Ayurveda knows no modesty

My Sri Lankan visa states that I have come to the country for medical treatment, which is pretty ironic because I am basically healthier than I have ever been.  Nonetheless, I’m here for almost a month of an Ayurveda cure to rid my body of accumulated sludge (inside) and blubber (outside), and perhaps take the peace I’ve achieved to the next level. 

Ayurveda, native to the Indian subcontinent, is one of the world’s oldest holistic systems of traditional healing.  Developed over 5,000 years ago, it is based on the belief that wellness depends on a delicate balance between the mind, body, and spirit. The primary focus of Ayurvedic medicine is to promote good health and vitality rather than fight disease (though this can also be done). 

Ayurveda names three life forces, the doshas vata, pitta and kapha, in the belief that each human possesses a unique combination of them which defines the person's temperament and characteristics.  A balance of the doshas results in health, while imbalance results in illness, or at least an unwell state.  Every individual should modulate her behavior and environment to increase or decrease the doshas as necessary to gain harmony with the universe. The emphasis is on building a strong metabolic system and boosting immunity by moderating food intake, getting sufficient sound sleep, practicing yoga, and maintaining good digestion and excretion (sweat, urine, stool).  
 

Anything that negatively affects one’s physical, spiritual, or emotional well-being (years of poor eating habits, incomplete elimination of waste matter, inadequate rest, stress, injury, age, trauma, pollution, and so on) results in production and accumulation of toxins which in turn do a number on the doshas.  During the purification process, these toxins are collected from various parts of the body and expelled so that the following rejuvenation will be more effective. 

Week 1: Wow, 2-3 hours of Ayurveda treatments per day consisting of herbal inhalation, steams, hot baths, acupuncture, and most of all, massages: head, face, neck and shoulders, hand, foot, and a seemingly infinite variety of whole-body massages (synchronized 4-handed, exfoliating with powder, intensive, with muslin-wrapped herbs, gentle).  The therapists are a lovely bunch, always ready with a smile, a frangipani blossom, and a “How are you today, madame?”  But as soon as they have me on the table, it’s all business and no chitchat – and no strategically draped sheet or towel, either  – and many of the body massages are full frontal. 

In addition, there’s invigorating morning yoga and individually prescribed medicines to be taken twice daily.  Unhurried pace, plenty of time for reflection, and there’s even meditation, led by a real live, orange-robed, four-foot-ten monk.  My room is spacious and quiet with ocean view, firm bed and pillows; easily digested meals are prepared; and I can eat my fill of tri-dosha approved papaya. 

  

 

Week 2: My skepticism of this whole Ayurvedic schtick is at its peak as I undergo my shirodhara period.  Shirodhara is the classic procedure whereby warm medicated oil is poured slowly and continuously back and forth across the forehead (sometimes called a mind massage). The head is then wrapped in cotton cloth to protect the vatta from the air. The procedure is repeated every day for a week and during this whole time I’m not allowed to wash my oil-drenched hair – ew!  It’s reputedly an excellent therapy for stress management and relaxation, dissolving mental demons, calming nerves, releasing pent-up emotions, expanding consciousness, but all I feel is an itchy scalp.  

And then there was a nasty nasal cleaning that involved oil infused with pepper, garlic and chilies squirted up the nose, followed by some very un-ladylike snorting and spitting.

Who would’ve ever thought that massage could get monotonous?!

Can’t stand the woodsy, earthy, nutty smell of the oil any more.

The food is uninspired: curry, curry, and more curries.  All I can focus on is what there’s not:

No caffeine

No bread

No pasta

No pizza

No red meat

No snacks

No alcohol

No chocolate

No cookies

Despite these massive sacrifices, I’ve hardly lost any weight while all around me are bragging of their losses.  And I’m still missing coffee and cocktails sumpin’ awful.

My medicine – an unappetizing smorgasbord of pills, powders, and decoctions – tastes exactly like the tree bark and bitter roots it’s made from, and for what?  I was more regular before I got here. I swear, a good lay and a thorough colonoscopy would accomplish the same in a fraction of the time. 

shirodhara

herbal soup and warm water for breakfast

my meds

Week 3:  Have calmed down and am savoring special treatments given long-term guests. Consistently sleeping a solid 8 hours. Discovered curried okra on the buffet, and the kurakkan roti are not a bad sub for bread.  Am convinced the doctors are genuinely interested in our well-being and actually care about the nature and number of our bowel movements. Yoga with Ravi first thing is simply the best: asanas and pranayama under blue skies and palm trees, watching the chipmunks, kingfishers, and egrets flitting across the lawn and the waves breaking on the beach.

Fazit: A certain equanimity has set in.  I am so relaxed, it’s decadent.  My doshas must be delighted because my whole being feels clear, serene and rejuvenated.  And I’ve dropped 2 kgs after all.  OK, maybe my goal was unrealistic and maybe months of excessive indulgence can’t be made up for so quickly.  Besides, Dr. Nalindra claims I am at my “medically ideal weight” and so since Ayurveda preaches self-love and self-respect and self-acceptance, I am trying hard to quell my inner cosmetic critic and embrace me as I am, frizz, freckles and all.  (See? I didn’t say “fat” although the alliteration would have been pleasing.)  Ayubowan! 

Hardcore culture shock

The contrasts between unspoiled, authentic Myanmar and sterile, artificial Singapore could not be greater.  I’ve come from a country of the past to an ultra-modern metropolis; from horse carts and bamboo-thatched houses to Mercedes and skyscrapers; from dusty, bumpy unpaved roads to 10-lane expressways; from benign Buddhism to a place where you can be fined for throwing gum on the sidewalk.  

