Ayurvedic Philosophy Archives

Cart

Are We Overstimulating Our Senses? What Ayurveda Says About the Five Senses

Think about how you started your day today. Did you reach for your phone the moment you woke up? Did you listen to music while getting ready, check your messages while having breakfast, and spend the rest of the morning looking at one screen or another? By the time the day is over, you’ve probably seen hundreds of images, heard countless sounds, tasted different things, touched dozens of objects and taken in more information than you can remember. We don’t usually think twice about any of this. Our senses are constantly working, and we’ve become so accustomed to stimulation that silence or doing absolutely nothing can sometimes feel uncomfortable. But have you ever wondered whether the way we use our senses has anything to do with our health? Interestingly, Ayurveda explored this question through a concept called Asatmya Indriyartha Samyoga. It refers to how the way we interact and perceive things with our sense organs affects our overall health. It also discusses what happens when we use them too little or in the wrong way. Let’s understand this. What is Asatmya Indriyartha Samyoga? The term is made up of four words: Asatmya: Unsuitable or incompatible Indriya: Sense organs Artha: Objects or subjects of perception Samyoga: Contact or association Together, Asatmya Indriyartha Samyoga refers to an unsuitable or improper interaction between our sense organs and their respective objects. In Charaka Samhita, Acharya Charaka discusses this in the eleventh chapter of Sutrasthana, where he identifies it as one of the three fundamental causes of disease. But what makes this concept particularly interesting is that it is divided into three forms: Atiyoga: Excessive use Ayoga: Insufficient or lack of use Mithyayoga: Improper use Let’s look at what each of these means. Atiyoga: When we use our senses excessively Atiyoga refers to excessive use of our sense organs. And honestly, this is something we can relate to quite easily today. Think about your eyes. Most of us spend a considerable part of our day looking at screens. We move from our laptops to our phones, from our phones to televisions, and sometimes back to our laptops again. It is clearly an example of Atiyoga of the eyes. Similarly, listening to excessively loud sounds and repeatedly exposing the sense of smell to very strong odours are described as forms of excessive sensory use. The idea is that even something our senses are naturally meant to experience can become unsuitable when the exposure is excessive. It isn’t necessarily about avoiding these experiences altogether. It is about recognising that our senses also have limits. Ayoga: When we don’t use our senses enough Now, this is something we don’t usually think about. Ayoga refers to insufficient use or the complete absence of appropriate engagement with the sense organs. For instance, Charaka describes not seeing anything at all as an example of Ayoga of the sense of vision. Similarly, not hearing or smelling anything represents insufficient engagement with those respective senses. Think about how different our experiences would be if we completely stopped engaging with the world around us. We need our senses to interact with our surroundings, recognise things, experience our environment and respond to what is happening around us. So the discussion isn’t simply about reducing sensory stimulation. It is about maintaining an appropriate relationship with the things our senses are meant to experience. Mithyayoga: When we use our senses improperly This is perhaps the most interesting of the three. Mithyayoga refers to the improper or unsuitable use of the sense organs. It isn’t necessarily about using them too much or too little. It is about the nature of the experience itself. For the eyes, looking at objects that are excessively close or far away, or repeatedly exposing oneself to disturbing and frightening sights, are discussed as improper sensory experiences. For hearing, listening to harsh, frightening or unpleasant sounds is described as Mithyayoga. Similarly, exposure to unpleasant or harmful smells is discussed under the improper use of the sense of smell. When you look at these examples, you realise that Ayurveda wasn’t only concerned with how much sensory stimulation we experience. It also considered what kind of stimulation we expose ourselves to. What about taste and touch? Of course, Ayurveda doesn’t stop with sight, sound and smell. It also discusses the senses of taste and touch. Food isn’t just something we consume to satisfy hunger. Taste is one of the ways we experience it. And Ayurveda considers the relationship between taste, food and the individual an important part of understanding nourishment. Then comes touch. Charaka discusses excessive exposure to extremely hot or cold sensations as Atiyoga, while inappropriate contact with objects or environments is considered Mithyayoga. So, when you look at all five senses together, the underlying idea becomes clearer. Ayurveda considers not just what we experience through our senses, but also the frequency, intensity and nature of that experience. Why does this matter today? We live in a world where constant stimulation has become completely normal. There is always something to watch, something to listen to, something to read or something to respond to. Even when we are eating, travelling or simply sitting alone, we often look for something to occupy our attention. Think about the last time you sat in a room without music, television or your phone. Did you feel comfortable, or did you immediately feel the need to reach for something? We rarely give ourselves the opportunity to experience our surroundings without constantly adding something to them. Are we constantly exposing our eyes to intense stimulation? Do we ever give ourselves a break from noise? Are we mindful of the sounds, sights and experiences we allow into our… Continue reading Are We Overstimulating Our Senses? What Ayurveda Says About the Five Senses

