My official job title was ‘Senior Product Marketing Manager.’ My unofficial title, which I gave myself during a 2 AM panic attack while staring at a Gurgaon traffic jam on Google Maps, was ‘Chief Worrier & Professional Human Pretzel.’ I was a master of contorting myself into shapes of anxiety that would make a yoga guru weep. My body wasn’t a temple; it was a poorly managed startup running on cutting chai, panic & the fleeting hope of a long weekend in Goa.

Stress wasn’t just a visitor; it had moved in, rearranged the furniture & was now haggling with the landlord for a permanent lease. It started subtly, as these things do. A twitch in my eye that made me look like I was winking at the Uber driver. A habit of checking my work email on my phone while stuck at the Ashram signal. Then, it escalated. I’d find myself standing in a room, having forgotten why I entered, but with a crystal-clear memory of my boss’s passive-aggressive comment on Slack from a meeting three weeks prior. My sleep became a suggestion rather than a necessity, a series of power naps punctuated by vivid stress-dreams where I was being chased by a giant, sentient pitch deck for our Series B funding.

The funny part, in retrospect, was how I wore my stress like a badge of honour. “Arrey, yaar, swamped!” I’d say at house parties, a strange glint of pride in my bloodshot eyes. “Back-to-back calls. The hustle is real!” I thought I was a warrior in the corporate arena of Cyber City. In reality, I was a hamster on a wheel that was spinning so fast it had achieved liftoff & was currently orbiting Mars.

The breaking point wasn’t a dramatic, movie-style collapse. It was quiet & absurd. I was trying to make a simple cup of chai. I put the tea leaves & sugar directly into the pot & turned on the gas, forgetting the water entirely. A few minutes later, a smell of burnt sugar & despair filled my kitchen. I stood there, staring at the pot, genuinely confused as to why the process wasn’t working. My brain, a finely tuned machine for generating marketing jargon, had finally blue-screened. A single, clear thought surfaced from the chaos: This is not sustainable.

And so began my great, frantic & often comical quest for the cure. I became a connoisseur of wellness trends, a disciple of any guru who promised tranquility in five easy steps.

Phase One: The App-olution

My first stop was the digital world. I downloaded every meditation app known to man. Headspace, Calm, Insight Timer… my phone looked like a Zen monastery’s app store. I’d lie in bed, lights off, headphones on, listening to a soothing American voice tell me to “acknowledge the thought & let it go.”

“Breathe in,” the voice would whisper.

Inhale. Okay, I’m breathing. I’m calm. I am a serene mountain lake in the Himalayas.

“Breathe out.”

Exhale. Did I reply to Priya from Finance’s email? She needed the Q3 projections. The Q3 projections! The data is a mess. I need to call Jimmy, the team lead. No, wait, breathe. I’m a mountain lake. A lake… of spreadsheets. Dammit.

“Notice your thoughts without judgment.”

I am judging my thoughts very harshly right end, Mr. Soothing American Man. My mind wasn’t a serene lake; it was a mosh pit at a heavy metal concert. I’d finish a 10-minute session feeling more stressed than when I started, now with the added pressure of having failed at relaxing. I once fell asleep during a "body scan" meditation & woke up an hour later with my phone stuck to my face, the app still cheerfully telling me to "relax my jaw."

Phase Two: The Bendy Misadventure (with a Glimmer of Hope).

Next up: Yoga. I bought a fancy mat & stretchy pants, convinced that the key to inner peace was touching my toes. I joined a local class. The instructor, a woman named Anjali who had the tranquil energy of a sleeping deer, would float around the room saying things like, “Flow with your breath,” & “Open your heart center.”

Meanwhile, I was in the corner, a sweaty, grunting mess. My "Downward-Facing Dog" (Adho Mukha Svanasana) looked more like a "Confused, Panting Puppy." My "Warrior Pose" (Virabhadrasana) was more of a "Tired Person Leaning." When Anjali told us to "empty our minds," my mind was filling up with a frantic internal monologue: Is everyone looking at me? I think my hamstring just snapped. Oh god, now we’re balancing on one leg. I’m going to fall. I’m definitely going to fall & take out the person next to me. I hope she’s insured.

