A Few Days in India’s Wayanad Disrict

Month

October 2017

Sun
29 ^th

A Few Days in India’s Wayanad Disrict

Posted by Joel Gales - Comments Off

tea leave pickers on a Wayanad tea plantation — Local women harvesting tea leaves

After suffering through an Ayurvedic treatment that not only required me to adhere to a limited diet but also to restrict my exercise to gentle walking for several weeks, I was ready to get out and stretch my legs. The mountain country of the Western Ghats a few hours southeast was calling me, so as soon as I was released from my doctor’s care, I hopped a train south to make my way toward the hill station of Wayanad.

To take me from the coastal train station in Calicut (also known but never called by its new non-Imperialist name Kozhikode) to the interior, I had hired a private car for about $30. The mountain pass that led to Wayanad had nine notorious hairpin turns that I had been warned about with no little bit of anxiety from my previous home stay host, and I was glad that I had arranged for a car once I saw the steep windy road that traversed the mountain range. I dared not look down the entire time, but instead rehearsed my mantra, “The driver is a professional, he knows what he’s doing,” over and over. That same mantra came in handy when I departed the area by way of the local bus back to Calicut instead of a private car. I had wanted to save some money, and the bus back to the train station was less than $2, but I spent the entire time questioning if my life was not worth more than $28 as I held onto the metal bar on top of the seat in front of me with whitened knuckles while the driver split lanes on blind curves all the way down the mountain. No one else on the bus seemed to be affected, but I frequently had to remind myself to breathe.

Despite the difficult passage, I’d do it all over again for a chance to glimpse an Asiatic elephant in the wild or to see the mists pooled like lakes in the valleys of the mountain ranges burn off as I ascended one of the most famous peaks in the region, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had gone for trekking, mainly, which is a relatively expensive solo activity, especially as I was not interested in squandering precious hours of my visit sitting on long bus rides. Also there is the issue of being a lone female in a strange, non-urban area, so I had to hire guides and drivers to accompany me on my adventures. While Wayanad seemed like a big splurge at the time, my costs for activities averaged around $40 a day, and I saw some beautiful sights I will not soon forget.

What I did:

Phantom Rock, so named for its phantom-skull shape

Sunday
Through my home stay host, I had arranged for a tuk-tuk driver to pick me up late morning, and for a mere 700 rs ($10.50) he drove me around for the rest of the day, primarily to see the famous pre-historic carvings at the Eddakal Caves. Once there, the admission cost was negligible, but there was a steep hike of about 1 km and then lots of stairs to the entrance to the caves. I saw more than one grandma being pushed up by helpful relatives on the way, but the climb was not that bad and the exquisitely preserved carvings (circa 6000 BC) were a fine reward. The views from the top were also spectacular and made great selfie opportunities, although no photography of the carvings inside the cave was allowed.

On the way to the caves, the driver made a brief stop at the unusual natural formation called Phantom Rock, which is an easy half kilometer walk up a hill. At the top there are lovely views of the two valleys on either side of the ridge as well as of the rock itself.

Plenty to look at if the game gets boring at Krishnagiri Stadium

The locals are very proud of their impressive new Krishnagiri Stadium, which is the highest altitude stadium devoted solely to cricket, and my driver was keen to show it to me on the way home. It a beautiful if not somewhat incongruously located place to watch sports, and it draws teams and fans from all over Kerala. If you are in the neighborhood, it is worth a quick drive up to see the players practicing with the stunning mountain peaks framing the lush green fields. Almost makes me wish I understood cricket.

Monday
My driver arrived around 10 am for a full day that would start with a visit to Soochipara Falls in the morning and then a long drive to Mulanga Wildlife Santuary for the afternoon Jeep safari. We had a lot of ground to cover, so he told me not to take too much time hiking into the falls. Luckily, the path to Soochipara is not nearly as strenuous or as crowded as the one to Eddakal Caves, so it was easy to make it to the pools at the foot of the falls in about 10 minutes. There was a slippery climb into the pools but the water was clean and cold, and luckily my driver had prepared for me to return soaked after jumping in with all of my clothes on (this ain’t California, folks), which is almost required for all except for the fussiest visitors.

After my brief dip in the “healing waters” of the falls, we had enough time to stop by the Ananthanatha Swamy Jain Temple on the way to the wildlife sanctuary. The stone carvings surrounding the 13th century temple are in excellent condition, and although visitors are not allowed into the inner sanctum of the temple, I was able to walk around the raised platform surrounding the building to get a clear view inside. The entire structure is made of granite, and it’s considered one of the most important Jain temples in Kerala.

My driver had told me not to take too much time at the temple as we were aiming to arrive at Mulanga Wildlife Sanctuary by 2:30 pm, which was half an hour before the safari tickets went on sale. There are only two opportunities per day to go on Jeep safari, and, as it is the only way tourists are allowed to access the sanctuary, the tickets usually sell out right away.

