It was 5:28 p.m. on a Monday when I heard it again.
“Doctor, what should I eat?”
The question floated in like the smell of roasted peanuts from the roadside cart outside my clinic. The woman who asked it—a sprightly 62-year-old wearing a pink Mysore silk saree and half a bottle of jasmine coconut oil in her hair—had just listed 37 different foods she already avoided. Sugar, milk, rice, curd, dal, brinjal, potatoes, pickle, tamarind, ghee, banana, papaya, tomatoes, besan, maida, maida in disguise, and air-fried things that smell too fried.
“I’ve cut everything, but still acidity,” she said, frowning. “So now I only eat upma without rava.”
I smiled and made a note. Not just of her diet, but of the growing epidemic of culinary confusion. Somewhere between Instagram reels, WhatsApp forwards, and that uncle who read one nutrition article in 1997, we have turned food into the enemy.
Every day, at least five people ask me what they should eat. But no two patients want the same answer.
One wants to lose weight without giving up biryani. Another wants immunity-boosting food, preferably in chips form. A young father once asked me, “What’s a good sattvic snack to eat while binge-watching Netflix?” (I told him roasted lotus seeds. He replied, “What’s that? Sounds like a spell from Harry Potter.”)
The funniest was an NRI from San Jose, visiting his mother in Jayanagar. He sat down and, before even describing his symptoms, said, “Doctor, please give me a 7-day diet chart. I’ve read your blogs. I trust you. I also follow Dr. Mark Hyman and Joe Rogan.”
I stared at him for a moment and said, “That’s like trusting both Sushruta and Andrew Tate at the same time.”
He blinked.
Ayurveda doesn’t work in diet charts and macros. It works in patterns, principles, and the poetry of opposites. It’s less “eat three almonds daily” and more “if your fire is weak, don’t pour a jug of cold water on it.” But try explaining that to a man who tracks his bowel movement on a smartwatch.
Some patients, though, get it beautifully. Like 75-year-old Sumitra Bhat, who told me she follows a simple rule: if her stomach grumbles after eating it, she won’t touch it again—no matter how organic, seasonal, or endorsed by Kareena Kapoor.
And then there are the guilty confessors.
One lady said, “I know curd at night is wrong, but I ate it last night.” I reassured her. “Don’t worry, one curd won’t kill your doshas.” She looked relieved. “Because I had it again today for breakfast.”
There was a retired teacher who asked, “Doctor, I’m vata prakriti. Is it okay if I eat only fruit all day?” I asked her which fruits. She listed watermelon, muskmelon, guava, banana, and three oranges. I said, “Madam, your vata is now floating in a cold fruit juice ocean.”
Food, for many people, has become an equation to solve. Unfortunately, they’re solving it with algebra when the subject is poetry.
I often tell my patients, Your stomach is not a laboratory. It is a temple. A wild garden. A child. It responds to warmth, rhythm, familiarity, and attention. Eat what you can digest, not just what you can chew. Listen to how you feel after eating, not just during the meal.
Ayurveda teaches us that food is medicine, but only when the eater is in tune with themselves. Even the best ghee in the world won’t help someone who eats standing up while scrolling through bad news on Twitter.
Of course, it’s not all mystical and metaphorical. Some things are just practical. If you have acidity, avoid eating fermented foods at night. If your joints ache, reduce your intake of curd, tomatoes, and potatoes. If your digestion is slow, don’t start your day with cold smoothies. And please—stop drinking coffee on an empty stomach. Your stomach lining didn’t sign up for that punishment.
A young man once asked me, with the seriousness of someone seeking stock market advice, “Doctor, is curd rice good or bad?” I said, “That depends—are you eating it for lunch or dinner?” He replied, “Dinner, of course. I love it cold, straight from the fridge.” I looked at him and said, “Then it’s not curd rice, it’s revenge.” His mother burst out laughing. I continued, “Cold curd at night in Bangalore weather is a perfect recipe—for morning regrets. If you must eat it, warm it slightly, add ginger, and don’t treat it like ice cream.” He nodded, still mourning the loss of his evening ritual. I reassured him: “There’s a world beyond fridge-curd. Let’s explore it.”
The problem today is that we have too much knowledge and not enough wisdom. One day, turmeric will be a superfood. The next day, someone says it’s inflammatory. One blog says ghee is liquid gold. Another calls it saturated evil. Now people live in chronic food anxiety, unsure whether lunch will heal them or hurt them.
But the body remembers. The gut remembers. And often, the answers are not in fancy diets but in the foods your grandmother made when you were sick. Hot rice with ghee. Moong dal soup. Light kanji. Cooked vegetables. Fresh jeera water. And the wisdom to rest, chew, and eat without rushing.
I remember once telling a young techie, “Chew each bite 12 times.” He replied, “I don’t have that kind of time, Doc.” I said, “Then make friends with your gastroenterologist.”
Then, what do you think you should eat?
It depends on your digestion, lifestyle, prakriti, age, weather, stress, sleep, and what your inner compass says. If you eat with attention, grace, and gratitude, your body will whisper back what’s working. And if you listen—really listen—you won’t need Google or me.
That evening, as I closed my clinic, I saw the peanut vendor again. The smell of roasted warmth lingered. A group of kids stood nearby, laughing, holding tiny paper cones. No diet plan. No protein macros. Just joy, salt, crunch, and childhood.
I smiled. Maybe that’s the food advice most of us need: Eat in peace. Eat in rhythm. Eat with delight. The rest, your gut will figure out.
The question is not “What should I eat?”
It’s “Can I eat with awareness?”