While I admit I appreciated the efficiency of Changi airport (got through immigration and customs in less than 10 minutes), the rest of my 48-hour layover is distressingly First-World. 

The taxi queues are marshaled orderly through steel barriers to a white-gloved attendant directing a seamless flow of cabs and customers.  After a short, speedy drive, the über-urban cityscape comes into view and I swear I shudder.  

Not only is the Singapore climate oppressive but also the superficial professionalism (polite yet unengaged) I encounter everywhere somehow leaves me surly.  There are CC cameras all over the place – what is this, a police state? The gardens that have won Singapore its reputation as the greenest city in Asia are too cultivated and orderly, many of the plantings growing unnaturally on vertical frames up apartment buildings.  Nothing is makeshift or improvised or spontaneous or left to chance.  Even the cleanliness par excellence is annoying.

Absolutely most appalling is the rampant consumerism. This is a city with scores of massive shopping malls full of more, more, and more stuff that none of us needs.  Feeling overwhelmed myself, when I imagine the reaction of the lovely ladies at the village thanaka market or the farmer driving the oxcart back in Burma, my discomfort is compounded by shame and disgust. 

I sweat my way around Marina Bay, and the depressingly irrelevant sight of hordes of tourists with their smartphones and selfie sticks stopping every few meters to snap themselves indiscriminately has me asking in dismay: Do we do anything anymore that is not a photo opportunity? 

Mingalaba!

Note on the names: The government of Burma changed the country’s official name to Myanmar in 2011.  The UN recognizes this but the US and some other nations don’t, and even Aung San Suu Kyi claims she still prefers “Burma” as the new name has not been approved by the people. But the locals I spoke to all referred to their country as “Myanmar” so as a reflection of this confusion, I will use them interchangeably here.  

Mingalaba! This sing-song Burmese greeting (stress on the first syllable) elicited the biggest, brightest, most genuine smiles I have ever seen – unless the local was a betel-nut chewer, in which case (s)he tried to greet with lips covering the stained, ruined teeth, but still the eyes lit up with pleasure.  

 

Every single one of the longyi-clad, thanaka-smeared men, women and children I encountered everywhere I went in Myanmar was truly warm and friendly and helpful.  I was never ogled or hassled, leered at or threatened, always felt safe (except perhaps in Mandalay traffic).  The Burmese affectionately call each other brother and sister, uncle and auntie, and their touching allegiance to their family, religion, and community is obvious even to a passing visitor. 

It was easy to sense that they are a gentle, respectful, pious, curious, considerate, loving folk, and so I have been struggling mightily to reconcile their peaceful nature with their horrific history. 

It is a history of centuries of rebellion, revolt, riots, and uprisings; of assassinations, coups d’état, and juntas.  It has been well reported how the opposition was repeatedly crushed and imprisoned over the years, and Burma is infamous for its miserable human rights record.  There are still regions subject to ethnic strife that are off-limits to foreigners.

But in this gorgeous country full of golden pagodas, stupas, and monasteries; where monks and nuns are afforded movie-star status and ultimate respect; where beatific Buddhist tenets pervade everyday life, it was impossible for me to imagine its citizens brandishing arms or waging warfare against each other. 

An ancient land only recently free of colonial rule (1948), just out from under the iron fist of a series of military dictatorships, Myanmar is taking baby steps toward democracy.  After 50 years of being effectively shut off from and to the outside world, it has been encouraging modern tourism for about five years, and I am so grateful to be here now. 

Where we were allowed to go outside of the cities provided a glimpse of one of the most authentic lifestyles I have ever witnessed, back into a timeless world where the traditional ways of life remain unchanged.  An unspoiled tableau full of iconic images of an Asia of the past:  farmers plowing fields with water buffalo; oxcarts and horse carriages transporting goods and people; women washing at the river’s edge; the countryside dotted with weavers’ looms, potters’ wheels, open hearths. 

Three-quarters of the population lives this kind of rural existence, their days filled with meeting fundamental human needs: suckling babies, gathering and preparing food, drawing water from the well, bathing in the town pond, thatching bamboo roofs, visiting the temple, feeding livestock, tending to the elderly and infirm. Only 30% of the country has reliable electricity (Myanmar is one of the big black areas on the world night light map) and yet the Burmese go about it with an inspirational dignity and no sense of entitlement whatsoever.  

So moved by the spirituality of it all, I even found myself wondering: Is this life as it should be lived?  What good are modern conveniences and faster cars and fancier clothes when it means we have less time for the things that count? When the time gained from all our appliances is used to run a crazier rat race? When we hire nannies and au pairs to care for our children so we can go out and sell goods to strangers?  When we seal ourselves in huge houses away from others and then “communicate” per social media?  When we consign aged parents to impersonal nursing homes?  When our overprocessed food comes in cans and boxes and makes us ill and fat?  

Sure, you can make an argument for indoor plumbing and washing machines and advanced medical care – though I think most of us agree that being kept alive beyond reason just because science can is a contrivance we don’t necessarily condone – and the rose-colored version of life in Myanmar certainly has its drawbacks, but hey, I’m just sayin’…. 

Enchanting, magical, vibrant, unforgettable Myanmar

After two weeks in this world that time forgot, far far away from all that is familiar, I am utterly enraptured by the country known as Myanmar / Burma.  Hope to soon get some words down to describe the wonderfully fascinating places and people but for now these images will have to do.