After we arrived, my driver sent me to the ticket office where there were about twenty people already waiting to queue up. Once the ticket window opened, there was a lot of jostling and some fights over line cutting, but I politely held my ground until I reached the window. Being solo, I was put with a two-Jeep group composed of a couple of families traveling together, and they didn’t seem too happy about having me along, but I just smiled a lot and acted oblivious to their obvious disgust as I trespassed on their family affair.

One of the gentlemen in the group spoke English pretty well, and he asked me the usual question of where my husband was. “I’m alone,” I responded, whereupon the women in the group started to giggle and talk among themselves in Malayalam, and while I couldn’t understand what they were saying, I got the gist. I started to make up stories in my head about what I was going to say the next time the dreaded, “Where is your husband?” question popped up, but I didn’t have too much time to ruminate on my answer because we saw our first elephant, six-foot tusks and all, as we rounded the corner.

elephant at Mulanga Wildlife Sanctuary in Wayanad District, India — Maybe if I hide behind this tree the humans won’t see me…

Our guide slowed the Jeep to take a closer look, and suddenly the beautiful beast decided he’d had enough of our staring and, more quickly than you would ever think, started to charge straight toward us. Our driver immediately threw the Jeep into gear to speed us away, but for a thrilling moment it looked like the elephant was going straight for the ladies in the back of the vehicle. After that, there was no more complaining from them about how there “weren’t enough animals,” and the adrenaline rush I felt lasted until well after the tour was over.

By the time the ride was over, we had seen three elephants, but I heard that we were lucky. There were also some spotted deer and a few jungle bees nests, but the likelihood of seeing a tiger or some other big game animal was almost nil, which was probably for the best. Our guide told us that the best time to go was January through June after the monsoon was long past and the water deep within the jungle had become scarce enough to drive the animals toward watering holes close to the road the Jeeps followed.

Tuesday
The highest peak within a reasonable distance of Kalpetta is Chembra Peak, and it was second on my list of places to go after Mulanga despite the hefty price tag of almost $50 for a half day tour. I could have save $15 by not hiring a guide, but I wanted to be on the safe side while climbing in unknown territory.

There are only 20 groups let in per day, and each group can number no more than 10 people, so it never gets too crowded, but weekdays are still best for escaping the crowds. The park opened at 7 am, so we got there shortly afterward to beat the crowds as well as the climbing sun and temperatures. The entrance fee is 1500 rs ($23) per group for foreigners, so I had to pay the entire fee because I saw no other obviously non-Indian tourists at the gate when I approached, and my annoying guide said we should not wait, although I suspected he was hurrying me so he could try to talk me into booking an afternoon tour with him.

In hindsight, I should have ditched him at the gate. The walk up was strenuous but only a few kilometers each way, and there were park employees posted at regular intervals to make sure visitors kept to the well marked stone paths as well as groups of outdoorsy tourist couples and families, primarily from Europe, the U.S., and Bangalore.

The views on the way up were so lovely that I must have taken fifty photos as the early morning mists burned off to reveal miles of tea plantations in the valleys. There were flying squirrels in the trees, beautiful birds, and butterflies almost in swarms. If it weren’t for the jabbering of my guide, Ramesh,who was as short on knowledge of the flora and fauna as he was long on annoying small talk, the gentle breeze blowing through the tree tops would have been the only sound on the climb up.

“Where is your husband?” he asked, finally getting to my favorite question after “How old are you?” and “How much money do you make in your job?”

“He’s dead,” I responded, hearkening back to the imaginary life I’d created for myself during the socially awkward ride through Muthanga.

“No, no,” he protested, “when this happened?”

“A long time ago, don’t worry about it,” I said, beginning to feel sorry I had lied because now I had to extend the story to respond to his further prying.

“Was it when you were pregnant?” he asked quietly, his voice quavering and his eyes moist.

“No, Ramesh, can we please talk about something else now?” I finally snapped at him, vowing to stick with what amounts to an ugly truth for so many people in this country, at least in the less urbanized areas: I’m divorced.

We managed to get up to the peak and the famous “heart-shaped lake,” but Ramesh warned me not to go into the water because the elephants were just there a couple days before, and the muddy brown color was not due solely to recent rains. We sat on one of the flat granite rocks that formed a perfect seat for viewing the distant mountains and tea plantations, peaceful for a moment until Ramesh decided it was selfie-time. After I sent him a friend request on Facebook, it seemed he had gathered enough evidence of our meeting to head peacefully back down the mountain with me in the lead, and I had to raise my voice to tell him to stop nagging me about one thing or the other only a few more times on the way down.

For next time:

The following were recommended excursions had I stayed longer:
Kuruva Island
Banasura Dam
Karlad Lake
Pookot Lake
Lakkidi view point
Tholpetty Wildlife Sanctuary

Tip: make the DTPC (District Tourism Promotion Council) your first stop once in Kalpetta. They can give you updated information on tourist places as well as contact information for local guides and tour companies.

Accommodation/Food

Nothing much to recommend here as I was trying to do this pricey area on the cheap. After my short home stay in Kalpetta, I moved up to a decent hotel about 4 km southwest of Kalpetta called Soorya Castle, which had an okay restaurant with hygienically prepared food. The best part was that it was away from the mosques and churches in town, so there was no 5 am wake-up call to prayer or 5:30 am ringing of church bells.