But then came Shavasana, Corpse Pose. We were instructed to lie down, close our eyes & surrender completely. For the first few minutes, my mind raced. But then, something shifted. The guided instructions, the gentle music, the sheer exhaustion from the class… it all conspired to create a moment of profound stillness. For a brief, glorious sixty seconds, the mosh pit in my head emptied. There was no pitch deck, no Priya from Finance, no burnt chai. There was just… quiet. It was a glimpse of a different state of being.

I left the class feeling a sliver of hope. Yoga had helped, a little. But the moment I stepped out of the studio & checked my phone, the stress came flooding back. The peace was fleeting, confined to the yoga mat. It was a temporary patch, not a systemic cure.

Phase Three: The Scented Overload.

My apartment began to resemble a new-age apothecary. I had an essential oil diffuser running 24/7. Lavender for peace, Bergamot for joy, Frankincense for… I don’t know, spiritual enlightenment? The air was so thick with botanical fragrances that you got a contact high just by walking through the door. My friends would visit & ask if I was trying to communicate with the plant kingdom. My mother came over once, sniffed the air & said, “Why does it smell like a foreign forest? Just light some good old agarbatti (incense sticks) from the temple.”

It wasn’t working. I’d be diffusing "Tranquil Sleep" while my heart hammered against my ribs, re-enacting a disastrous client call in my mind. The scent of lavender just became a trigger for my anxiety. It was the olfactory equivalent of a fake smile.

I tried everything. I drank karela (bitter gourd) juice that tasted like liquid punishment. I bought a weighted blanket that made me feel like I was being gently buried alive. I even tried a "digital detox" for a whole afternoon, which resulted in me having three separate panic attacks about what urgent Slack messages I might be missing.

I was exhausted. I’d spent months & a small fortune trying to fix myself, but I was just treating the symptoms. I was trying to put out a fire with a thimbleful of water, not realizing the whole damn forest was ablaze. The problem wasn’t just the stress; it was my fundamental relationship with myself & the world around me.

It was during a moment of quiet surrender, slumped on my couch after another failed attempt at "mindful coloring," that I had a conversation with my Dada. I mentioned my struggles, expecting the usual “just be strong” advice. Instead, he said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“You’re all fire & wind, my boy,” he said, in his gentle, knowing way, sipping his filter coffee. “You’re burning yourself out. You need to find your earth & water.”

He was talking about Ayurveda. I’d heard the word before, lumped it in with things my parents did & dismissed it as old-fashioned. But I was desperate. His words resonated in a way that "just breathe" never had. Fire & wind. That was me. All ambition, all motion, no grounding.

I started reading. I devoured articles & books & the more I learned, the more it felt like coming home. Ayurveda wasn't a quick fix; it was a whole operating system for life. It spoke of Doshas, Vata (air/ether), Pitta (fire/water) & Kapha (earth/water), the fundamental energies that govern our inner & outer worlds.

I was a textbook Pitta-Vata imbalance. The Pitta fire was my drive, my ambition, my intensity. The Vata wind was my anxiety, my racing thoughts, my inability to stay grounded. When these two got together, it was like a wildfire in a hurricane. No wonder I felt like I was disintegrating.

For the first time, I wasn't just "stressed." I had a framework, a language to understand what was happening inside me. I wasn't broken; I was just out of balance. & the beautiful, profound truth of Ayurveda is that it gives you the tools to find your way back.

My journey began not with a big, dramatic change, but with small, gentle rituals. A Dinacharya or daily routine.

I started waking up before sunrise, a concept that initially sounded like a form of torture. But there was a magic to that quiet, pre-dawn stillness, a stark contrast to the usual blare of my alarm. I’d scrape my tongue (a revelation in itself, so much gunk!), oil pull & drink warm water with lemon. It was a signal to my body: the day is beginning, but we are beginning it gently.

