphasis on breathing and balance, and the clear parallel between physical balance and mental balance. So, in short, people come here to clean it all out and get some equilibrium back into their lives.
Another teaching is that there are three levels of human awareness. The lowest is closed and seeing nothing; the middle level is active, busy and preoccupied; the highest level is attentiveness, seeing things as they really are and not being drawn into being so busy that you don’t get the bigger picture. People often move up the scale in the course of their lives, gradually becoming more aware. In simple terms, to use a phrase I learned on one of my Personal Development courses – it’s the difference between a Human Being and a Human Doing. Many of us spend most of our lives as Human Doings... and never realise our potential as Human Beings.

For anyone who wants to explore Ayurveda there is a great deal to learn. There are detailed teachings about interpreting the workings of the body (the doctors here demand graphic details of my bowel movements every day.) Then there are relationships. Ayurveda considers a solitary existence to be abnormal and places a heavy emphasis on achieving emotional stability through a settled relationship with a long-term partner.

While some of the methods may seem whacky, obscure or even downright ridiculous, the results are there to experience. As an example, I’ve had one minor medical problem for years, and my doctors both in Kent and in Italy have shrugged their shoulders in ignorance and told me I’d have to live with it. Here in Kerala, it took less than 10 days for the problem to be eradicated – hopefully once and for all.

The best diet uses fresh, local produce

What happens next...?

Of course, it’s one thing to follow a truly healthy routine here in rural Kerala, but it will be a challenge to create something similar that will effectively continue the treatment back home in Italy. Fortunately, diet will not be a major problem as the doctors were lecturing on this last week and explained that every country has developed a national diet that is appropriate to its climate and agricultural potential. Vegetarianism is appropriate to Kerala, it may well not be appropriate in many parts of Europe. Curries with rice and chapattis are not compulsory; they are the local version of combining carbohydrate with vitamins and protein. Every cuisine has its local variation, so pasta can replace rice for carbohydrates, and olives replace coconuts for oil. At home, fruit and vegetables are trucked up from the South every Sunday to the local market, so everything is seasonal and delicious. As far as meat and fish are concerned, I was getting to dislike the tasteless battery chickens, and look forward to experimenting with more Adriatic fish on the menu as well as the chick-peas and beans for which the region is famous.

But what shall I do about coffee? At home in Italy I have grown to love my caffe corretto dark, black, strong and laced with a dash of Grappa all for the sum of just one Euro. Well, one a day won’t be excessive and – as the vedic texts insist – what’s important is to keep everything in balance.

Three heads, four Hail Marys and prayers five times a day

All things bright and beautiful

I mentioned the devotional dedication to be found on every Ayurvedic prescription, and that may well have grated with some readers who don’t want to read about what they consider superstitious nonsense, but I think it’s something worth exploring for the light it casts on Hinduism and ordinary human attitudes to life, values and morals. The Hindu religion is crowded with a host of major and minor deities, gods-with-a-small-g. The first time I was exposed to this, I found it all very weird, the multiple limbs and heads, the anthropomorphic snakes and elephants, and the faces with skin tones of a lurid shade of blue. My home upbringing was church-going, through Sunday School and confirmation classes. Then, with proselytising zeal, I became quite involved with evangelical Christianity in my teenage years. Later this mellowed into a broader spirituality, but I still warm to Protestant Christianity. The peace and splendour of Lincoln Cathedral – next door to which I lived and worked many happy years – still holds a special place in my heart today.

I have continued to investigate and embrace different aspects of spirituality, and my recent studies have been as a member of a group that focuses on aspects of psychic communication. Part of our learning has revolved around the gods of the Egyptians, Greeks and Romans, who were similar but in no way identical to the Hindu deities. The more I investigated this, the more I came to terms with the idea that these were not so much divine creators in the Old Testament tradition of God Almighty, but rather archetypes or idealised concepts that each related to particular area of life. Moving on from the basic tenets of this analysis, it then makes perfect sense to venerate an ideal or to appreciate the particular area of perfection that is embodied in a particular so-called god. In many ways it is not dissimilar to the Catholic concept of particular saints taking on areas of specialisation and responsibility – Saint Christopher as the patron saint of travellers, for example.

It also follows that these gods-with-a-small-g become like conventional thetrical characters – the hero, the villain, the heroine, the innocent, the wise man, the fool - and so forth. In my mind they and their adventures are often representations of an ideal, and familiar reminders of different human traits, qualities or, for that matter, human failings. I apologise to those who know more about Hinduism for this gross over-simplification, but I don’t like my beliefs to be too complicated, and I can handle this basic idea, so I hope it helps others to whom it’s all rather confusing.

The lovable, friendly, jumbo-god Ganesha

Given this premise, I feel no sense of alienation from the ubiquitous pictures and statuettes of all manner of gods that are to be found everywhere around India, but on the other hand, I abhor the crucifixes that are to be found (by law) in every school, post office and government building back in Italy. The happy, smiling elephant-god Ganesha is a character whom I always find welcoming and cheerful – I can’t say the same for representations of the Roman instrument for inflicting a slow and painful death that has been adopted as the universal symbol of Christianity.