There are tons of restaurants and hotels around Kalpetta for budget travelers, but don’t expect much for your money. The only way to get good food and nice digs is to spend accordingly, and there are plenty of options for luxury resorts with gourmet restaurants out of town, but you will pay handsomely and will also have to spend more on transportation.

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Wed
18 ^th

Amban Heritage House Lunch—Kannur, Kerala

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During my stay at Amban Guest House in Kannur, Kerala, I had the pleasure of Mrs. Shayana’s tutelage during her preparation of a typical Keralan lunch: fresh fried fish, fish sauce, Sambar dal, and a lovely side vegetable dish of turai. Most of the ingredients, except the fish and some spices, were harvested from the organic garden in front of the heritage home. The fish was freshly caught that morning, and Mrs. S hand selected the nicest ones from the back of the monger’s tuk tuk, much to the delight of the stray cat who wisely knows to haunt the kitchen’s back door late mornings.

Sambar Dal

(All vegetables are medium sized unless otherwise noted, and would tend to be called smallish-medium in the US.)

6 oz toor dal (sometimes known as pigeon pea)
2 potatoes, coarsely chopped
2 tomatoes, coarsely chopped
1 onion, coarsely chopped + ¼ onion, chopped medium-fine

sambar dal and fish sauce simmering in pots on the stove top — Sambar dal (upper right) and fish sauce (lower left)

5 lady fingers (okra), ¾” slices
1 carrot, ½” slices
1 baby brinjal (eggplant), quartered then cut into ¾” slices
2 kovakka (ivy gourd), ¾” slices
2-4 green chilis, depending on how much heat you want, sliced lengthwise
2 tsp tamarind soaked in warm water for at least five minutes
1 tsp jeera (cumin) seeds
1/2 c fresh shredded coconut
1 pod garlic
½ tsp fenugreek
Pinch of hing (asafoetida)
1 tsp salt
1 leaf drumstick (Keralan spice that grows on a Drumstick tree)

For the tadka
3 cloves garlic, crushed
2 kashmiri chilis, whole
½ tsp black mustard seeds

Cook dal in pressure cooker with water to cover for 2 whistles. Add coarse chopped onion, tomato, and potato. Add tumeric and salt. Cook for 2 whistles more.

In a separate pot, cover brinjal, kovakka, and green chilis in water and bring to a simmer for five minutes.

While vegetables simmer, heat a small bit of oil in an kadai or heavy bottomed skillet. Add garlic pod, grated coconut, ¼ onion, jeera, and fenugreek; fry over medium heat, stirring often. After roasted coconut mixture turns deep brown and fragrant, remove from heat and add a pinch of hing. Add to a blender with enough water to make a medium-thick soupy blend.

Add 1 spoon coriander powder, 1 spoon red chili powder to simmering vegetables. Cook ten minutes more. Finish off by adding roasted coconut blend to vegetables; add to dal.

Dal Tadka:
A tadka is made by cooking whole spices and aromatics in oil until the fragrance is released.

Heat oil in kadai or iron skillet. Add 3 cloves crushed garlic, 2 kashmiri chilis, and ½ tsp black mustard seeds. Fry until seeds pop. Add to dal and then turn off heat.

Turai

Also known as ridge gourd, this delicious vegetable is good for controlling diabetes and weight loss. It is considered a cooling vegetable in Ayurveda and, as such, is good for balancing Pitta disorders.

3 medium turai
2 green chilis, slit length-wise
⅔ c fresh shredded coconut
½ tsp oil
Salt

Cut turai length-wise; scrape seeds. Chop coarsely. Put in an uncovered pot with a small amount of water and green chilis. Simmer 10 minutes.

Take ⅓ c. coconut and blend with a little water until milky liquid. Press through strainer into turai that is simmering. Simmer five minutes more; add salt to taste plus ½ tsp oil.

Fish Gravy

½ c grated fresh coconut
1 tomato, coarsely chopped
¼ tsp tumeric
1 tsp red chili powder
3 green chilis, split lengthwise

Add coconut to blender with a little water. Add tumeric and red chili; grind until smooth. Add a little tamarind water; grind until smooth. Add ½-1 c. water. Grind again until thin sauce. Reserve 1 glass.

Pour coconut, tamarind water into bowl with chilis and tomato. Blend reserved glass of liquid with ¼ tst jeera. Put on to simmer.

Add fish pieces (about 1 cup) that have been marinated in red chili, salt, and tumeric to liquid. Simmer 10 minutes.

Fish frying, turai simmering, mouth watering.

Fried fish

Marinate fish in chili, tumeric, and salt for at least an hour. Lightly coat an iron pan in oil and fry over medium-high heat for 10 minutes each side.

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Sun
15 ^th

The Treatment: Sneha Paana

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After a week on the prescribed diet, it was time for the main treatment: Sneha Paana, or ingestion of medicated ghee.

