Margie T Logarta arrived with the monsoon rains at one of the world’s most charming enclaves, eager to go vegetarian and experience intensive Ayurveda
Kerala comes back to me so vividly during the nightly ritual of soothing my stressed scalp with the emerald-coloured coconut oil from Dr Vipin Kumar of Divya Spa at The Leela Kempinski Kovalam Beach.
I knead in the vicuous liquid with slow and deliberate motions that I remembered my lithe therapist Anija doing. Of course, I am nowhere near her expert ministrations, but this is as good as it gets in the real world. Kerala was a dream I wish I had never woken up from.
Many destinations market themselves with some clever tagline to reflect their memorable charms. Whoever coined the monicker “God’s own country” for Kerala hit gold because this sparkler in South India’s diadem boasts attractions, if not found anywhere else in the world, are unique in their own right – idyllic backwaters that trace a meandering path throughout the countryside, nourishing crops and lives; a mighty coastline dotted with pristine beaches that stretch as far as the eye can see; vibrant cultural and religious traditions dating back thousands of years ago but are still practised with the same spontaneity and fervour that fired long-ago folk.
I arrived in Kerala quite late in June and so had the monsoon rains, which was a vast relief to a country that year in and year out experiences vast swings in temperature and natural calamities of Biblical proportions. This October, the rain that farmers had been praying for to save their farms turned deadly and relentless at six times their normal level reportedly leaving behind the most severe flooding and devastation witnessed in a century.
But when we visited, it was a light pitter patter that beat a steady tattoo on the window panes of the hotel car hastening me to a resort, renowned for its Ayurvedic spa. And though the rain seemed to fall heavily only at night when I was fast asleep, and the days of my visit generally sunny, there were instances when a sharp breeze would sting my cheeks as if the wet season was reminding me it was very much in the air.
“You’ve come at the right time,” the congenial specialist Dr Vipin said, when I remarked how I relished the scenes of hurrying dark clouds and the eventual downpour that followed. Apparently, monsoon weather primes the body in such a way it becomes more receptive to Ayurvedic therapies. As for me, I was receptive to anything that meant total calm and escape from work pressures and deadlines. Hence, I agreed to commit to a five-day Ayurvedic detox programme, going vegetarian and all.
For the uninitiated, Ayurveda roughly translated means the “science of life” – a 5,000-year-old discipline to be exact, treating not only the physical, but also the mental and spiritual. “We do not just address the symptoms. We find out what the root cause is. We treat the body as a whole,” Dr Vipin explained.
He went on to tell me about Ayurveda’s basic premise that human beings are made up of three humours or doshas – Vata (wind) representing air and earth, Pitta (bile) representing fire and water, and Kapha (phlegm) representing water and earth – with each corresponding to various body parts. A loss of balance between these doshas results in illness or lethargy.
After a detailed consultation with Dr Vipin, I was pronounced a combination Pitta-Kapha, with Pitta dominating, meaning I was highly intelligent, creative and also restless (I knew that); I was fond of sweets (I knew that); and I had trouble losing weight (boy, did I know that).
Given my whirlwind stay of five days – results of an Ayurveda treatment are more visible after a week’s duration and even better after one month – Dr Vipin had to work fast. I had a passle of toxins that accumulated over the preceding months and needed to be shed. This would be achieved, he said, through a series of therapies, conducted at the same time each day (late afternoon), consisting of herbal oil massage, dry scrubs, application of warmed herbal poultices, medicated milk baths and the wonderful Shirodhara therapy where Ayurvedic oils are gently poured from a certain height over the forehead, which is said to be the location of our sacred “Third Eye”.
From the doctor’s diagnosis, Senior Sous Chef Thomas Joseph back at the hotel kitchens customised my daily meals featuring South Indian selections such as moong dal, stuffed gobi (cauliflower) and onion paratha (using skimmed milk yoghurt), mixed lentil stew with vegetables and barley, coconut fried rice with vegetables, grilled broccoli with tumeric and carrot thoran soup, absorbed with lashings of cumin- or orange bark-flavoured water.
While waiting for my evening sessions at the spa, Debasmita of The Leela’s corporate office and I roamed the countryside and took in the sights that have made Kerala figure time and time again in glossy magazines and coffee-table tomes. The backwaters of Poovar (meaning “stream of flowers”, a name bestowed by one of the kings of Travancore) are just an hour or so drive away from Kovalam and make for a relaxing day trip. After not having seen such lushness in a long time, my eyes started to ache, believe it or not.
Not often visited by foreigners is Mannarsala in Alleppey, a four-hour journey from Trivandrum. The ancient temple glorifies Sri Nagaraja, King of the Serpents, and draws pilgrims from all over India for a two-day festival in October. The main offering to the deity is salt and tumeric to remove illnesses linked to the Sarpa dosha. The pooja (worship) is performed by a priestess.
On the dot at 5pm daily, I would present myself to my therapist Anija, whose gazelle-like figure and shy demeanour belied her hands of steel. After her delicious head massages, I was ready to be led to the wooden plank where after a series of procedures, she slathered me with Ayurvedic oils till I was good enough to baste. The finale was the Shiodhara.
If Nirvana could have another name, that would be Ayurveda.