How Ayurveda Describes Different Types of Intelligence

Have you ever noticed how some people are exceptionally good at remembering things, while others are naturally good at understanding complicated ideas? Some people can read something once and remember it almost perfectly. Others may take a little longer to understand a concept, but are incredibly good at applying that knowledge in real-life situations. And then there are people who seem to have an entirely different ability. They can observe something, connect different ideas and arrive at conclusions that others might not immediately see. We usually group all of these abilities under one word: intelligence. But is intelligence really just one thing? Interestingly, Ayurveda approached this question in a much broader way. Instead of looking at intelligence as a single ability, the texts describe several faculties of the mind that work together to help us perceive, understand, learn and remember. Let’s take a look at what these different faculties mean. Is intelligence just Buddhi? In Ayurveda, one of the terms commonly used to describe intelligence is Buddhi. Buddhi refers to the intellect, particularly the ability to understand, discriminate, form conclusions and arrive at decisions. But the interesting part is that the classical texts don’t restrict the functioning of the intellect to one faculty. They discuss several related concepts, including Dhi, Medha, Smriti, Dhriti and Prajna. While these terms are closely connected, they highlight different aspects of how the mind functions. Let’s understand them individually. Dhi: The ability to understand Dhi refers to the ability of understanding and comprehension. It is what allows you to grasp an idea, understand what you’re reading and distinguish between different things. Think about learning something completely new. You might read a paragraph several times, but there is a particular moment when the concept finally makes sense. You aren’t simply recognising the words anymore. You actually understand what they mean. That ability to comprehend is what Dhi points towards. It is also associated with discrimination, the ability to recognise differences and understand the nature of something. In simple terms, Dhi is about understanding what something means, rather than merely receiving information. Medha: The ability to grasp and retain knowledge Now, understanding something and being able to retain it are not necessarily the same thing. You might understand an entire chapter while studying, but how much of it do you actually remember a few days later? This brings us to Medha. Medha is associated with the ability to grasp, retain and assimilate knowledge. Think about a student preparing for an examination. Two students might understand a particular concept equally well, but one may be able to retain the information more easily and recall it during the examination. It is not simply about being able to understand something in the moment. It also concerns how well knowledge is absorbed and retained. Smriti: The ability to remember Smriti refers to memory, particularly the ability to recall something that has already been experienced, learned or understood. Think about the last time you visited a place you hadn’t been to in years. You might suddenly remember the streets, the people you met, the conversations you had or even the smallest details of that experience. That ability to bring something from the past into your present awareness is Smriti. In Charaka Samhita, Smriti is explained as the recollection of previously experienced things. What’s interesting is that memory isn’t simply about storing information. It allows us to connect our present experiences with what we have already learned. Without memory, even the process of learning something new would become difficult because we constantly rely on previous experiences to make sense of new information. Dhriti: The ability to regulate and sustain the mind This is a particularly interesting concept because it goes beyond learning and remembering. Dhriti refers to restraint, firmness and the ability to regulate the mind. Think about trying to study for an examination. You understand the subject, you have your books ready, and you know exactly what needs to be completed. But every few minutes, your attention shifts somewhere else. You check your phone, start thinking about something unrelated or simply give in to the temptation to do something more entertaining. The ability to remain steady and regulate these impulses is associated with Dhriti. It helps the mind remain directed towards what it needs to do rather than constantly following every passing desire or distraction. In this sense, intelligence isn’t only about how much information we can process. It is also about how well we can direct our mental faculties. Prajna: A broader understanding of knowledge and wisdom And finally, we come to Prajna. Prajna is a broader concept associated with higher understanding, discernment and wisdom.It is often discussed in connection with Buddhi and its different faculties. Think about the difference between knowing something and knowing how to use that knowledge. You might know everything there is to know about maintaining a healthy lifestyle. You understand nutrition, exercise, sleep and the importance of managing stress. But being able to bring all that understanding together, recognise what is relevant in a particular situation and act accordingly requires something beyond simply remembering information. It requires judgement and discernment. This is the broader territory that Prajna points towards. It is also important to understand that these terms aren’t five completely separate types of intelligence. They are overlapping faculties that contribute to the functioning of the intellect. So, why did Ayurveda look at intelligence this way? When you put these concepts together, something becomes clear. Understanding, retaining, remembering, regulating and applying knowledge are different mental processes. You can be good at one and struggle with another. If we measure all using just one definition of intelligence, we miss a… Continue reading How Ayurveda Describes Different Types of Intelligence