Typically, ghee drinking is a form of oleation therapy undertaken in preparation for panchakarma, but at times it is used as the treatment in itself. Philosophically, Dr. Rajah believed in treating his patients with the minimal amount of medicine needed to bring about a cure while incurring minimal cost, which made sense to me from the standpoint of logic and economy: why take two pills when one would do the trick, and why pay for more treatment than you needed. According to him, only about 5% of all patients actually needed panchakarma, and I was not one of them.

His philosophy flies in the face of almost everything I have read about detoxing with panchakarma, which is universally prescribed for practically every medical complaint. I found only one source that spoke of treating with ghee alone, while everything else I read explained that ghee was meant to loosen the toxins from the cells so that the panchakarma treatment could finish the job by flushing them out of the body from one of its exit paths, be that the mouth (vamana), anus (virechana and basti), nose (nasya), or through the skin (rakta mokshana) aided by the use of leeches (yikes!).

When I asked Dr. Raj what happened to the toxins if they were not expelled using panchakarma, he said that toxins cannot be simply pushed out—they must be neutralized. As cow ghee has an affinity for human cells since the time of birth, according to Ayurveda, it neutralizes the toxins and makes the cells receptive once again. He said the 5% of cases where panchakarma was recommended were when people had the sickness lodged deep in their viscera, whether that was the stomach, the small intestine, or the large intestine, and he did not think I had that.

He explained that the lack of receptivity in the cells in my body was what had led to my hypertension. While my systolic (when the valve closes) readings were usually fine, my diastolic (when the valve opened) pressure was high. What happened when my heart tried to circulate fresh, healthy blood into my cells was that it was not fully accepted due to the principal of “like attracts like,” and all the cells in my body were a bunch of Brie-eating, Cabernet-swilling, Nicorette-popping rock stars who stubbornly refused to take in any salubrious substances. Like the naughty teenagers I imagined them to be, they had to be lovingly reconditioned to learn to like the annoyingly clean blood circulating in my body all the time now. According to this rationale, my issues with chronic dryness were due to the same root cause: my bratty, party animal cells were on strike until I consumed something toxic they could relate to.

The Protocol

The saying about how nothing worse will happen to you in the day if you eat a frog first thing in the morning is something I kept remembering as I drank ghee on an empty stomach before sunrise.

As much as the taste disgusted me, I was ready to get the treatment over with so I could get back to a regular diet. At that point, I had been eating my own cooking for a week, and while usually I do not mind that, the struggle of trying to cook Indian food without oil, a full repertoire of spices, or decent cookery was starting to be a drag.

Adding to my eagerness to start the treatment were the promises from Dr. Rajah that it would address all my ailments: the hypertension, my dry skin, and—can we talk?—the constipation that was came with following a diet devoid of insoluble fiber. I had been suffering pretty much the entire week before we started the treatment on October 6, so I happily chugged down the 50 ml of ghee (that’s almost a 1/4 cup) on the first morning.

This ghee was not just ordinary ghee, nutty and golden, like the kind you spoon onto your dal for extra flavor. This was Mahathikthakam Ghrutham, which, if you Google it, is supposed to be good for skin and heart conditions, among other things. In addition to the ghee used a base, there are about twenty different herbs that are infused into the fat, which renders it a greenish color and gives it a terrible smell. And while it was pretty easy to slam the initial 50 ml, Dr. Rajah kept ratcheting up the dosage until by day 4, we were up to 150 ml.

Dr. Rajah had told me that the treatment would probably last five days but could go up to seven. On the fourth day as I stood in front of the sink with the last 50 ml of ghee in my glass, I seriously wondered if I was going to be able to get it down. One of the signs of successful oleation is the inability to think about the ghee without becoming nauseated, and I was there by that morning. I finally was able to finish it by imagining that my daughter had been kidnapped and all I had to do was finish this final shot to get her released. I still almost puked.

As the day wore on, I started to get some of the relief that Dr. Rajah had promised me, and by my fifth bathroom report (it’s flattering in a weird way when your doctor wants to hear about your every “move”), he messaged me back to tell me that the treatment had concluded and that I was to scale back to 25 ml the next morning. Pshaw, 25 ml? Piece of cake.

The Results

For the first few days after the treatment, my skin was absolutely glowing, and much of the dryness has disappeared. My hair also felt moisturized despite not using any conditioner, but there’s also a lot of humidity in the air here, and having recently ingested a pound of butter also may have contributed.

As for my blood pressure, I had my first normal reading (diastolic under 90) in a doctor’s office before we began the medicated ghee therapy, so simply changing my diet was enough to bring it down to acceptable readings. In the days that followed the therapy, my diastolic stayed in the low to mid-80’s, although there was one morning when I woke up with anxiety and got a reading of 120/92. That’s nowhere near the 160/110 I had back in Bombay at the doctor’s, but I’m shooting for optimal blood pressure without the use of drugs that only mask the symptoms. Only time will tell if my diastolic will stay low once I return to enjoying some of my favorite foods in moderation, which was not what I was doing when I arrived in Bombay.

