A patient once told me, “Doc, my sleep is like a prepaid SIM—worked fine in the beginning, now completely deactivated.” Another swore his body had entered a different time zone while still living in Bengaluru. And one poor fellow confessed he’d started watching videos of people sleeping, hoping the boredom might rub off. That’s the thing about insomnia—it doesn’t knock. It barges in wearing loud shoes and carrying a playlist of unfinished thoughts. By day, you function. By night, your brain becomes a late-night talk show host with no off button. No wonder so many people look fresh in the morning, only if you ignore the under-eye luggage they’re carrying.
I’ve seen a steady increase in sleep complaints, not just from corporate zombies and screen-addicted teenagers, but also from schoolteachers, shopkeepers, artists, and even retired folks who have nothing urgent to do the next morning except not sleep. It seems like insomnia has gone viral, and no, there’s no vaccine for this one. The reasons are as varied as they are absurd. One lady blamed her daughter-in-law’s loud anklets. Another blamed planetary retrograde. A third blamed Netflix. At least that last one had a half-decent scientific angle.
I once had a 32-year-old entrepreneur come to me looking like a crashed server—eyes puffy, face pale, nerves fried. He said, “Doc, I can’t sleep until I check the U.S. stock market, reply to Slack messages from three time zones, and meditate with my Apple Watch.” I smiled and asked, “Do you meditate with your watch, or because of it?” He blinked. “Does it matter?” I said, “It does. Because when your gadget decides when your soul should be still, you’re not meditating. You’re just wearing expensive anxiety.”
We live in an era where sleep is often treated as a luxury rather than a necessity. Productivity is glorified. The rest is mistaken for laziness. And the worst part? Everyone thinks they’re the exception. “Doc, I only need four hours of sleep. I’m a night owl.” No, sir. You’re a tired pigeon pretending to be an owl, and your circadian rhythm is crying for help.
In Ayurveda, we call sleep one of the Trayopasthambha—the three supporting pillars of life, along with food and controlled sex. It’s not optional. It’s not negotiable. You can’t hustle your way out of it. Yet, here we are, trying to cheat biology with caffeine and cope with midnight scrolling. The ancient texts describe Nidranasha (loss of sleep) not just as a dosha imbalance, but as a profound disturbance in Manas (mind), Vata (movement), and even Ojas (vitality). You lose sleep, you don’t just lose rest—you leak life force.
Let me tell you about Shashi aunty from Malleswaram. She’s 67, diabetic, and fond of pickle stories. One day she walked into my clinic, dramatically plopped into the chair, and said, “Doctor, my sleep is like my husband—absent, unpredictable, and when it comes, it snores.” I laughed, but she was serious. She had tried everything—almond milk, lavender oil, prayer, and even sleeping upside down, thanks to some WhatsApp forward. Her mind raced at night. She worried about her daughter’s marriage, her pension papers, and her cholesterol levels. Her body was still, but her mind was racing.
I asked her to keep a sleep diary—not a fancy app, just a simple one, using paper and pen. She had to write down when she woke, when she slept, what she ate, and what she worried about. Patterns emerged. She would drink tea at 6 p.m., argue with her neighbour at 7, watch crime shows at 9, and expect to sleep peacefully by 10. We gradually adjusted her diet to include warm milk with a pinch of nutmeg, administered Brahmi ghritha at bedtime, initiated gentle Shirodhara therapy twice a week, and had her listen to classical Veena music instead of the TV show “CID.” Within two weeks, she was sleeping better and gossiping less—a miracle, by Malleswaram standards.
Sleep is not only rest. It’s a repair. During deep sleep, your brain is replenished with cerebrospinal fluid, which removes toxins, consolidates memory, and recalibrates your mood. It’s like housekeeping for your neurons. Lack of sleep, on the other hand, increases your risk of hypertension, depression, diabetes, and in some cruel cosmic joke, weight gain. Yes, the more you stay up late bingeing on “just one more episode,” the more your belly decides to stay.
Yet, our lifestyle is designed to sabotage our sleep. We eat late, scroll late, and worry late. One patient told me he falls asleep only after watching Instagram Reels of other people falling asleep. That’s not rest. That’s a digital lullaby from the devil’s playlist. Another patient, a 45-year-old executive, said she couldn’t sleep without sleeping pills. “Only half a tablet, Doctor,” she said. “And sometimes just the smell of it is enough.” The placebo effect is strong, but dependency is stronger. I gently weaned her off it using Ashwagandha, a regulated sleep schedule, and weekly Abhyanga massage. Sleep returned—not in a dramatic flood, but like cautious rain after drought.
Ayurveda offers a whole bouquet of sleep aids. Not quick fixes, but steady, sustainable allies. Ashwagandha, Tagara, Jatamansi, and Brahmi are nature’s sedatives, minus the hangover. Oil massages pacify Vata. Foot soaks draw heat down. Even something as humble as applying sesame oil to the soles before bed can signal safety to your nervous system. One IT guy from Koramangala once told me, “Doc, I slept like a baby after that oil rub. Even my dreams were in slow motion.” That’s what Ayurveda does—it slows down your body, your thoughts, your fears and your inner traffic.
Of course, you still need to do the obvious things—no caffeine after 4 p.m., no revenge bedtime scrolling, early dinners, and a little gratitude before sleep. Gratitude works like a lullaby for the soul. It tells your system, “All is well. You’re safe. Rest.”
Insomnia is often not about sleep. It’s about unprocessed emotions. Guilt, anger, regret, anxiety—they all hijack the night. And unlike daytime worries, which are distracted by activity, nighttime thoughts echo in silence. To sleep well, learn the ancient art of letting go. Let go of what went wrong today. Let go of the email you forgot to send. Let go of the person who didn’t text back. Forgiveness, even if silent, is a great sleeping pill.
One of my teachers, Dr R.C. Mathad, used to say, “If your day is Rajasic, your night will be Tamasic. But if your life is Sattvic, your sleep will be blissful.” That stayed with me. Because good sleep is not something you chase, it’s something you invite by living a life of balance.
If you’re going to take a pill or scroll into the abyss tonight, please do this instead. Switch off your gadgets. Rub a little oil on your feet. Read something calming. Sip a warm herbal tea. Tell your mind it’s okay to stop trying to perform. Say a thank-you to your body. Then close your eyes—not to escape the world, but to return to yourself.
Sleep is the reward for letting go.
