Kairali Ayurvedic Healing Village
In the meditation/yoga space.
My hobbit house. Aced with the sound and visual of the fountain next to my porch. Plus it was close to the places I needed to get, which was good as I tended to be in a dreamy state and inclined toward making it to my appointments just in time.
This guy had some pretty good yoga stretches going on climbing coconut palms to harvest the coconuts and slash the dying branches. When this debris falls, it falls hard, fast and heavy.
A peacock sauntering by. Good to see one not battle-worn. Reflections. Metaphors. Delightful where a calm mind wanders.
The village sits among rice paddies.
Driving there past kilometers of the ubiquitous ramshackle black-mold splotched housing, I began to despair, but Kairali managed to create an oasis. I’m not one to particularly respect gated communities, the elitist ambience is a buzzkill, but I will admit that in a chaotic setting a sanctuary can be settling. I came to find that the gates were for both sides: venturing out was discouraged. This, when I asked whether I should attend the Sri Viswathna Sawmi Temple festival to watch the flower bedecked chariot races and was curtly told, “Definitely not.” The clarion call of the nadaswaram and the drumming I woke to each morning, shimmering through the dawn fog to sound as though it was just outside my window and yet it was from a full fifteen kilometers away, was almost irresistible to me and definitely played on my FOMO. But she was correct. I would be especially preyed upon as a white woman: “Ma’am. Ma’am. Just one photo.” This phenomenon surprised me at first, but soon I began to relish my new movie star identity and began posing. The young Indian women are role models for self-photography. Flowers in their hair, sparkling jewelry and languid poses in front of a camera everywhere all day and evening long reminds one that Indian spirituality embraces sensuality.
But to be called out of your own thoughts to satisfy another’s whims again and again is draining, and the healing village is all about revitalization.
Thoughtful landscaping. The angel’s in the details.
A few of the other villas. A little whimsy goes a long way.
The omnipresent underlying spirituality was calming. Deities not only protect, but each represents specific virtues to embrace.
Funny how quickly I came around. When I stepped into the lovely reception villa at the healing center, I was offered a warm water. I had just come from a long train ride and traveled down a hot dusty road in an open rickshaw, with my heavy backpack still strapped on. I was gritty and parched and that sounded awful to me. A far cry from the resort in Acapulco that offered a fresh strawberry margarita to arrivals. Why wouldn’t they at least offer an ice cold water? Well, because the interior body temperature is warm and would better welcome a beverage the same temperature.
Thermoses of hot water were left regularly on my doorstep and I learned to eagerly anticipate mine. I would have finished my last one and set out the thermos. Room temperature water was also provided. I would find that drinking water all day long went far in allaying desires for a sweet or snack. My attention was drawn to other small things I’d never paid any mind to. Like why did I continue to choose foods that didn’t sit all that well with my digestion? It was more habit than anything else. Once these foods were identified as non-Ayurvedic, and not given at my three meals there, I was surprised with how good I felt. Too, the regular yoga made me want to stretch more and dance. And so I did. Stretching in the tranquil swimming pool surrounded by orchids was lovely. I didn’t miss a morning or evening yoga session. I particularly resonated with the chanting and am incorporating deep breathing and favorite mantras more fully into my life. At five pm, a knock on my door and someone would come in with a brass incense holder of smoking sage and cleanse my villa. Not a bad idea I thought, feeling renewed. In fact, feeling amazing.
A quick side note. If you’ve not had an Ayurvedic massage, you should be forewarned that it is probably different than any massage you’ve had. Basically, you remove all of your clothes and lie down on a hard wooden table with edges so you don’t slide off because you are going to be drenched in oil and become very slippery. Often there are two practitioners, one on each side of you, who work on opposite sides of your body synchronously, slathering oil and rapidly massaging you to increase your circulation. I chose Kairali becuse they have a farm and grow their own food and the herbs they use in their oils organically. Too, the Ayurveda system of healing has been around for 5,000 years or so and Kairali traces its family roots practicing this way of life one hundred years.
I couldn’t attend the late morning Yoga Nidra with Vyshakh-ji as it conflicted with my Abhyangam, Nasyum and Shiroabyhanga treatment session. Admittedly, at first, being a Pittsburgh girl I was skeptical. Why was my yoga instructor talking to us in such an exaggerated sing-song way? Was he a wanna-be swami or what? I asked ChatGPT. Turns out, he had several good reasons for his tone and cadence. I gave him the benefit of the doubt then and tried to truly focus on where he was going with us. He infused meditation with the chanting and even sound-healing, painlessly. We loved sitting quietly and focusing only on nature’s beauty surrounding us. A stream rushed by and tropical birds sang outside the open balcony doors. We felt our minds expanding.
The last meditation I was able to participate in was one where we dissolved the boundaries between us. I am you. You are me. We all agreed afterward that we felt that.
The next day as I was disembarking the nearly empty train at the last stop, the ticket collector and I were standing near the open doorway watching the palms flash by against the backdrop of the Arabian Sea. A white woman appeared (unusual in itself), my size with hair like mine, a solo backpacker. We were face to face in the small space and laughed as it seemed to both of us we were looking into a mirror. We introduced ourselves. She was Emma from the UK and I, Amy from the US. The ticket collector whose native language is Tamil, laughed and exclaimed, “Even the same name!”
Thank you Vyshakh-ji.