I also had issues with constipation again, and that didn’t clear up until I was back to eating insoluble fiber, mostly from raw apples as they were one of the few sources of high insoluble fiber I could find readily in the small north Keralan town where I was doing the treatment.

Nor has my insomnia abated. Although I typically feel rested when I arise at 3 am as long as I am in bed by 9 pm the night before, it’s sub-optimal to keep that schedule. I have the sort of insomnia that will wake me at 3 am regardless of whether I’ve gone to bed at 9 or 10:30 pm, so I conform to its schedule rather than trying to make it go away by staying up later.

I really wanted for this treatment to work. Dr. Rajah and his wife are committed to giving the best care they can for a minimal price, and they focus on treating people first before asking for their nominal fee. Committed to the cause of updating Ayurveda with modern understanding of metabolic processes, they are warriors against solutions proposed by so many healers, either here in India or abroad, that include over medicating and charging outrageous prices.

The only problem was that the treatment did not have the results I was promised. The doctor has asked me to return for a second treatment in December to instill the benefits, which he assured me would build with time. But I need a better response before I do this again—my no-oil cooking is just not good enough to sustain me for another round.

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Tue
10 ^th

The Re-Set Diet

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With my blood work panel showing everything as normal, Dr. Rajah explained that there were three phases to his treatment. Phase 1 was the preparatory diet in which the digestive fire, or agni, would be stoked so that I would be able to digest the medicated ghee efficiently during phase 2. The ingestion of ghee (Sneha-paana) during phase 2 was the primary treatment, and its purpose was to lubricate the cells in the body in order to dislodge toxins, which are known to have a sticky quality in Ayurveda. It could last from 5-7 days, and having experienced choking down ghee first thing in the morning in preparation for panchakarma, I prayed for the shorter duration.

Following the ghee treatment, the final phase would be a period of recuperation during which I would follow the same diet protocol as in the first phase while gradually re-introducing prohibited foods. He promised me that my high blood pressure and other complaints would be alleviated if I followed his instructions strictly, and that I would be rejuvenated down to the level of every cell in my body. It helped to keep his words in mind to encourage me as I struggled with the diet in the days that followed.

It was a pretty simple regimen in that I had only to remove anything that takes the act of eating from the mundane to the sublime:

no oil or butter, not even for cooking
no dairy
no fruit, raw or cooked
no raw anything as it’s understood to be hard on digestion in Ayurveda
no meat
no honey or sugar in any form
no bread or bakery products
no beans because of the digestive difficulties they presented, although pulses were fine
nothing metabolized in the liver, like alcohol, nicotine, or drugs, including OTC substances like Ibuprofen. Luckily, I had let go of my last bad habit, nicotine gum, a few weeks before.

He did allow me small amounts of salt and also a little black tea or coffee, the latter of which I had also managed to give up but then started to drink in modest amounts if for no other reason than it seemed a little naughty. And my menu was in serious need of naughty.

At a loss for how to make my usual Indian vegetarian foods, like palak paneer or any subzi (veg dish) cooked in oil, I began to research no-oil recipes online. The best advice I found was to brown the vegetables in a pan while using small amounts of water to keep them from sticking. The broth with the browned veggies would form the base of the curry or soup I was making, and it would be a little more flavorful than simply boiling the vegetables in water. The most helpful websites that I could find invariably catered to people on Candida diets or to those with horrible, incurable diseases.

To complicate matters further, I was in a small village with a limited selection of vegetables, many of which were unfamiliar and sold by vendors with whom I did not share a common language. I took some chances and bought some of the stranger looking ones, like bitter gourd (Karela), which I later determined I could not make palatable without oil, but mostly I stuck to what I knew: beets, okra, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, ginger, onions, garlic, pulses, and basmati rice.

After much experimenting, I was able to cook a decent curry, but I still missed oil. The food was good in a simple, humble way, but lacked the depth and flavor that oil imparts.

There were also restrictions on the water I drank as it had to be boiled with herbs. It was very important that I drank only boiled water, and it could not be chilled afterward. I had heard that drinking cold drinks is bad for digestion as it cools the digestive fire, but I had not heard of drinking water that had been boiled for several minutes. After some online research, I learned that Ayurveda teaches that boiling water raises its energetic qualities to a level of sharpness that helps to dissolve toxins in the body and also stimulates the agni toward better digestion.

Do you remember in school learning about “suspension of disbelief,” that strategy of the mind that allows us to watch a play without having the enjoyment of it ruined by constantly thinking about how the actors on stage were just people and that they weren’t really falling in love or stabbing each other? I am employing that technique every time I boil water for drinking. I am not sure if I buy the theory, but I want to follow the instructions strictly so that if the cleanse/reset doesn’t work, then I won’t be left wondering if the results would have been different if I would had drank the boiled water.

After about a week on this diet, I got my first normal blood pressure reading at the doctor’s office even before starting the main ghee treatment. I also lost a little weight, which I didn’t really want because I was already where I wanted to be, but I know how to fix that later. I did find the diet to be constipating at times (my vata dryness issue), but the good doctor promised that issue would be addressed as well. One thing I know is that I will appreciate the day I can eat some heavenly paneer again, but I think I will also try to make these simple oil-free dishes more of a mainstay in my diet. They might not thrill my palate, but my heart seems to like them.

