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Once upon a time people glowed with good health for five score years and ten; or even more. In Kerala, we fled back to such a time. At the foot of herbal-rich mountains we stepped through massive gates set in high walls. They shut behind us. We were in the manicured grounds of an ancient palace built for a dynasty of matriarchs. It had been carefully retro-fitted to welcome people stressed and fatigued by the pressures of a hyper-speeding world, treat them, and send them back refreshed, renewed and revitalised. For a fortnight, we would be cut off from the frenetic civilisation outside, cocooned in a traditional lifestyle clocked by the rising and setting of the sun, immersed in .the wellness techniques of ayurveda, yoga, and meditation.
We must admit that, at first, all this had not appealed to us one little bit. We had resisted the lure of Kalari Kovilakom. We loved the adrenal rush of our job as travel writers: why should we take so much time off from our wonderful lifestyle? Then one day, when we had worked till two in the morning, we suddenly felt as limp as dish-rags and every problem seemed to have become as bloated and ugly as a tangled mess of a dead octopuses rotting on a beach. The vision was ghastly. If that was what the future held for us, we wanted no part of it. We had either to step off the compulsive treadmill now or suffer a physical, mental and emotional implosion. We flew to Cochin, drove to the base of a rising, blue, mist-streaked range, and stepped into Kalari Kovilakom, a unique wellness centre in Kerala’s Palakkad district, previously Palghat. For the next 14 days our lives changed till, finally, we had absorbed the serenity we needed. We shed our leather shoes and normal clothes. We wore straw sandals; a tailor delivered seven sets of made-to-measure, colourful, kurta-pyjamas. We surrendered ourselves to ayurvedic doctors who examined us and questioned us about the most intimate details of our lives. They spoke of the balances of our essential humours, kapha, pitta, vata. They prescribed our individual therapies, daily massages, diets and even the herbal water we were allowed to drink. We woke at 5.30 a.m. to the sound of distant temple bells, exercised in the yoga centre a little later and then, walking through dew-spangled grounds, sat down to breakfast in the sunlit and airy dining-veranda.
Our fellow guests were from all over the world: a gentle giant from Dubai, a troubled young woman from Austria, a lawyer from Switzerland facing an emotional crisis, two American teachers who had a mystic-and-magicians perception of India and had come to be ‘detoxified and de-stressed’ They knew exactly what to expect: or so they assured us. Curiously, all these foreigners felt greatly relieved that they had to make no decisions about food, clothing or even their daily routine. We didn’t appreciate this at first but, gradually, as we surrendered ourselves to the system, we realised that decision making is a major source of nagging worry. It clutters the mind like static on a TV screen depriving one of the ability to see the clear picture. When the need to make routine decisions is removed, then our minds are able to focus on the more important aspects of our lives. The immediate impact of this absence of mental clutter, on us, was an urge to sleep very early. It was almost as if the mental muscles had suddenly found themselves relieved of a great weight and were now demanding rest to recoup their strength. At home we sleep between 11.30 and midnight; here, for the first two days, we fell into a deep sleep by 8 o’clock. This had happened to all other guests, too. Through the Americans’ self-assured and simple, National Geographic type of explanations, we began to understand what the therapies were doing. They were, quite literally, renovating us from the inside, out. First, by massage and diet, they channelled the deposited toxins of stress into our stomachs. On the seventh day, or thereabouts, all other therapies were stopped and the toxins were purged from our digestive tract. Purgation day is much worse in anticipation than in reality and it was a watershed in our treatment. Only then did the restorative therapies begin: replacing the essential substances that had been suppressed by the invading toxins. Complementing the ayurvedic treatment were the yoga sessions. They maintained the flexibility of the body so that fresh toxins could not accumulate in our organs. And the meditation techniques strengthened the mind to attain equanimity. A calm mind is not stressed. The days merged into a week, a fortnight. It ended. With barely controlled emotions, we bid an emotional goodbye to our new-found friends and stepped back into our modern, hurrying, world. How did we feel then? We had lost three kilos each but that was the insignificant part. How does a caterpillar, sluggish and bloated, feel when it emerges from its cocoon and spreads its bright, butterfly, wings in the sun? Light, free, unencumbered. Our problems haven’t vanished but they’ve become so insignificant that we wonder why they had seemed so irksome. That is the most lasting, revitalising, gift of Kalari Kovilakom. QUICK FACTS Getting there:
Air to Coimbatore — 75 km away or Kochi — 105 km away and then by
road. The cost includes pick up and drop from the airport or railway station, daily consultation with the doctor, all herbs, oils, medicines, massage and treatments, yoga, meditation, food and accommodation. Also seven sets of clothes and slippers. Tel:
04923-263155/925/737.
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