The Grand Dhanteras Paradox: A Festival of Health Celebrated with Sweets

The Grand Dhanteras Paradox: A Festival of Health Celebrated with Sweets

Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Cognitive Dissonance

Dr Aakash Kembhavi

Happy Dhanteras, everyone! Today we honor Lord Dhanwantari, the divine physician who emerged from the cosmic ocean carrying the nectar of immortality and the ancient wisdom of Ayurveda. Naturally, I will celebrate this auspicious day by eating approximately seventeen gulab jamuns and purchasing gold jewelry I don’t need while scrolling through Instagram to see who bought more gold jewelry they don’t need.

The Physician God Would Like a Word With Us

Let’s be honest with ourselves for approximately three seconds (any longer would be uncomfortable): we’re celebrating the god of health and medicine by doing everything our actual doctors have repeatedly begged us not to do.

Lord Dhanwantari: Literally the father of Ayurveda, advocate of balanced living, proper digestion, and holistic wellness

Me: Eating my third kaju katli at 11 AM while explaining to my concerned pancreas that “it’s tradition”

The irony is so thick you could spread it on a paratha. Which, coincidentally, I will also be eating later.

The Spiritual Significance We Googled This Morning

I’ll admit something: I Googled “Dhanteras significance” approximately forty-five minutes ago. I’ve celebrated this festival for thirty-odd years, but if you’d asked me yesterday to explain the actual story behind it, I would have confidently said something vague about “prosperity and Lakshmi” before changing the subject to where I could find the best deals on silver coins.

This is the modern devotee’s dilemma: we have the entire repository of human knowledge in our pockets, yet somehow we know more about the Kardashians’ latest drama than we do about the festivals we claim are “deeply meaningful” to us.

But here’s where it gets beautiful in its absurdity: I’m not alone. We’re all collectively nodding along, pretending we knew all along that Dhanwantari emerged on this day, while simultaneously ordering “auspicious utensils” on Amazon because someone’s WhatsApp forward said it’s “very very important to buy metal today for good health.”

The Health God Watches Us from Above (Judgmentally)

Imagine being Lord Dhanwantari. You spend millennia perfecting the science of wellness, establishing principles of preventive healthcare, advocating for mindful living and natural remedies. Then you look down on Dhanteras 2025 and see:

  • Diabetics eating sweets because “festival hai yaar”
  • People with high cholesterol standing in three-hour queues at jewelry stores (stress is also bad for health, FYI)
  • Families deep-frying everything in sight while claiming to honor the god of Ayurveda
  • Everyone posting pictures of their purchases with #Blessed #Dhanteras #Prosperity, as if divine favor can be measured in carats

If enlightenment is possible, surely Lord Dhanwantari has achieved reverse-enlightenment watching us.

The Gold Standard (Pun Absolutely Intended)

Let’s talk about the elephant—or should I say, the gold coin—in the room. Somewhere along the way, Dhanteras transformed from honoring the divine physician into a nationwide shopping festival. We’ve convinced ourselves that buying metal objects is a spiritual practice.

“I’m not shopping, I’m worshipping,” I declare, clutching my debit card like a sacred text.

The jewelers are the real geniuses here. They’ve successfully convinced an entire nation that spiritual merit can be purchased by the gram. It’s brilliant marketing disguised as tradition. If Lord Dhanwantari were to start a startup today, he’d probably be in the wrong business. The real money is in telling people that buying expensive things equals devotion.

The Instagram Spirituality Complex

Then there’s the social media spectacle. Today, feeds will overflow with:

  • Elaborately arranged puja thalis that took longer to style than to actually use
  • Close-ups of new purchases with cryptic captions about “blessings”
  • Reposted forwards about muhurat timings that we’ll ignore anyway
  • That one friend who posts a 47-point thread about the “real meaning” of Dhanteras (thank you, friend, but we both know you also Googled it this morning)

We’ve perfected the art of performative devotion. If a festival happens and no one posts about it, did it even happen? Schrödinger’s Puja.

The Ayurveda College Extravaganza: A Study in Beautiful Contradiction

And now, let me tell you about the most deliciously ironic subplot of this entire festival: the grand celebrations at Ayurveda colleges.

Picture this: ornate Dhanwantari puja ceremonies, elaborate decorations, cultural programs, speeches about the “glorious tradition of Ayurveda,” and students dressed in their finest, reverently offering flowers to the deity who represents their chosen field of medicine.

It’s touching. It’s beautiful. It’s also spectacularly absurd.

Because here’s what happens the other 364 days of the year: these same students, after completing their BAMS degrees, will set up clinics where approximately 80% of their prescriptions will be allopathic medicines. That’s right—the graduates of Ayurveda colleges, who spent years studying ancient herbs and holistic wellness, will happily prescribe antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, and yes, even administer injections.