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Thu
05 ^th

When the Patient is Ready, the Vaidya Will Appear

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Arya Vaida Sala might have been a bust, but I was optimistic about my plan to meet with a doctor I will call Dr. Rajah (Malalayam for “king”), a well known and highly regarded doctor of Ayurveda in northern Kerala. I had recently become acquainted with his wife, also a physician, who recommended his treatment protocol for hypertension after I turned to her for guidance when Arya Vaida Sala didn’t work out. Dr. Rajah held a PhD in Ayurvedic medicine, was on the faculty at a medical college of Ayurveda, and had just published a book on evidence-based approaches to curing diseases using modern medical practices coupled with Ayurvedic treatments.

That interweaving between modern medical science and the centuries-old science of Ayurveda composes the curriculum in Ayurvedic colleges in India, which is not something I fully understood before coming here. Unlike the schools of Ayurveda that have been established in the United States, Europe, and other countries that are catching on to (or cashing in on) the rising trend of Ayurveda worldwide, schools in India require a much more in-depth understanding of what is taught in Western medical schools.

Just to be admitted to the BAMS (Bachelor of Ayurvedic Medicine & Surgery) undergraduate program, high school students must complete standard pre-med classes such as chemistry, physics, and biology, before leaving grade 12. Once admitted to a BAMS program, the course of study spans 4-½ years and is followed by a 1-year internship. During the academic years, students study anatomy, physiology, and the history of Ayurveda, but also toxicology, pharmacology, surgery, ENT, skin, obstetrics and gynecology.

Once graduated, the doctors can use the title Vaidyar (abbreviated Vr.), the classic term for physician, before their names and are able to do many of the things we see Western doctors do, like write prescriptions for allopathic medications and even perform minor surgery. Following the BAMS degrees, doctors can go on to earn a PhD, such as Dr. Rajah held, which certified specialization in one of many subject areas such as general medicine or pharmacology. Understanding Dr. Rajah’s qualifications, I knew I was going to an expert in the field whose personal philosophy to target diseases with the minimal amount of medicine was one I respected.

In the interim before I arrived in the small (by Indian standards, at least) coastal town a couple hours northwest of Kottakal where Dr. Rajah practiced, I had tapered off all my blood pressure medication, so I was anxious to be under a doctor’s care. When I arrived at my appointment the evening of my first day, Dr. Rajah was with another patient in the modest treatment room built on the porch of his rambling Keralan home on the outskirts of town, so I sat on the porch to wait and passed the time watching birds swooping down through palm trees to catch twilight dinner in the idyllic yard surrounding the house.

After his patient left, he greeted me warmly and showed me in to his office. He took my blood pressure, which showed a diastolic in the mid 90’s, asked me some preliminary questions, and then sent me to a nearby medical lab to get some standard blood work and liver function tests performed. I was happy that he had ordered tests before even talking about treatment; it showed me that he wanted to gain a full understanding of my physical condition before throwing a bunch of herbs at me and talking about panchakarma, which I’d come to understand he recommended for only a very small number of his patients. He also never asked me about any of my eating habits, looked at my tongue, or performed any of the standard intake questions I’d come to associate with an Ayurvedic intake.

Nor did he perform any of those examinations the next morning when I went back for my follow-up appointment. I came to understand during the course of our next few appointments that my disorder was indicative of the underlying imbalance, and it didn’t matter what my dosha makeup was or its role in predisposing me to having the blood pressure issue. It was enough that I had it, and the treatment was standard regardless of what my tongue looked like or how my body was structured.

But what gave me the most confidence that I was with a true healer instead of a salesman was that when I asked what I owed him the next morning, he seemed almost puzzled for a moment, but then answered, “Oh, nothing, this is just consultation. For the main treatment, it will be the standard cost of 5000 rs.” That’s about $75, or what a couple of days in a panchakarma center would have cost me. I skipped out of his office feeling like I was on the right path, or at least one that wouldn’t cost me thousands to travel down.

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Arya Vaidya Sala Kottakal

Posted by Joel Gales - 1 Comment

One of the most well known and highly regarded Ayurvedic institutions in all of Kerala and throughout India, Arya Vaidya Sala Ayurvedic Hospital & Research Centre was my first choice in seeking treatment. In addition to the many online reviews and articles praising their treatments, I was referred by Ayurvedic practitioners for the quality of their medicines. The main drawback was that the center is in the middle of a busy city unlike most of the peaceful, secluded resorts, but still the positives seemed to outweigh the shortcomings. In addition to their sterling reputation, the prices I found online were much lower than the thousands of dollars charged by resorts catering to Westerners. Or so I thought.

While the website states there are additional costs for treatment and medicine, I could find no information on these tariffs, which turned out to be almost as much as the room per day. Thus, a three-week stay would cost just over $2000, which puts this place on par with some of the resorts I researched.