Then came Abhyanga, the practice of self-massage with warm oil. I bought a bottle of sesame oil & warmed it up. At first, it felt strange, slathering myself in oil before a shower. But as I massaged it into my skin, I could feel something shifting. It was an act of self-care, of telling my body, "I see you. I'm here for you." The frantic energy started to soften, replaced by a sense of being held, of being nourished.

My diet changed. I, the king of late-night samosas & spicy street food, started eating warm, cooked foods. I learned that my "fire" was being aggravated by spicy, oily & processed foods. I began making khichdi, a simple, healing dish of daal & rice that my Amma used to make for me when I was sick. I added sweet, grounding spices like cardamom & cinnamon. I stopped eating at my desk, hunched over my laptop. I sat down. I tasted my food. My digestion, which had been staging a revolt for years, began to calm down.

I was building an anchor. These rituals were my moorings in the storm of life. The stress didn't magically disappear. I still had deadlines & difficult clients. But the way I related to the stress was changing. I was no longer a victim of it. I had tools. I had a foundation. Even my yoga practice deepened; I was no longer competing, but connecting & the peace from Shavasana began to last a little longer.

But there were still days when the old fire would flare up. A high-pressure project would land on my desk & I could feel the familiar knot tightening in my stomach, the Vata wind starting to whip up the Pitta flames. My routine was my anchor, but sometimes I needed a life raft.

This is where the story comes full circle, to a small but significant discovery that helped solidify my newfound balance. I was researching Ayurvedic herbs, looking for natural support to help me navigate these challenging moments without resorting to my old panic-driven habits. I had learned about powerful adaptogens like Ashwagandha, which helps the body resist stressors & Brahmi, known for its ability to calm the mind & support cognitive function. I was looking for a formulation that combined these ancient wisdoms in a simple, trustworthy way.

That’s when I found Ayamveda’s Calming Tablets.

I was skeptical, I’ll admit. After my wellness gauntlet, I was wary of any product that promised to be a "cure." But I looked at the ingredients & it was like reading a list of everything I had been learning about. Ashwagandha, Brahmi, Jatamansi, Shankhpushpi… these weren't obscure chemicals; they were the very herbs Ayurveda has been using for thousands of years to soothe the nervous system & nurture the mind. It wasn't about sedation; it was about restoration.

I decided to give them a try. The first time I took one was during a particularly hectic afternoon. I had a proposal due, my inbox was overflowing & I could feel that old, familiar panic creeping in. Instead of letting it take over, I took two of the iCalm tablets with a glass of warm water.

The effect wasn't instantaneous or dramatic. It wasn't like a light switch being flipped. It was more like a dimmer switch being gently turned down. The frantic edge of the anxiety softened. The storm in my mind didn't stop, but the winds calmed enough for me to see clearly. I could prioritize my tasks. I could take a deep breath & focus on one thing at a time. I felt centered, not zoned out. It was the support I needed to access the calm I had been cultivating through my Ayurvedic practices.

These tablets became a part of my toolkit, a trusted ally. They weren't a replacement for my lifestyle changes; they were a complement. They were the helping hand that held me steady when the ground got shaky. Knowing they were non-habit forming & made from pure, natural ingredients gave me peace of mind, a stark contrast to the pharmaceutical solutions I had once considered.

Today, my life is not perfect. I still work in a demanding job in Gurgaon. But I am no longer a "Human Pretzel." I am a person who understands his own nature. I know that I have fire within me & I’ve learned how to tend to it, not let it rage out of control. I know I have wind in my mind & I’ve learned how to ground it with the earth of routine & the water of self-compassion.

My journey from stress to serenity wasn't about finding a magic bullet. It was about a complete paradigm shift. It was about moving from fighting against myself to working with myself. It was about trading the frantic hustle for a more intentional, balanced way of being. & sometimes, on a particularly windy day, it’s about having a little extra support from a tablet full of ancient wisdom to help me remember that I am, at my core, already calm. I just needed to find my way back home.