Ode to Eranda

Reverence to ERANDA Thailam aka Castor Oil 

Before the world begins its noise, before the pulse of the day pulls you out of your body—there is a bottle, warm and still, waiting.

Eranda. Castor oil. But not the kind found on dusty shelves.

This is the oil that remembers.

That carries the heat of kitchens in South India, where grandmothers warmed it for aching backs, swollen bellies, and the long work of postpartum care.

An oil born from a seed so potent—so toxic in its raw form—it must be transmuted by fire, by time, by care. Only then does its medicine emerge.

Prepared slowly, in rhythm with the moon.

Guided by ancient texts, cooked with herbs that know how to draw out what no longer serves. Poured by hand, honored in each step.

You’ll find it in balms for the lymph and light.

You’ll find it in oils for release, renewal, and ritual.

You’ll find it where the body holds, and longs to let go.

This is quiet medicine.

Steady. Patient.

A companion for those returning to themselves.

Eranda.

For the unwinding.

Why I always keep Castor Oil close—

This plant ally is one of the most grounding and versatile supports I know. It deeply moisturizes the skin, soothes inflammation, nourishes the scalp, and supports gentle detox.

In Ayurvedic practice, castor oil plays a potent role during Purva Karma, the preparatory phase before Pancha Karma. We use it for its purgative effects—to help clear the digestive tract and prime the body to fully receive and absorb the deeper therapies of Panchakarma. 

And then there’s my daily favorite: Maha Triphala. I roast my digestive herbs in castor oil to create a deeply effective and grounding formula—a simple yet powerful ally for digestive strength and regularity.

Whether applied as a warm belly pack, used in cleansing rituals, or stirred into herbal formulations—castor oil reminds me that healing begins with softness. If you’re curious about how to integrate it into your own rhythms or rituals, I’m always happy to share more.

- recent photo of my beloved friend Sejal walking in the hills of Sierra Madre