Today at breakfast, as the dosa sizzled and released its familiar aroma, my son asked a question that stopped me mid-bite. With one hand dipped in a mix of ghee and butter and the other holding a crisp dosa triangle, he looked up and asked, “Appa, which is better—ghee or butter?” I, of course, said, “Ghee.”
He squinted. “Then why did Krishna love butter so much? Isn’t ghee healthier?”
It was a simple question, yet it opened a floodgate of reflections. Here I was, an Ayurvedic doctor with three decades of experience, having prescribed ghee to thousands of patients. Yet I found myself slightly tongue-tied in front of a dosa and an innocent question.
I told him, “Krishna lived in a time when cows were healthy, milk was pure, churners worked with love, and butter was fresh as morning dew. Not like the processed bricks we get today.” But he wasn’t satisfied. Kids these days are like Google in shorts.
My mind drifted to my OPD in RT Nagar. Over the years, patients have asked me this question in many forms. “Doctor, should I switch from Amul butter to homemade ghee?” “Is ghee fattening?” “My dietician says no ghee, but my grandmother says add more. Whom should I believe?” One lady said, “Doctor, when I eat hot rice with ghee, I feel my soul leaving my body and dancing in heaven.”
From a scientific standpoint, butter and ghee are dairy fats, but their natures are subtly—and profoundly—different. Butter is an emulsion containing water, milk solids, and fat. Ghee is clarified; the milk solids are removed through simmering, which gives it a longer shelf life, a higher smoke point, and eliminates the lactose and casein. This makes ghee ideal for people who are lactose intolerant or have milk protein allergies.
In Ayurveda, ghee is considered amrita—nectar. It’s not just a cooking medium; it’s a carrier (yogavahi) that transports medicinal herbs deep into the tissues (dhatus). Ghee takes on the qualities of whatever it’s cooked with—absorbing their essence like a sponge soaking up flavour and energy. When I give Brahmi ghrita to an anxious teen or Triphala ghrita to someone with chronic eye strain, I’m not just giving fat—I’m giving ghee, a food with a mission. It knows where to go and what to do when it gets there.
Butter has its place, too. Freshly churned navaneeta, as Krishna stole it, is cool, sweet, and heavy. It pacifies vata and pitta, especially when taken in moderation. A verse in the Charaka Samhita praises Navaneeta for nourishing the Shukra Dhatu—the reproductive essence. But today’s factory-made, salt-laden butter? That’s another story.
Let me tell you about Mr. Rajashekar, a 62-year-old software veteran who came to me last year. He had high cholesterol, borderline diabetes, and a mild fatty liver. His cardiologist had put him on a no-fat diet. “No ghee, no butter, no oil, nothing white or shiny,” he declared solemnly. Poor Rajashekar looked miserable. His face, as dry as a chalkboard, matched the roti he was chewing like cardboard.
After checking his prakriti and doing nadi pariksha, I told him gently, “Add one teaspoon of ghee to your lunch and dinner.” He looked at me as if I had offered him a Ferrari. “Doctor? Can I have ghee? You mean real ghee?” His wife broke into a grin. In one month, his digestion improved, his bowels moved like clockwork, and his mood was noticeably brighter. His LDL had come down, too.
Of course, portion matters. Ghee is not a free pass to float your rice. One or two teaspoons can heal you, half a cup will haunt you. Ghee is medicine—until you treat it like gravy.
I remember another patient, Jaya, a new mother who came in with postpartum fatigue and dryness. She was scared to touch ghee. “Everyone says it will make me fat and lazy, Doctor,” I told her what my professor, Dr.Ashalatha, told me—sneha (oil/love) is needed during sutika kala (postpartum period). Ghee lubricates the system, calms vata, and heals the tissues. She started with medicated ghee for 21 days. “Doctor, I feel… juicy again,” she said with a bashful smile.
There’s something deeply emotional about ghee. Its aroma triggers memories. For many Indians, the smell of hot ghee on dal is a whiff of home, festivals, and grandmother’s hands. Even in rituals, ghee is sacred. We pour it into the fire not just for light, but for offering. Ghee fuels our bodies and our prayers.
Butter, on the other hand, feels more like a flirtation than a marriage. Lovely on toast, divine in cakes, but lacking the soul of ghee. One of my patients joked, “Butter is for flirting, ghee is for settling down.” Another said, “Butter makes you smile, but ghee makes you glow.”
Then there’s the smoke point. Ghee can handle high-heat cooking without breaking down into harmful compounds, while butter burns faster due to its milk solids. So, when you’re sautéing, ghee wins hands down.
Let’s also talk calories and fats. Yes, both are calorie-dense and high in saturated fat. But ghee has short-chain fatty acids like butyrate, which are anti-inflammatory and gut-healing. Butter has some, too, but less so. Ghee is shelf-stable and doesn’t need refrigeration, while butter turns rancid. The difference is in the details.
Krishna’s love for butter symbolised joy, mischief, and abundance. Krishna wasn’t counting calories—he was counting smiles. He stole it because it was precious, nourishing, and handmade with love. In his time, home-churned butter was ghee in its younger form. The gopis would churn it from yoghurt, not cream, giving it probiotic magic and tenderness. Krishna’s butter had the innocence of a child’s laughter and the strength of village cows. Today’s supermarket butter can’t compete.
I sometimes tell my urban patients to rediscover their relationship with ghee, not as a guilty pleasure but as a mindful tradition. Make it at home if you can. Use desi cow’s A2 milk. Store it in a brass or glass jar. Offer it on warm rice. Let it melt slowly. Watch how your body reacts—not just your tongue.
My son, still chewing his dosa, was unconvinced. “So… Krishna’s butter was like a baby ghee?” I agreed. “Exactly.Ghee is the butter that grew up, meditated, and did a PhD in healing.” He giggled. “Then I’ll eat both. One for fun, one for wisdom.”
Perfect. Life is about balance, after all.
As I sipped my coffee, I thought about how food opens doors to many conversations. Between generations, between science and tradition, between taste and truth. Butter or ghee? The honest answer lies in knowing what your body needs, what your culture celebrates, and what your tongue remembers.
Ghee and butter: simple choices that shape a richer life.