The Brihatrayi Explained: Ayurveda’s Three Foundational Texts

I always talk about principles mentioned in Charaka Samhita or Ashtanga Hridayam, in my videos, in my blogs, quoting a verse or referencing a concept but I’ve actually never spoken about these texts themselves. So today, let’s talk about them. Ayurveda, as a whole, is built upon three foundational texts. Together, they’re literally called the Brihatrayi, which means “the great three.” These are Charaka Samhita, Sushruta Samhita, and Ashtanga Hridayam. And honestly, once you understand how different these three actually are from each other, in purpose and what they were even trying to accomplish, a lot of Ayurveda starts making more sense. Let’s start with Charaka Samhita. The Charaka Samhita was originally attributed to Agnivesha, the sage who is said to have written this work, then called Agnivesha Tantra, under the guidance of his teacher Punarvasu Atreya. Charaka is mostly credited for revising and redacting the original text into what we mostly study today. Rather than being written by one person, this text has been passed down, and is a result of multiple hands across generations. Even a scholar named Dridhabala completed large portions of the text that had been lost. So, this text was compiled and edited over a long stretch of time. Charaka’s text is essentially the foundation of internal medicine, what we call Kayachikitsa. If you want to understand disease from the inside out, digestion, the Doshas, how illness actually develops in the body, this is your primary source. There’s a well-known opening line in the text, “Aayuh kaamayamaanena dharmaartha sukha saadhanam,” which basically says that anyone who desires a long, healthy life, one that supports Dharma, Artha, and Sukha, should give their full attention to the teachings of Ayurveda. Even in that first line, you can sense the scope Charaka is working with, health isn’t the goal in itself, it’s the foundation everything else in life is built on. And Charaka doesn’t just impose his own teachings on us, but also gives us the room to debate, question, and walk us through multiple viewpoints, sometimes even contradicting opinions, before settling on a conclusion. So instead of sounding like a rule book, it reads like an actual academic argument that happened about 2000 years ago. The book is dense, thorough, and keeps its essence very clear. There’s also a beautiful line often quoted from this text, describing exactly what the science is for, “Swasthasya swasthya rakshanam, aaturasya vikaara prashamanam cha.” It means, to protect the health of the healthy, and to cure the disease of the unwell. Two goals, not one, prevention and cure. Sushruta Samhita takes a very different path. Sushruta Samhita is attributed to Sushruta, a physician-surgeon who is said to have studied under Divodasa Dhanvantari, the King of Kashi, considered an incarnation of Dhanvantari, the god of medicine, in the Ayurvedic tradition. Sushruta is believed to have practised and taught in Kashi, which is present-day Varanasi. Just like Charaka Samhita, this text also wasn’t the work of one person alone. It’s widely believed that the original text was later revised by a scholar named Nagarjuna, who is credited with adding to and reorganising portions of it. So again, what we study today is the result of layers, added over generations, rather than a single sitting of writing. What makes Sushruta Samhita stand apart is its focus. If Charaka is the foundation of internal medicine, Sushruta is the foundation of surgery, what’s called Shalya Tantra. This is the text that goes into real detail about surgical instruments, wound management, and procedures like cataract surgery and reconstructive techniques. Then comes Ashtanga Hridayam, written later by Vagbhata, and honestly, this is the one most people find easiest to start with. Ashtanga Hridayam literally means “the heart of the eight branches,” and that name tells you exactly what it’s structured around. The text is organised into the eight branches of Ayurveda, Kayachikitsa (internal medicine), Shalya Tantra (surgery), Shalakya Tantra (diseases of the eyes, ears, nose, and throat), Kaumarabhritya (paediatrics), Agada Tantra (toxicology), Bhuta Vidya (psychiatry, dealing with what were understood as mental and spirit-related disorders), Rasayana (rejuvenation therapy), and Vajikarana (the science of fertility and vitality). Within this, the text is further divided into six sections, or Sthanas. Sutrasthana lays out the foundational principles, this is where Dinacharya, daily routine, and Ritucharya, seasonal routine are spoken about. Sharirasthana covers anatomy and the non-material aspects of the body, including the self and consciousness. Nidanasthana deals with diagnosis and understanding disease. Chikitsasthana covers actual treatment protocols for specific conditions. Kalpasthana focuses on formulation and pharmacology, and Uttarasthana, the final section, circles back to cover the remaining specialised branches in more depth, eye and ENT conditions, paediatrics, toxicology, and rejuvenation therapy. You get the entire scope of Ayurveda in one organised place, which is exactly why most students, even today, start their formal education with this text. If you’d like to properly study these texts yourself, shloka by shloka, with context and explanation, that’s exactly what we go through in our Charaka Samhita and Ashtanga Hridayam courses. You can check them out here.