Their site also offers a free “online consultation,” but it’s not what I would call a real online consultation. Instead, potential patients fill out a simple form that sends an automated reply directing them to come to the hospital in Kottakal for an in-person consultation. There’s no way to book this place without going in person for evaluation, so you don’t know if you will even be admitted. I thought that made sense as a doctor would need to assess a potential patient in the flesh in order to conduct a thorough examination, and I knew from their website that they treated hypertension in addition to other disorders.

After filling out the evaluation form online, I called to speak to someone in their office because I wanted some reassurance that making the trip to otherwise undesirable Kottakal would not be in vain. She told me that I would need to be seen by a doctor, and while there were no vacancies at the time, there were frequently cancellations for bookings, so the best I could do was to show up and try to grab a spot. Undaunted, I made the long train overnight train journey from lovely Canacona station, which is about 1.5 km from Palolem Beach center, to less-than-lovely Tirur station in northern Kerala. From there I caught a rickshaw, which was incredibly cheap after Goan prices (only 250 rs for about 15 km) to make the final part of the journey to my hotel in Kottakal, where the main Arya Vaida Sala hospital is located.

My hotel was just over half a kilometer away from the in-patient panchakarma center, but I had been told when I called the week before to report to the out-patient center, which is closer to 2 km away. There are several hospital buildings, including a cancer ward, the outpatient building, a medicine manufacturing facility, and the PK center. The entire area, which I began to think of as the Ayurveda Industrial Complex, is encircled by four main roads and includes an area of about 8 km. There are also research centers, a huge and beautiful outdoor herb garden, and even a trash disposal site for the hospitals. Surrounding the hospitals are hotels (none that I would call a good value), restaurants, pharmacies, and drug compounding shops that thrive on the business the hospital brings.

The morning after my arrival, I walked to the out-patient treatment center to get in line for my free consultation. I had a photograph of my passport on my phone, which they let slide, but ideally I would have had the actual book in my hand. (Note: always carry your passport when you will need to prove your identity.) After about twenty minutes sitting in a crowded waiting room, I was shown to the doctor’s office. She asked me a few preliminary questions, but nothing as in-depth as I’d been asked by Ayurvedic doctors before. She took my blood pressure, which was 140/100, the highest it had been since Bombay, but I had also been cutting my dose of blood pressure medicine as the side effects, which included dizziness, edema, and nausea, were becoming too much to bear. I asked her if she could prescribe me a new blood pressure medication that didn’t have side effects, but she said she wanted me to go to the PK treatment center first so the doctor there could determine the course of treatment. She assured me that if the doctor at the PK center was not available, she would help me with getting new medication that afternoon, so, with her referral slip in hand, I made my way to the center close to my hotel.

Upon arriving at the center, I was given a sheet of paper with the room types listed along with prices. I had to get out my calculator when I first saw the prices to make sure that the hot walk hadn’t given me any temporary brain damage when I was doing the conversion from rupees to USD, but I my initial calculations were correct: the price including treatment and medication was much higher than I’d expected, even for the more basic rooms with A/C.

After studying the list of rooms, I told the young man behind the desk that I wanted the most basic room with A/C, and he seemed taken aback. He told me there were other options that were much more “deluxe” and included amenities like attached kitchenettes, cable television, and so on. He got on the phone and spoke to someone in what I assume was Malayalam and then hung up to tell me that my choice was not available and that the only room left was due to a cancellation, and that was the more expensive room that included what I considered a bunch of unnecessary luxuries.

He then said that I needed to choose the length of my course of treatment, which went anywhere from 7-28 days. “How do I know how long the treatment needs to be without seeing a doctor?” I asked. He seemed annoyed by the question, and assured me I would see a doctor, but then also told me that he would need full payment the next morning before I was admitted, and that was when I would see the doctor. “Ma’am, the boy will take you to see the room so you can tell us if it’s acceptable.” Okay, whatever, I wasn’t in the mood for his circular logic, and I planned to go back to the outpatient doctor to see if I could get my blood pressure medicine changed, which was at that point my primary concern, especially after the high reading from that morning.

I’d named the pushy sales guy behind the desk “Rick” because it rhymed with a word that I thought described him well. Rick then called over a man to take me to see the room, but before I had gathered my things, he was outside, and by the time I reached the courtyard outside, he had disappeared. I waited for a couple of minutes while the guards, who spoke no English, tried to fathom what I wanted when I asked them where I was supposed to go to see the room. Finally my guide stuck his head back around the courtyard gate and motioned impatiently for me to follow him.

It was a typical hot day in India, and my heart was beating a little too fast for my comfort as I walked up the inclined sidewalk behind my guide who was not slowing down or even checking to see if he’d lost me again. I was trying to focus on my breathing instead of my thoughts so that I would stay calm, but I was getting pissed by that time. We made it to the building where a couple other people were waiting, but the elevator was broken so we had to walk up three flights of stairs to the room. The young man who’d taken over as our tour guide in the lobby opened a door to show us the $35/night room, and right away I muttered, “you have got to be kidding,” as he kept asking us “room ok? Room good, yes?”

