A long long time ago, I spent three months in India. I loved it there. I never wanted to leave.

One thing that I did was to go to see an Indian Ayur Vedic physician. Doctors were called vaidyas. I saw Triguna-ji. He was a big laughing man, very much like a Laughing Buddha.

There were no appointments. You just went.

There was no privacy either. When it was your turn to sit in front of Triguna, you were in a public room with a bunch of people, all who took interest in whoever was the current patient.

Westerners sat on one side of the room, and Indians were on the other, and Triguna would alternate Westerners and Indians so everyone had a fair chance to see him.

There was definitely a social aspect to these visits. The whole audience enjoyed themselves enormously. It was entertainment! Lots of laughing.

There was one time when I seemed to be the cause of the laughter. I never caught on to why.

Triguna said an Indian word to me. It sounded like Zampini or Gambini. He said it very loudly and several times. All the Indians laughed. Then I said sincerely, “I’m sorry, Triguna-ji, I don’t know what that means.” (As if he thought I did!) Everybody laughed again, including Triguna, and I joined in too. And then Triguna said to me very loudly, “VEGETABLES! VEGETABLES!” More laughter. Do you see what the joke was?

There was no examination as we know it in the Western world. Triguna would take your pulse and know everything. He would, of course, take a good look at you too. And you would tell him why you had come to him. And then he would recommend some wonderful herbs or something surprising. For example, once, for someone who had poor indigestion, he prescribed: “Put three lemons on the table where you eat.” I loved that. Like poetry.

A vaidya never charges for his services. He provides the herbs, and you pay for the herbs. Triguna’s staff would pour the powders into squares of newspaper and fold them expertly. The little packages never leaked. Again, I loved the simplicity. The herbs cost very little. Sometimes you were given liquids in little bottles.

How different it was from American medicine – mass-produced pills in antiseptic bottles with very precise directions.

When one of Triguna’s assistants would give me my powders, he might say something like: Take three times a day.

If I asked, “Do I take it before meals?” he would say, “Yes.”

If I asked, “Do I take it after meals?” he would say, “Yes.”

I had the feeling that my question held the right answer, that that was what was right for me.

In any case, the herbs were very good for me. Triguna-ji said so too. He took my pulse, and said in a loud voice, “VERY GOOD FOR YOU!”