Understanding Ayurveda: A Way of Looking at Health

One of the things I find interesting about Ayurveda is that it doesn’t begin and end with the question of what is wrong with the body. It also asks what it means for the body to function well, what helps maintain that state, and how the way we live influences our health. This might seem like an obvious distinction, but it changes the way we approach the subject. We are accustomed to thinking about health in terms of symptoms, diagnoses, and treatments. Ayurveda, while certainly concerned with the treatment of disease, also places considerable emphasis on preserving health before illness develops. This is not a new idea in medicine, of course. But in Ayurveda, the maintenance of health is the very foundation of the system. The word Ayurveda comes from two Sanskrit words Ayus, meaning life or lifespan, and Veda, meaning knowledge. It is translated as the science of life. What I find significant about this definition is its breadth. Ayurveda is not concerned exclusively with disease or the human body as an isolated biological structure. It considers the conditions that support a life of health and well-being. To understand this approach, it helps to look at the principles on which Ayurveda is built. According to Ayurveda, the human being was never understood as entirely separate from nature. The body is made up of the same fundamental elements that exist in the world around us. The food we eat, the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the environment we live in are not external to our experience of health. They are constantly interacting with us. And perhaps this is why Ayurveda places so much importance on paying attention to the world around us. Our bodies do not exist in a vacuum. They respond to changes in temperature, seasons, food habits, activity, rest, and countless other things that we may not always notice. Of course, this doesn’t mean that every change in our health can be explained by our surroundings, or that we can resolve every problem by changing our lifestyle. But it does remind us that health is influenced by more than just the part of the body where a symptom appears. Another thing I find interesting is that Ayurveda doesn’t assume the same approach will work for everyone. We often look for universal solutions. The same diet, the same routine, the same supplement, the same advice, hoping that what worked for someone else will work just as well for us. Ayurveda encourages a more individualized way of looking at things. Two people might experience similar symptoms but have different underlying patterns, habits, and needs. Their constitutions, digestion, sleep, and responses to their environments may differ. So, while the symptom itself matters, understanding the person experiencing it matters too. This is where the classical concepts of Dosha, Dhatu, Mala, and Agni come into the picture. These are not simply terms to memorise or labels to assign to ourselves. They belong to a larger framework through which Ayurveda understands the functioning of the body. Each concept describes a different aspect of that functioning, but none of them can be understood entirely in isolation. And that, to me, is an important distinction. Learning a few Ayurvedic terms or identifying our Prakriti does not necessarily mean we understand Ayurveda. The concepts begin to make more sense when we understand how they relate to one another and how they fit into the broader principles of the system. The same applies to the way Ayurveda understands food and medicine. We often reduce a substance to a single quality: this food is good for you, that herb is beneficial, or this ingredient is something you should avoid. But Ayurveda considers several aspects when understanding how a substance may act on the body. Its taste, qualities, potency, and the changes it undergoes after digestion all contribute to that understanding. Some effects are also described as specific to a substance and not fully explained by those other properties alone. This is why simply memorizing that a particular herb is used for a particular condition can give us an incomplete understanding. The more interesting question is why it is used, in what context, and for whom. Ayurveda offers a way to think through these questions rather than treating every ingredient as though it has the same effect on every person. I also think it is worth paying attention to Ayurveda’s emphasis on prevention. A lot of our conversations around health begin only when something goes wrong. We look for a diagnosis, a treatment, or a way to get back to normal as quickly as possible. Ayurveda, however, also places importance on the ordinary things we do before illness develops: our daily habits, our relationship with food and rest, and the adjustments we make as our circumstances change. There is something quite practical about this idea. We may not be able to control every aspect of our health, but we can become more attentive to our habits and to the ways our bodies respond to them. Rather than following a routine simply because it is popular, we can begin by asking whether it suits our circumstances and whether it is actually helping us. At the same time, understanding Ayurveda does not mean accepting every traditional claim without question. Its concepts belong to a particular philosophical and medical tradition, and they should be understood in that context. Where claims concern the treatment or prevention of disease, they also need to be evaluated carefully against appropriate scientific evidence. Respecting a tradition and examining its claims critically are not mutually exclusive. For me, the most useful way to approach Ayurveda is to look beyond the individual remedies, routines, and recommendations we encounter so often. Those things may introduce us to the subject, but they are only one part of it. The principles behind them are what help us understand how the… Continue reading Understanding Ayurveda: A Way of Looking at Health

Principles of Ayurveda: What Everything Else Is Built On

Today, let’s go back to the very beginning. Before Doshas, before Agni, before all the specific topics we usually talk about, there is a bigger question. What is Ayurveda actually trying to do? Most people think of it as a system to treat disease and yes, it does that. But that is only half of it. Ayurveda comes from two Sanskrit words, Ayur meaning life and Veda meaning science. Therefore, Ayurveda translates to the science of life, and it cares just as much about keeping a healthy person healthy as it does about treating someone who is unwell. In the Indian way of thinking, life has four goals. Dharma, Artha, Kama and Moksha. And none of these are possible if your body and mind are struggling. So, health was never the end goal, it was what made everything else possible. Now, to understand how Ayurveda looks at the body, you need to start with one idea. Pancha Mahabhuta. We experience the world through five senses. Sight, touch, hearing, taste and smell. Ayurveda says everything around us can be understood through five elements that go with these: Akasha, Vayu, Agni, Jala and Prithvi. Space, air, fire, water and earth. And this isn’t only about nature. Your body is made of these same elements, so is your food and so is your medicine. Even ordinary water isn’t just Jala. It carries all five, with one leading. This is why Ayurveda never saw the body and the world as two separate things. What is outside you keeps becoming what is inside you, through food, water and air. And when the balance shifts within, your body tries to correct it. It lets go of what is in excess and asks for what is lacking. In a way, that is what a craving really is. From these five elements come the three Doshas. Vata, Pitta and Kapha. Vata is mostly space and air. It is movement. Breathing, speaking, and everything in your body that needs to be pushed forward. Pitta is mostly fire. It is transformation. Digestion, forming blood, vision, memory, turning one thing into another. Kapha is mostly water and earth. It is moisture and stability. It softens food for digestion, helps you taste, and nourishes the senses. Something I always want people to understand is that these three are not sitting in separate corners of the body. They are everywhere but the concentration varies. Vata is mostly in the intestines and bones, Pitta is in the stomach and blood, Kapha in the chest and joints. When they are balanced, they hold you up. When they are disturbed, that is where disease begins. Then come the Dhatus, the seven tissues that form the body’s structure. Rasa, Rakta, Mamsa, Meda, Asthi, Majja and Shukra. Plasma, blood, muscle, fat, bone, marrow and reproductive tissue. And this matters because Doshas don’t affect the body randomly. The Dhatus are the first place they act. So, when you look at how a disease really develops, it almost always passes through them. Which brings us back to Agni. The food you eat comes from outside. It is unfamiliar to your body, and it has to be broken down and made into something your body can use. Agni is what does that. But there is not just one Agni. There is the main digestive fire in the gut. There are five Bhutagnis that turn the elements in your food into elements your body recognises. And there are seven Dhatvagnis, one for each tissue, turning nutrients into that specific tissue, step by step. That is why Ayurveda treats Agni almost as the body itself. When someone comes in with a problem, a Vaidya often looks first at the state of their Agni. Because if that isn’t working well, nothing else will. Most Ayurvedic medicines are designed with this in mind. Now here is the part I find the most personal. Prakriti. Ayurveda believes every person is unique, and Prakriti is the reason. At the time of conception, the Doshas present decide your natural constitution. It could be Vata, Pitta, Kapha, a mix of two, or a balance of all three. And it stays with you for life. That is why Ayurveda says it treats the person, not the disease. Two people with the same illness may need very different treatment. Someone with a Vata Prakriti is more prone to Vata problems, so they are advised to avoid what aggravates Vata. A Pitta person is given cooling things. A Kapha person, warming things. And the mind is part of this too. Prakriti is also described through Sattva, Rajas and Tamas, because Ayurveda never saw disease as only physical. The mind affects the body, and the body affects the mind. Which is why even a physical illness sometimes comes with steps for the mind. Even medicines are understood this way. They carry the five elements as well, so Ayurveda looks at their taste, called Rasa, their qualities, called Guna, their potency, Virya, and their effect after digestion, Vipaka. And then there is something none of these can explain, the medicine’s special action, called Prabhava. Two medicines can be alike in every other way and still act differently because of this. Now, none of this is meant to be memorised in one sitting. But if you step back, you can see how it all connects. The elements make the Doshas. The Doshas affect the tissues. Agni keeps the whole thing running. Prakriti decides how all of it shows up in you and the same logic carries over to food, medicine and even the mind. That is what makes Ayurveda a system, and not just a collection of remedies. And I think that is the real takeaway. When you understand these basics, you stop seeing Ayurvedic advice as random rules, like eat this, avoid that. You… Continue reading Principles of Ayurveda: What Everything Else Is Built On

