I checked in to the original Ayurveda resort in India - here's what happened next

What I also discover after a fitful sleep is that I have in fact booked into a hospital - one that looks and feels like a resort, but is also a government-certified medical facility. This penny drops when I see "Hospital Manager" on a name badge. It belongs to Sujesh, who greets me in reception and gives me some bearings.

My first step, he advises, is to book a consultation with the Ayurvedic doctors, who will then write me up a treatment program - rooted in 5000 years of tradition - for my brief, three-night stay. My first treatment will be at 5.30pm. The anticipation! But so much will happen between now and then.

First, breakfast, a smorgasbord of healthy tucker; thattu dosa, green gram curry, rice pidi, vegetable curry ... just four among a line up of Ayurvedic dishes self-served from brass tureens in the open-air restaurant. Things get off to a rocky start when I duck off to pour myself a watermelon juice and a crow steals the bread off my plate. People start appearing mysteriously in green robes, their hair wrapped in white fabric and an orange-y film on their faces.

I head to a yoga class in a pavilion up on the next level where teacher Deepu, who's been here for 14 years, delivers the memorable line: "If you love yoga, yoga will love you back." I try my best, but how many sun salutations can one unbendable body bear? The soundtrack at least is distracting - the cawing of crows and roosters, the whoosh-whoosh of ceiling fans and the crashing of waves on the beach below.

A few hours later, I am walking along that Malabar Coast shoreline, on Chowara Beach. The sand is scattered with fishing boats which at night will be out at sea and twinkling in the darkness like fireflies - a tableau I can see from my cottage. People are milling about, waiting for the Azhimala Shiva Temple, situated on a clifftop above the beach since the 8th century CE, to open.

There, an 18-metre-high statue of a four-armed Lord Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction and transformation, is a recent addition and key attraction. It was carved in the 2010s and its concrete greyness is a contrast to the explosion of colours elsewhere in the temple, in the statuary and carvings of gods and goddesses and intricately decorated pillars, walls and rooftops. I wander about for a while, my feet bare, the humidity cloying, until it's time to head back to "hospital".

I'd already been earlier in the day, after yoga, to Somatheeram's treatment centre. It's situated up a long and winding pathway from my cottage, past signs for a beauty clinic and a shop selling immunity booster medicines and Kerala spices.

The doctors were waiting to conduct my consultation. And they really were: three of them in white coats, standing in a line at the top of the stairs as I approached. They wore stethoscopes around their necks, and their expressions were kind but serious. I began to suspect I might be in for more than just a lovely massage or two, a la any hotel spa I've ever been to.

And now, my 5.30pm hour of reckoning is here. I am soon sitting starkers, save for a pair of cotton undies, on a stool in the centre of a terracotta-coloured room, a therapist rubbing my head. It is the entree to two hours of hectic treatment with two therapists, Sabha and Shebina, on the go - a whole-body massage to promote tone and circulation, then robust pummelling with oil-dipped and herb-filled boluses, then a session of sirodhara, where a constant stream of herbal oil is poured onto the centre of my forehead for what feels like eternity. But it's hard to tell. I doze off, and wake myself with snorts, while also being aware of vibrant colours dancing about in my mind's eye.

It ends with a face massage. And I walk out, a bit stunned, dressed in a green robe, my hair wrapped in white cloth, and an orange-y film on my face.

Kerala is the home of Ayurveda. It claims the only unbroken tradition over five millennia, nurtured by the South Indian state's isolation - Western Ghats on one side, the Arabian Sea on the other - plus a monsoon climate and loamy soils conducive to growing the abundance of herbs used in Ayurveda. Somatheeram, which opened in 1985 on six lush green hectares, is the pioneer of the Ayurveda resort, merging the practice of ancient health science with five-star hospitality and amenities, like well-appointed rooms and infinity swimming pools.

Ayurveda resorts now proliferate in Kerala, They draw wellness-seeking tourists from around the globe. But this is the OG. The world's first. Its founder, Baby Mathew, who with his brother hatched the ambitious east-meets-west, healthcare-meets-holiday idea, discovered the site on a scouting mission from a rented fishing boat. Back then, he tells me, the only tourism in Kerala was at Kovalam, a triptych of beaches about a 10-minute drive up the coast from here. (Which I also visit, at one point having to scramble out of the reach of a small army of men hauling in a humongous fishing net.)

After Somatheeram's runaway success, Manaltheeram Ayurveda Beach Village opened five years later just a stone's throw down the hill, on an absolute beachfront location. The design of both takes its inspiration from traditional Kerala villages. My circular cottage is made of mud and brick with a thatched roof and wooden-shuttered windows. I have my own hammock just outside and a bed draped in a mosquito net inside, where it's also air-conditioned, thank goodness.

Following my consultation - which involves filling out a questionnaire, more questions from two doctors and a physical examination - my Ayurvedic body type is designated "pitha vata". This describes two of the three "dosha", or bio-energies, that govern every process and function in the human body. I might nod at this, but I barely understand it. The Ayurvedic tradition is profoundly complex. Its doctors today train for five years. At Somatheeram, they in turn train the therapists, who predominantly hail from the villages hereabouts.

Needless to say, it is a holistic approach to human health - "the philosophy of Ayurveda is to consider a person body, mind and soul", as corporate general manager Subhash C. Bose explains to me. There are 22 "prime treatments" on the schedule at Somatheeram, and many more therapies besides.

Subhash lists the ailments that Ayurveda can effectively treat - among them back pain, nerve disorders and psoriasis. But people flock here from scores of countries - including Australians, although it's most popular with Germans, French and Italians - not just for remedial treatments but also preventive ones. Therapies here focus on rejuvenation, purification, detoxification, losing weight, stress management and the like. Also, promoting longevity. Yes, folks, Ayurveda claims the ability to slow down the ageing process, even arrest degeneration of the cells. But you'll need 28 days for that, and it's best done before you turn 60.

My doctor-prescribed plan involves a diet bursting with wholesome vegetarian goodness - basically lots of rice, vegetables and fruit - and daily yoga to prepare the mind for treatments.

My second two-hour session begins with an all-over massage. First my front, then each side by turn, then my back. There is so much oil. It feels as though I am being basted, and it has the aroma of the food in those shiny tureens, which starts to weird me out a little. It's all those herbs, many of them grown in the grounds right here, and made by Somatheeram into medicines and oils in traditional Ayurvedic ways.

Next, I am slathered in a herbal, mud-like exfoliating paste. Cucumbers are placed over my eyes as Shebina gently massages my face with aloe vera gel that somehow smells like Turkish delight.

After a shower, Sabha takes my hand and leads me to the steam bath room, where I am seated inside a contraption that closes around me. My head pokes out the top while the rest of my body is steamed like a prawn dumpling. Sabha, sitting on the floor outside, checks in on me. "Good, ma'am?" she asks periodically. All good. After 10 minutes, I am freed, dripping as though I have just stepped out of the shower.

It's been a truncated experience of Ayurveda but nonetheless, once it's time to go home, I'm definitely a more chipper version of myself. No alcohol, no meat, no coffee (although the latter is available) - and probably the healthiest food I've ever eaten - will do that to you, even before you bring in those mega-treatments.

I have a total of four, and grow fond of my therapists, even while they have kneaded, pummelled, basted, pasted and steamed me right out of my comfort zone. It feels like I've moved along a spectrum from bewilderment to surrender.

Would I do it again? Absolutely. I'll just need a spare 28 days.

The writer travelled courtesy of Malaysia Airlines, Somatheeram Ayurveda Group and Kerala Tourism