“But doctor, I came to you for Ayurvedic treatment.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Very good. Here’s your Ayurvedic prescription: take this antibiotic three times a day and this painkiller as needed. Also, here’s an injection. Very traditional. Dhanwantari himself would approve.”

The Institutional Irony

The faculty members deliver passionate speeches about preserving ancient wisdom while simultaneously adding allopathic medicine courses to their curriculum because “market demand hai.” They perform elaborate Dhanwantari poojas in the morning and discuss patient load optimization strategies in the afternoon that would make any corporate MBA proud.

The colleges organize grand events—rangoli competitions, cultural programs, scientific seminars about Ayurvedic principles that will be promptly forgotten once everyone returns to their regular practice of prescribing whatever gets patients out the door fastest.

Meanwhile, the most beautiful irony of all: the general public—the supposed beneficiaries of this “sacred healthcare tradition”—has absolutely no idea that today is Dhanwantari Day.

The Great Disconnect

Walk into any Ayurveda college today: celebrations, reverence, tradition, devotion.

Walk into any public hospital, any neighborhood, any random household: “Dhanteras? Yes, gold shopping day. Dhanwantari? Who’s that? Is that a new sweet shop?”

The very people who could benefit from Ayurvedic wisdom—the ones dealing with lifestyle diseases, chronic conditions that respond beautifully to holistic approaches—are completely disconnected from this day and its significance. They’ll buy gold, eat sweets, and continue their unhealthy lives without a second thought about the god of health and wellness.

And the Ayurveda graduates who could bridge this gap? They’re too busy building practices that look suspiciously similar to allopathic clinics, complete with prescription pads that would confuse anyone trying to tell the difference.

A Personal Confession: The View from Inside the System

I need to get something off my chest. As someone who was a double gold medalist and university topper in BAMS, who completed an MD, who has taught at universities in London, who has spent over two decades trying to practice authentic Ayurveda—watching Dhanwantari Day celebrations has become an exercise in exquisite torture.

Every year, I see the same elaborate poojas. The same speeches about “glorious tradition.” The same Instagram posts. The same… everything. And every year, I feel a little more helpless.

Here’s the thing nobody talks about: what do you do when you’ve spent your entire professional life trying to uphold the authentic practice of Ayurveda, only to watch it get diluted, commercialized, and reduced to a photo opportunity once a year?

The Gold Medalist’s Dilemma

I topped my university. I earned double gold medals. I thought—naively, perhaps—that this meant I was preparing to be part of a healthcare revolution, a renaissance of ancient wisdom meeting modern needs. I spent years studying Charaka, Sushruta, mastering surgical techniques, understanding the profound philosophy of holistic healing.

Then I stepped into the real world.

I’ve taught at Thames Valley University in London. I’m a recognized PhD guide. I’ve published research, restructured syllabi, served on editorial boards. I’ve done everything the system says you should do to be a “successful” Ayurvedic professional.

And yet, every Dhanwantari Day, I’m confronted with the same painful irony: the people celebrating with the most enthusiasm are often the ones who understand the tradition the least. Or worse—understand it perfectly well but have made peace with ignoring it 364 days a year.

The Frustration of Being a Voice in the Wilderness

For over twenty years at Astanga Wellness, my wife and now our daughter and I have tried to practice authentic Ayurveda. Not the convenient hybrid version. Not the “Ayurveda” that’s just allopathy with a traditional-sounding name. The real thing—with all its demands for patience, lifestyle changes, and time.

Do you know what that’s like? Trying to explain to patients that healing isn’t a sprint? That Ayurveda isn’t about quick fixes? That maybe, just maybe, the ancient physicians knew something about treating the root cause instead of just suppressing symptoms?

It’s exhausting. It’s financially challenging. It’s professionally isolating.

And then Dhanwantari Day comes around, and everyone suddenly becomes a passionate advocate for traditional medicine—for exactly one day.

The Helplessness of Watching History Repeat

I’ve held various academic positions at different Ayurvedic Medical Colleges. I’ve trained hundreds of students. Bright, enthusiastic students who start their education with genuine passion for Ayurveda.

And I’ve watched what happens to them.

They graduate. They face the market. They face patients who want instant results. They face the economic reality that authentic Ayurvedic practice doesn’t pay as well as a hybrid model. They face families asking, “Beta, when will you start earning properly?”

And slowly, inevitably, I see the compromise begin. First, it’s “just occasionally” prescribing an allopathic medicine. Then it becomes the norm. The Ayurvedic knowledge becomes decorative—something to mention in their clinic’s brochure, something to celebrate on Dhanwantari Day, but not something to actually practice rigorously.

I see this cycle repeat every year. And I feel helpless to stop it.

The Bitter Irony of Expertise

Here’s perhaps the most frustrating part: I’m qualified to teach Research Methodology and Biostatistics. I understand how to design rigorous studies. I know how to generate evidence for Ayurvedic efficacy using modern scientific standards.