Atman in Ayurveda: Understanding the Self, Mind, and Consciousness

Today, let’s talk about a concept in Ayurveda that is present in everything the system talks about, but not everyone gets into it or knows about it because the whole concept itself is too abstract on the surface. I am talking about Atman, which translates to the self, the soul, or simply the knower. Now, before jumping into what Atman really means, let’s start with something which we are more familiar with in terms of Ayurveda, which is the Manas, the mind. So, mind is essentially the part of you that reacts. It takes in the stimulus and turns it into a response. It distinguishes between likes and dislikes. For example, if something you eat tastes good, you want to eat more of it, and if you experience pain, you pull away. You don’t want to experience it again. This is what the Manas does. However, Atman is something else entirely. It is a part of you that is aware that all of this is happening. It’s not the reaction itself, but it’s the one noticing the reaction. While Manas distinguishes experiences into pain and pleasure, Atman is simply aware of the inside and outside, it is the very awareness of this experience. Here’s a simple way of how I think about it. When you’re feeling unwell, usually the food that you eat every time, or the food that you like, you don’t want to have it and it might even taste unpleasant to you. But nothing about the food has changed. What changed is how it is being received by your body. This shift, the change between you and your mind, is the job of Atman. It is adjusting your experiences based on what is happening inside you. Now, Atman cannot itself be described the way we describe everything else in the body, because it has no color, no shape, no texture. Its presence is not known entirely or directly. But even if you don’t see Atman, you infer it. How differently a person can respond to the same thing, and how something within them prompts them to respond in that particular way. The whole Atman can also be understood through this perspective, from the whole idea of possession, how it naturally comes to us when we talk about our things. When we say, “I am tired,” there is still this strange distinction between the one who is experiencing tiredness and the tiredness itself. This distance implied between someone who possesses and something that is being possessed, is where the idea of Atman comes from. All the parts of your body are what is possessed by you, the person. So, despite any changes or aging or anything, the one that is staying constant is me, my. The idea of the owner is what is Atma. And this whole distinction isn’t just philosophical. There’s a real practical framework of diagnosis around it too. In Ayurveda, illness comes in three severities. One is ordinary, one serious, and one that is heading to a very fatal outcome. And the way you tell these apart isn’t just purely because of external signs, but how clearly the person can experience their own feeling. How clearly can they experience things like their preference, discomfort, desire, how they feel, and if all of this is intact in a coherent way. Because once illness starts to get serious, all of this starts to blur. The person struggles to clearly experience. Memory becomes hazy, and the coordination too falters. And in most serious cases, the patients may not be able to experience anything at all. They might feel numb. They can’t tell you how they feel because the whole response, the whole connection between your Atma, Manas, and the senses has weakened and there’s only basic signs of life that’s left. This is such a different way of thinking about diagnosis compared to how we actually imagine ancient medicine, which is reduced to something that is purely external, physical observation. In Ayurveda, the presence of your mind and the clarity of your awareness itself is one of the most important ways to diagnose what is wrong inside you, and it is sometimes arguably more important than any physical sign. Now, the takeaway from all of this is very simple, despite how abstract Atman sounds. And before even Ayurveda gets into the details of the body, bones, tissues, or organs, it is first establishing that awareness that is present inside every one of us, and everything else is built on top of that basic confirmation. Health is never only about visible, measurable parts of the body. It is always, at its core, something that is changing inside you. And I think this is where Atman becomes much less abstract than it initially sounds. Because when we hear words like soul or self, it can immediately feel like we’re entering a completely philosophical conversation, something very distant from the body and from medicine. But Ayurveda doesn’t really separate these things in the way that we might expect. The person who is experiencing the illness is not just the body that is carrying the illness. There is the body, there are the senses, there is the mind, and there is this awareness that experiences all of it. If ideas like this interest you, you can check out our courses on Charaka Samhita and Ashtanga Hridayam which talk in depth about how Ayurveda understands the self, the mind, and the body as one connected system and much more.