It’s both humbling and heart-warming to see the way the religions co-exist in Kerala. Here on the estate, early one morning, long before dawn, the priest conducted Puja (prayers) on the open area designated for meetings and ceremonies. This followed a complex ritual around an open hearth piled with flaming timbers, and the whole area was decorated with flower petals and rushes.

On the road to town there’s a large Roman Catholic convent, and further on a teaching hospital also run under Catholic auspices, while the poster across the road from the hospital calls people to come and try the Pentecostal church. No more than a couple of miles further and there’s a large mosque with a school attached. Despite the history of the partition, and separation of Pakistan at the time of Independence, India today really does promote and project its multi-faith creed. Furthermore, in a population of a billion, sectarianism is not a simple demarcation into major faiths because loyalties and associations splinter into hundreds of local bonds, tribal affiliations and caste connections. This probably helps to limit the effectiveness of religious squabbles because there can rarely be just one, simple, black and white differentiation with so many diverse motives involved.

By and large, life in India is well-integrated and harmonious with only occasional, isolated flare-ups. Furthermore, there is one substantial benefit to having so many religions freely following their practices:  -  with so many religions there are so-o-o many extra religious holidays to celebrate!

You’re going to put it WHERE ?

Panchakarma is one of the eight disciplines of Ayurvedic medicine. Others include geriatrics, paediatrics, ENT, gynaecology and so forth. To the Western mind, Panchakarma is the odd one out that we don’t see in Western medicine, because it means cleansing. Panchakarma incorporates the Hindi word for 5 – panch – because Panchakarma consists of five cleansing procedures.

AYV (AyurvedaYogaVillas.com) is one of the few establishments that offer the real thing. Elsewhere throughout Kerala, Indian hoteliers are not stupid, and if tourists want to sample an exotic massage or a short course of treatment then they are not going to turn away trade. Consequently centres offering Ayurvedic treatments appear everywhere, and most resorts and hotels in Kerala offer programmes from single sessions to a 1-week programme or longer. But an Ayurvedic treatment isn’t like a massage at the Beauty Spa of the Taj Hotel in Bombay, nor is it like a massage in the back streets of Bangkok, and nor is it like a muscle massage by the physio’ at the local Sports Centre. In Ayurvedic terms, a massage is just one element in a complex course and should not be taken out of context or used in isolation. So, since most people wouldn’t want to invest 28 days in a serious course of unconventional treatment, very few of those who sample a taste of Ayurveda actually experience a true Panchakarma.

Through doctor's window

The first treatment in classic Panchakarma builds up to the vomiting therapy. The second treatment combines medicines administered through nasal drops with different types of massage and the liquid drip across the forehead. My final treatment – next weekend - will be a powerful laxative after which I will enjoy a couple of days of relaxing “rejuvenation therapy.” While my personal interpretation of such therapy would almost certainly involve peeled grapes and dusky maidens, I fear that here at AYV it will probably incorporate more of the disgusting herbal potions that the doctors here like to prescribe.

So what of phases 3 & 4, you may be wondering? The doctor explained that these steps would continue to work on breaking down the fat cells in my stomach and back areas by two methods. One would be a vigorous massage being pounded with muslin pads stuffed with a herbal mixture and heated in a wok on the hob. As I now know, the therapists don’t hold back with this and I’m surprised I’m not covered in bruises. The other method, he explained, would be the application of very powerful decoctions that would get straight into the digestive system through the wall of the large intestine. I could see that this latter procedure made wonderful sense; I could envisage it as a sort of internal liposuction process, and I warmed to the idea of my stomach gently melting away without any further effort on my part.

Until I asked how this process worked.

“By enema. We introduce the decoction through the anal region.”

Stunned silence.

“You’re going to put it WHERE?” I asked, timidly. (Yes, I can do timid.)

And in his gentle inimitable way the doctor explained that I would have soft, manipulative stomach massages, then on Days 1, 3 and 5 I would have a small enema of oil, and on days 2 and 4 the enema would be a up to three quarters of a litre (heck! -that’s a full bottle of wine!) of heavily medicated solution incorporating mustard, pepper.... but you just don’t want to know, do you? It’s too much information, just too much information....

That’s quite enough blogging about medical processes, the starvation, the painful yoga and the sour, bitter, disgusting medicines. Tomorrow I’ll see if I can knock out a piece on something harmless like traditional Kerala dance, or the houseboats on the inland waterways, or harvesting peppercorns and other spices. I’ll find a topic that’s a bit less graphic. I apologise, dear readers, for even thinking about describing this part of Panchakarma

It was totally thoughtless of me; - I mean NOBODY would go on holiday to have, well, you know...