No, room not good, room kind of shitty, dirty, and dark, I thought to myself. There was a short, narrow bed with dingy sheets, and the floor didn’t seem clean. The place smelled of Ayurvedic medicines, and the attached kitchenette was nothing more than a sink with a counter. The bathroom was tiled but beyond that nothing nicer than your typical Indian bathroom with a Western toilet and a shower head coming out of the wall. There was a partial view of some greenery in the back yard, but it was nothing like the photographs I had seen of the lovely manicured gardens with pools of water reflecting the surrounding plants.

He seemed to need immediate validation that the room was acceptable, so I finally said, a little sharply, “No, the room really isn’t okay, and I need to see a doctor before I can make a decision.” He didn’t seem to understand what I was saying, so I repeated more loudly, “I want to see a DOCTOR NOW!” At last, he got the message, and he showed me out of the room and downstairs to the doctor’s office.

To the credit of the hospital, both the doctors I saw were very nice, but even this doctor didn’t seem interested in asking me any questions, looking at my tongue, feeling my pulse, or performing any of the standard intake procedures you think of when you see a vaidya, or Ayurvedic physician. She did take my blood pressure again, which was back to normal, even after I’d thrown my little hissy fit a few minutes before.

I explained to her that I needed to understand what length of time I would need the treatment before I could secure the room and pay the hefty price tag for that length of treatment time. She nodded, said she understood, and after hearing my basic complaints (hypertension, recurring insomnia, dry skin, rosacea), she told me that 21 days would be ideal but that 14 would suffice, depending on time and financial constraints on my side. I said that time was not the issue, but that the price for the room and the medicines daily was pretty high considering what I’d been shown a couple of minutes before. She conceded that the pricing was expensive, but she told me I could do the first part of the treatment as an out-patient and then complete the next two weeks in the facility. She also kindly recommended that I keep checking back every morning to see if one of the room types had had a cancellation.

I thanked her and made my way back to the administration office to see my friend, Rick.

Once back, I let him know that I’d seen the doctor and she had recommended 21 days of treatment, so that was the length of time I needed. I told him that as I didn’t need A/C (and having it during PK is not recommended by some practitioners as it cools the body too much), I would be happy to take one of the smaller, more affordable rooms without A/C. He immediately told me that there were no other rooms available, even the basic hospital rooms that had “NON-RESERVABLE” printed next to their description on the sheet of paper. I asked when the next availability was for a room, as I could come back in a month if necessary, to which he impatiently responded that “all rooms were booked one year in advance,” which I found hard to believe. I asked if I could check back daily for to see if there had been a cancellation for a cheaper A/C room, and, after thinking about it for a second, he assured me that was an option but only after I had been admitted and paid in full for the expensive room for 21 days. I would be willing to bet that, had I checked in, there would never have been a cancellation.

“Okay,” I finally said, “I will take the room, but I want to check in tomorrow morning because I already have my hotel room for the night.” Suddenly, Rick was my new best friend. Smiling, he told me that I could come at 8 a.m. for immediate check-in. “And how much is the food?” I asked, as their kitchen supplied all the detox meals during treatment. He had no idea. Really? Was it his first day or something? That seemed like a pretty basic piece of information.

Putting on a smile, I told him I’d see him first thing in the morning, and then I made my way back to my hotel, ready to move onto Plan B even thought I didn’t know what that was yet.

Once back, I messaged a doctor of Ayurveda in nearby Thalassery with whom I’d become acquainted through an Ayurveda Facebook group to see if her clinic offered PK treatment. She responded to tell me that only about 5% of patients even needed the somewhat drastic PK treatment, but that the industry was making so much money here in India (and abroad) that no one was telling the truth. When I told her about my experience that morning at the hospital, she said, “No, they will not treat you, they will cheat you.” For the first time that day, I felt like someone was being straight with me.

She said all that I probably needed was dietary modification, herbs, and a simple treatment to get my blood pressure under control, so I asked if her partner, whose specialty included hypertension treatment, could see me. While I’m agnostic on the idea of fate or divine intervention, I do believe that we see opportunities clearly at the right time, so after she confirmed an appointment for a couple of days later, I set out to buy my train ticket.

I cannot call this post a review of the esteemed hospital, and for all I know, they may have had very good treatments and medicines. However, the feeling I got while I was there was that I was being hustled and misled. Ayurveda is big business here in India and abroad, and it’s difficult if not impossible to find providers who will be honest with you or who know what they are doing. My experience with the sales and intake department at AYS in Kottakal, unfortunately, did not leave me with a good feeling about what they could offer as far as healing. Ayurveda is supposed to be a spiritual practice, but what I encountered felt like I was dealing with an insurance company in the states: they didn’t care so much about my health as they did about getting my money.

But let the journey continue.

Note: during my wanderings I carry a blood pressure cuff so that I can monitor my status a couple of times a day. I also keep my blood pressure pills in my purse, and I always make sure I am near a hospital in case I need emergency treatment.

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