What Your Body Is Telling You Before You Ask It

There’s actually a lot we can tell about a person without asking them a single question. If they are not feeling well, you can notice the way they look unusually pale, or that their voice sounds different, weaker than usual. Their eyes may look different, their skin may look dry, their lips may look chapped, or maybe they might just look exhausted. These are just some observations. Ayurveda actually has an entire section in the Charaka Samhita talking about this kind of observation called Indriya Sthana. The very first chapter is called Varṇasvarīyam Indriyam where Charaka describes how a physician should pay attention to changes in a person’s complexion, voice, and other signs when assessing an illness or the severity of a disease. Because Ayurveda doesn’t look at the simple question of what disease this person is actually having. It instead goes a little deeper into asking what the body is telling us about the illness. It is actually our body that gives out the first signs of illness before it becomes something more obvious. Disease isn’t always the beginning of the story. It is ultimately important to keep in check the signs that our body is giving away, always. यच्चान्यदपि किंचिद्वर्णवैकृतमभूतपूर्वं सहसोत्पद्येतानिमित्तमेव हीयमानस्यातुरस्य शश्वत्, तदरिष्टमिति विद्यात्। An abnormal change that was not present before, appears suddenly, and occurs in someone whose condition is already declining. Such a change, Charaka says, should be recognized as an ariṣṭa, an ominous prognostic sign. Now, one of the most important ideas in the chapter is the distinction between Prakriti and Vikriti. Prakriti refers to a person’s natural state, while Vikriti refers to the deviation from that state. A person’s appearance may naturally vary depending upon their constitution, age, environment, and other individual characteristics. So we can’t just vaguely determine that one particular complexion may be healthy or unhealthy. We need to look a little deeper. Charaka’s list of things to examine is very extensive. He not just mentions the complexion and voice, but also the smell, taste, touch, eyes, ears, nose, the mental state, and many more. The list goes on. In fact, Charaka tells us that a person should be observed as a whole, because a single unusual sign doesn’t entirely tell the entire story. A temporary change with an obvious explanation is different from a sudden change that appears without apparent reason in someone whose condition may already be deteriorating. So generally, the whole idea is that observation becomes meaningful when it is placed in context. The entire emphasis here is on the change that you witness within your body. And I think this is where this idea becomes useful even outside the context of an Ayurvedic physician examining a patient. Because most of us don’t necessarily pay attention to our own bodies or the signs they are giving out. We know how we feel ultimately, whether our face is looking normal when we wake up, or if our skin is feeling as usual. We know our baseline. But when you wake up feeling different we brush it off as, “Maybe I have not rested well.” But you need to understand that the baseline is important. Because if you suddenly feel unusually tired for several days, or maybe your appetite has changed, or there are other signs your body that are trying to tell you, then I think this is where we need to stop looking and start observing what is wrong. Because from an Ayurvedic point of view, disease is never something that simply comes overnight. Long before it becomes serious, your body is already trying to protest against it through different signs. None of those signs individually might feel like a big deal. And that is exactly why they get ignored. But when you look at the whole picture, these small signs can slowly lead up to something more serious. Disease isn’t the starting point, it is actually much closer to the end of the story that your body has already been trying to tell you for a while now. We are often quick to notice when there is something wrong with our phones, our cars, or our laptops. We notice that the battery is draining faster than usual, or the screen is running slow, or the phone is lagging a bit. But when it comes to our bodies, we often ignore the same signs. And maybe it is because our lifestyle has changed. We sleep less, work more, eat at odd hours, and keep pushing ourselves through the day. We think our body is adaptable, but it isn’t. Your body is constantly giving you information. The question is whether you are paying enough attention to notice it. You don’t have to become an expert at interpreting every single sign. You just need to know what your normal looks and feels like, so you can recognize when something starts to change. If you want to understand your body a little more deeply, you can explore our courses on the Charaka Samhita and Ashtanga Hridayam, and learn how these texts approach the body, health, and the signs it gives us.

