My father died of cancer. We suffered at his suffering, naturally, and at the knowledge of his inevitable death, even while we kept hoping and trying to make him better. Finally, he chose to stop his treatment. A cousin who adored him, called with a cure: a popular ayurvedic male vigour tonic, which her boss’s relative— “she’s a very well-respected person”— had assured her would help. I should have thanked her and ignored it, but angered, I said, “Instead of such pointless home remedies, you should come home and see him before he is gone, lest you regret later.” That, sadly, was what came to pass. 

Why do we Indians, in the face of dire difficulty, especially illness, love to trot out outlandish, ootpataang home remedies, which we ourselves have not tried? I don’t say this as a sceptic. I believe there is something to holistic therapies and don’t have blind faith in allopathic doctors. COVID-19 has brought a flood of pseudo medical advice—ghee in your nostrils, 28 herb kadhas, banging utensils and the spirit of God. These random suggestions of distant relatives, WhatsApp gurus and politicians are merely home remedies for denial and oppression.