Passage To India

Anubha Charan resisted the centuries-old Ayurvedic beauty rituals of her heritage until the world’s embrace of them ignited a newfound appreciation.

Me: “My skin is itchy. Look, I have a rash.” My mother: “Here’s some mustard oil. Just massage it on.”

Me: “I’m not feeling well. My insides are twisting.” Mother: “Drink some turmeric milk and you’ll be fine by dinnertime.”

Me: “My hair is always frizzy!” Mother: “That’s because you refuse to let me put coconut oil on it.”

Coconut oil. Mustard oil. Turmeric. These staples have been part of the Ayurvedic system of healing for centuries, and my mother prescribed them for everything from unruly hair to dry skin and acne, with zero concern for the messy applications and the fact that she was turning her daughter into a human oil slick.

And while my grandmother could usually be counted on to contradict everything my mother said, when it came to the curative powers of these ingredients, she stood firmly by her daughter.

Our family split its time between Stockholm and New Delhi, but no matter where we were, my mother would come to me every Sunday to pour a bowlful of coconut oil onto my scalp and rub it in vigorously as it dripped over my face and body. I’d spend the rest of the day carrying around tissues to mop up the excess oil I left behind wherever I went. And after I washed it out the next morning, she’d comb in a little more as a protective measure. By my teens, I had grown tall and lanky and had enough trouble fitting in with my peers, so I started to hide from my mother to avoid her weekly treatments. She said the coconut oil would nourish my scalp, bring down frizz, and prevent breakage, but I just couldn’t risk having my hair plastered to my head for days afterward.