Samanya and Vishesha: The Ayurvedic Principle of Balance

Think of this situation, you probably find it familiar. You come home tired, and instead of hitting the gym or going for a walk, all you want to do is sleep. So, you lie down but when you get up instead of feeling refreshed, you feel even more tired. There might also be days when you feel jittery and restless instead. So, you go for a walk or hit the gym hoping it will help. But rather than feeling energised, you end up feeling even more wired than when you started. You must have noticed that nobody has really taught us this. We just vaguely assume that rest will fix our tiredness, or movement will fix our restlessness, without actually stopping to think about whether they really do. Interestingly, Ayurveda has actually talked about this phenomenon. The Charaka Samhita has a verse that describes this very pattern. सामान्यमेकत्वकरं, विशेषस्तु पृथक्त्वकृत् । तुल्यार्थता हि सामान्यं, विशेषस्तु विपर्ययः ॥ It can be roughly translated to Samanya brings things together, Vishesha pulls them apart. Samanya is sameness of quality; Vishesha is its opposite. This verse introduces us to two words. One is samanya, which means sameness or similarity. The other is vishesha, which means difference or distinction. And the principle the text is pointing towards is that things that are similar to each other tend to increase each other, while things that are opposite to each other tend to reduce each other. It’s almost like fields, where one thing can either reinforce what is already there or counter it. Rest is slow. So, if you are already feeling heavy and slow, more rest isn’t necessarily going to rebalance you. It only reinforces that feeling of heaviness and sluggishness. On the other hand, restlessness is hot and fast. So, if you respond to that feeling with more movement, you might end up feeling even more hot and wired rather than actually calming the restlessness. You’re reinforcing the qualities that are already present. Now that we think about it, it sounds obvious. But we rarely think about our own habits in these terms. This principle can also be applied to the food we consume and our body’s internal balances, what Ayurveda calls the doshas. It’s quite simple. Whatever quality is already present in excess, you don’t add more of it. You reach for its opposite instead. On a cold day, for example, if you’re already feeling stiff, dry and cold you naturally want to add some warmth. Similarly, if you’re feeling sluggish or heavy after a meal, you probably don’t want to eat something even heavier, right? You want something lighter. In fact, the very first chapter of the Charaka Samhita, called Dirghanjivitiya, which is about the desire for long life, talks about exactly which tastes can calm which imbalances. It goes through all six rasas, or tastes, and explains their qualities and what can be used to pacify different states. Take Vata, for example. Vata is dry and is associated with movement. So, it is calmed by substances with opposite qualities. If you’re feeling dry and cold, if you’re in a Vata state, you would reach for sweet, sour and salty tastes because these carry qualities of moisture, warmth and weight. Or if you feel like your Pitta is rising, you’re overheated or you’re feeling short-tempered, bitter and sweet tastes can help cool things down. And this is important: none of the six tastes are universally good or universally bad. It’s not that sweet is unhealthy and bitter is healthy. Each taste has its place whether it is helpful or unhelpful depends entirely on the state it is meeting. There is no fixed list where cold foods are always bad or sweet foods are always bad. It depends entirely on the person, the place, the timing, and the state of the body, not just the substance itself. This is one of the core ideas of Ayurveda. It is individualistic. The same food or medicine can be helpful for one person but not for another. If you must have also noticed, even for the same person, something that suits them one day may not suit them on another day. It depends on what qualities they are already carrying in excess at that particular time. Ayurveda says that even a well-known poison, used with the right knowledge, at the right dose, for the right person, can become the best possible medicine. And a substance that’s technically medicine, used without that understanding, can do as much damage as poison. The substance alone is never the whole story. You have to look at what you’re giving, who you’re giving it to, why you’re giving it, how much you’re giving, and under what circumstances. And this brings us back to samanya and vishesha. Because the real question isn’t simply, “Is this food good?” Ayurveda’s answer is rarely just about the thing itself. It is about the relationship between the thing and the person receiving it. If this way of looking at Ayurveda interests you, you might enjoy our courses on the Charaka Samhita and Ashtanga Hridayam, where we go deeper into the texts and the ideas behind them. Sometimes, going back to the original texts can change the way you understand Ayurveda, and even the way you look at your own life.

Your Gut, Brain, Blood and Breath Aren’t as Separate as You Think

Think about everything your body has to move around all day. Food, water, oxygen, nutrients, hormones, waste. Nothing just sits there. Everything is constantly travelling somewhere, through something. And when that movement gets disturbed, your body usually has a way of showing you. Bloating, sluggishness, poor digestion, congestion, changes in your skin, feeling unusually tired. Ayurveda has a rather interesting way of explaining why this happens. It’s called Srotas. Srotas literally means channel, and the idea behind it is honestly pretty simple once you get it. Your body isn’t one solid block of tissue. It’s a network, an endless system of channels and pathways carrying stuff around, nutrients in and waste out. And not just fluids, it also carries your thoughts, emotions and your immune responses. Charaka mentioned that the human body is a pile of these channels, so many of them that you couldn’t hope to count them all. But he and Sushruta still tried to organise the important ones into thirteen main Srotas, each responsible for carrying something specific through the body. Let me give you a sense of how detailed they are. There’s Pranavaha Srotas, the channel for breath and oxygen, roughly matching what we’d now call the respiratory system. The Annavaha Srotas, carries food through digestion. Rasavaha and Raktavaha handle plasma and blood while Swedavaha Srotas for sweat, and Mutravaha for urine. And then there’s the one I find most fascinating, Manovaha Srotas, the channel through which thoughts and emotions are believed to move. Yes, your mind has its own channel too, right alongside your blood vessels and your gut. Strotas aren’t just for moving things around, they also help us understand something we’ve all felt but never really questioned. Why does anxiety sit in your stomach? Why does a stressful week somehow show up as a breakout, or a headache, or a flare-up in your gut? Ayurveda’s answer is that these channels aren’t separate systems running in isolation, they’re connected. A disturbance in one can easily spill into another. Modern medicine, interestingly, is inching toward the same conclusion. There’s actual research now on the gut-brain axis, the idea that your digestive system and your nervous system are in constant conversation, influencing each other more than we ever gave them credit for. Ayurveda was describing something remarkably similar centuries ago. Here’s the part that really changes how you look at illness though. Ayurveda believed most diseases begin the same way. Not with a sudden attack from nowhere, but with a Srotas getting disturbed. And it described this disturbance, called Srotodushti, in a few specific ways. A channel can get blocked, it can narrow. It can widen beyond what it should. It can even start carrying things in the wrong direction entirely. I think this reframes a lot of things we brush off too quickly. That afternoon brain fog you get after a heavy meal? Ayurveda would say your Annavaha Srotas, the digestive channel, is overloaded, and that congestion is now affecting clarity elsewhere. Random skin flare-ups with no obvious trigger? Possibly a disturbance that finally found somewhere to surface. None of this means Ayurveda had X-ray vision into the body, it didn’t have MRIs or blood panels. What it had was centuries of careful observation, watching how symptoms moved, repeated and connected across generations of patients. And through that, it built an entire model of the body based on flow, not fixed parts. This is actually a pretty different way of thinking about health compared to how most of us were taught. We tend to think in terms of organs like the stomach handles digestion, the lungs handle breathing and the brain handles thinking, full stop. Ayurveda asked a slightly bigger question. Not just what does each part do, but how does everything stay connected, and what happens when that connection breaks down. Keeping these channels clear was never treated as an afterthought in Ayurveda either. It’s actually one of the reasons practices like proper digestion, regular elimination, oil massage and even breathing exercises show up so often in Ayurvedic practices. They were seen as basic maintenance for keeping the body’s channels open and functioning the way they’re meant to. But once you actually understand Srotas, a lot of Ayurveda’s other ideas start clicking into place too. Why Dinacharya matters, why Ama, the toxin buildup we mentioned earlier, is taken so seriously, why treating one symptom in isolation was never really Ayurveda’s style to begin with. Long before modern medicine started mapping out the gut-brain axis or the lymphatic system in real detail, Ayurveda had already sketched out its own map, one built entirely on the idea that nothing in the body works alone. If ideas like this interest you, our guided courses on Charaka Samhita and Ashtanga Hridayam explore concepts like Srotas straight from the original texts.