But who’s listening? Who wants to invest in that research when it’s easier to just add allopathic medicines to your Ayurvedic practice and call it “integrative medicine”?

I’ve published papers. I’ve given lectures at international conferences. I’ve restructured curricula. I’ve done everything one is supposed to do to advance the field.

And yet, on Dhanwantari Day, the celebrations remain the same: superficial, performative, disconnected from any genuine commitment to what Lord Dhanwantari actually represents.

What Dhanwantari Day Should Be (But Isn’t)

If we were serious—if this day meant what it claims to mean—Ayurveda colleges would use it to:

  • Honestly assess how many graduates practice authentic Ayurveda
  • Question why the tradition is dying despite grand celebrations
  • Have uncomfortable conversations about the gap between our reverence and our practice
  • Commit to actual change, not just ceremonial worship

Instead, we get rangoli competitions and speeches that everyone will forget by tomorrow.

The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Authentic Practitioner

There’s a particular kind of loneliness in being someone who still believes in authentic practice while watching the rest of the profession move on. It’s like being the last person speaking a dying language, watching everyone else switch to something more “practical.”

My wife, daughter and I continue to practice authentic Ayurveda, Yoga, Naturopathy, and Acupuncture at Astanga Wellness. We continue to take the time that real healing requires. We continue to educate patients about root causes and lifestyle changes.

And we continue to be the exception, not the rule. There are quite a few exceptions like us across India and the world and we are a proud tribe trying to preserve, protect, nourish and nurture this great science of healing. That we can even think of attempting to do that is the hope and courage that Lord Dhanwantari has instilled in us.

Every Dhanwantari Day reminds me of this isolation. Of the gap between what we celebrate and what we actually do. Of the potential that lies dormant in this beautiful tradition, waiting for someone—anyone—to take it seriously beyond a single day of rituals.

The Question Nobody Wants to Answer

So here’s my question to every Ayurvedic college, every BAMS graduate, everyone posting Dhanwantari pooja pictures today:

What are you actually doing tomorrow?

Will you commit to authentic practice? Will you refuse to take the easy path of hybrid medicine? Will you invest time in educating patients instead of just writing quick prescriptions? Will you advocate for the kind of research and recognition that Ayurveda deserves?

Or will tomorrow be day one of another 364 days of business as usual, until next Dhanwantari Day comes around and we dust off our devotion for one more performative celebration?

I already know the answer. And that’s what makes this day so hard.

The Uncomfortable Truth We’re Dancing Around

Here’s the thing that makes this all rather poignant: these festivals could have real meaning. The story of Dhanwantari is genuinely fascinating—a deity who represents the synthesis of spirituality and science, the importance of health as the foundation of prosperity, the value of ancient wisdom in healing.

But we’ve streamlined it. Flattened it. Reduced it to: Buy Things Day with Spiritual Characteristics.

And the most uncomfortable question: if we were honest with ourselves, would we still celebrate these festivals if they didn’t involve shopping, eating, or posting? If Dhanteras was just a day of reflection on health and wellness—no sweets, no gold, no Instagram opportunities—how many of us would observe it?

Narrator: The crowd has left the chat.

The Self-Deprecating Conclusion

Look, I’m not claiming moral superiority here. I’m writing this blog post between price-checking gold coins online and wondering if my third cup of chai counts as Ayurvedic medicine (it has herbs, doesn’t it?).

We’re all complicit in this beautiful, absurd theater. We know it’s largely performative. We know the cognitive dissonance is real. We know that Lord Dhanwantari, if he were to issue a health report card today, would give us a collective D-minus with a note saying “Needs significant improvement; possibly didn’t read the assignment.”

But here we are, year after year, keeping these traditions alive in our own peculiar way. Maybe that’s the real meaning—not the perfection of observance, but the stubborn, flawed, very human attempt to connect with something larger than ourselves, even if we’re doing it while eating things that will require larger pants.

A Modest Proposal

So here’s my thought: what if next Dhanteras, just as an experiment, we actually tried observing it the way Lord Dhanwantari might appreciate?

  • Skip the gold shopping (the jewelry stores will survive)
  • Don’t deep-fry everything in sight
  • Learn one actual Ayurvedic principle
  • Maybe, just maybe, do something genuinely healthy

I’m kidding, of course. We all know this won’t happen. I’ll see you in the sweets line in approximately three hours, where we can exchange knowing glances that say, “We’re aware of the irony, but the gulab jamuns are fresh.”

Happy Dhanteras, everyone. May Lord Dhanwantari have mercy on our collectively overworked digestive systems and our credit card statements.

Disclaimer: No divine beings were disrespected in the writing of this blog. The author maintains great reverence for all traditions, festivals, and deities, even while acknowledging that we could probably all benefit from actually following their teachings instead of just buying things in their name. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some gold shopping to do—for spiritual reasons, obviously.

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