I, Me, Myself

Who would have imagined that a week that began with a doctor – who, with the precision of a prosecutor, laid out all the terrible things I’d been doing to my body for decades – could end up being, of all things, rewarding? And yet somehow, after the tidal wave of alarm and self-recrimination had passed, it actually was.

A week of detox at a wellness retreat tucked deep inside the forest in the remote hills of Uttarakhand. Just me and my husband Atul, and seven whole days of hot massages, green juices, and well-meaning strangers reminding us to breathe deeply.

And I have to admit, I can’t quite figure out why we didn’t do this sooner. Really, I can’t. Was it because we were so busy with the usual business of life? Or was it because we’d always thought of holidays as time to see new places, buy shoes, and let the kids have fun? And honestly, wasn’t detox something for other people? You know, the ones with bad knees and high cholesterol? Or… maybe it was because we’d always dismissed these retreats as glorified getaways for people with too much money and not enough sense. Whatever the reason, we were wrong. About everything. Every last thing.

So, finally—after being married for thirty-five years, after raising and marrying off two children, and after spending hours debating and rejecting every possible winter vacation destination on the planet—we did it. And here we were. Finally.

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The first thing we noticed was the Quiet. Yes, with a capital Q. The stillness of the dense lush forest seemed to seep into us. It was divine. Sacred. People spoke in hushed tones, their movements slow and deliberate, as if unwilling to disturb nature’s rhythm. It was like stepping into an alternate universe where silence wasn’t just the absence of sound but a presence in its own right. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so utterly, completely at peace.

Life, for once, hit the pause button. And stayed there. The days stretched lazily before us: long walks down winding paths that seemed to go nowhere, indulgent massages that seemed to unlock every single knot of tension I’d been carrying since I could remember, and a menu of therapies that looked like something out of a dream journal. Yoga. Meditation. Gardening. And the pièce de résistance? Guilt-free sleep for long, unhurried hours. It was like living inside a self-help bestseller, except that I didn’t need to underline a single thing. By the second day, we were fully converted. Life, it seemed, was all about rest, renewal, and rejuvenation. And we had finally learned how to indulge in all three.

And then there was the food. Infuriatingly good food. Not the kind of good that makes you want seconds but the kind of good that makes you wonder why you haven’t been eating this way your entire life. Everything was fresh, filling, and annoyingly virtuous—salads so vibrant, broths so delicate, and desserts that tasted better than anything I’d ever eaten — despite containing absolutely no sugar. It wasn’t deprivation; it was discovery.

But here’s the thing—the real revelation wasn’t in the food or the deep breathing or even the quiet. It was the unloading of the stress. Stress we’d been hauling around, both of us, for so long we’d forgotten what it felt like to be rid of it. And somewhere between the Ayurvedic massages, the green smoothies, and the gentle meditation sessions, that stress began to dissolve. I knew it was gone when Atul burst out laughing when he was served rolled-up pineapple presented as stuffed cannoli dessert… and laughed and laughed, the belly-deep laugh I hadn’t heard from him in years. That’s when I knew we’d found the magic.

By the end of the week, I wasn’t just detoxed. I was transformed. Lighter, freer, calmer—and dare I say it, kinder to myself. Because sometimes, all you really need is the quiet of a forest, the space to breathe, and enough time to forget about the chaos around—and inside—of you. Perhaps most importantly, I learned to listen to my body, which had been screaming at me for years, and finally figured out what it had been trying to tell me all along.

Sometime during that week, I realized the sheer brilliance of putting myself first. Not in a narcissistic, self-absorbed way, but in a way that gives me permission to pause and think about what I, as an individual, want. My own desires. My own thoughts. My own well-being. It sounds so new, so revolutionary—and yet, somehow, it feels like the most obvious thing in the world. Like discovering a secret that had been sitting right there, quietly waiting for me to notice it. Which, of course, I did, while sipping herbal tea and wearing a white kurta-pyjama!

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This coming New Year, I’ve made a resolution. It’s not about losing weight or achieving targets or tackling the endless to-do list. It’s about I, Me, Myself. Not in the selfish, “ignore the world” sense—but in the “finally take center stage in my own life” sense. And I can’t wait to see how much brighter everything looks from here.