Your Moods Have a Pattern Too, Here’s What Ayurveda Says

Ever had one of those days where you feel completely calm and clear-headed, like nothing can shake you? And then there are days where you feel restless, edgy, almost itching to argue with someone over nothing? And then, of course, there are the days where you don’t want to do anything at all. Not work, not talk, not even get off the couch. If you’ve felt all three of these at different points in your life, you already understand the Trigunas, even if you’ve never heard the word before. We talk a lot about Doshas when it comes to Ayurveda, Vata, Pitta, Kapha. But those three govern the body. What most people don’t know is that Ayurveda had a separate set of three for the mind. These are called the Trigunas: Sattva, Rajas and Tamas. And honestly, I think this is one of the more underrated ideas in the whole system. Let’s break it down simply. Sattva is that calm, clear state of mind. Sharp focus, a settled heart, the kind of headspace where good decisions just come naturally. Rajas is the restless one, driven, ambitious, a little impatient, always chasing the next thing. Tamas is the heavy one, sluggish, foggy, the mental version of hitting snooze five times in a row. Here’s the part I find genuinely interesting. Ayurveda didn’t treat these as personality types you’re stuck with. Unlike your Dosha, which is largely fixed from birth, your Guna shifts, sometimes within the same day. You could wake up Sattvic, turn Rajasic by 3pm after back-to-back meetings, and end the night fully Tamasic on the couch, scrolling your phone with zero motivation to move. Same person, three different mental states, all in twelve hours. That alone tells you something important. Ayurveda wasn’t describing who you are, it was describing where your mind happens to be, right now. And that’s a much more useful way to think about your own moods, isn’t it? We tend to label ourselves. “I’m just a lazy person.” “I’m always anxious.” “I’m just wired this way.” Ayurveda would gently push back on that. It would say, you’re not permanently anything. This is honestly a bit of a relief when you sit with it. Ayurveda also didn’t leave you to just observe your Guna. It gave you actual levers to pull. Food, for one. Ever notice how a heavy, greasy meal makes you want to do absolutely nothing afterward? That’s Tamas showing up through your plate. Ayurveda classified food the same way it classified minds: Sattvic, Rajasic and Tamasic, and it genuinely believed what you eat nudges your mental state, not just your waistline. Sleep, company, the media you consume, even the pace of your day. Ayurveda considered all of it capable of tilting you toward one Guna or another. This is where it gets a little uncomfortable, in a good way. Because it means your 2am doom-scrolling isn’t just a habit. It’s actively feeding a Tamasic state. And that overpacked schedule you’re proud of might be keeping you stuck in Rajas far more than you realise, wired, busy, but never actually at peace. Ayurveda wasn’t saying Rajas or Tamas are bad, by the way. You need Rajas to get out of bed and get things done. You need a bit of Tamas to actually rest. The goal was never to eliminate them. It was to notice which one you’re leaning on too heavily, and gently steer yourself back toward Sattva, the state Ayurveda considered closest to genuine wellbeing. So why doesn’t this concept come up as often as Doshas do? I think it’s because Doshas feel more “medical.” They explain digestion, body type, physical symptoms, things that are easy to point to. Gunas are quieter. They live in your mood, your focus, your patience, things we’re used to blaming on stress or personality instead of actually examining. But if you ask me, understanding your Guna day to day might be more useful than knowing your Dosha. Because most of us aren’t struggling with our body type. We’re struggling with why we feel foggy, restless or completely unmotivated, and not knowing there was ever a name for it, or a way back to balance. If ideas like this interest you, our guided courses on Charaka Samhita and Ashtanga Hridayam explore concepts like the Trigunas straight from the original texts.