Aarti Kalro, a Mumbai-based soul guide, crystal therapist, and Akashic reader, always begins her healing practice with a prayer. She then goes on to ask her client for their name and date of birth—these details grant her access to their Akashic record. “Think of it as a light library that documents your soul contracts from every lifetime,” she explains.
A few weeks ago, at the start of one such exchange, a woman divulged to Kalro her deepest challenge: every time she saw a box of sweets, she felt an irresistible urge to devour them. No amount of will power, determination or nutrition was able to move this desire. “Through the records, we uncovered that in a previous lifetime she lived on the streets where she would longingly look at a pastry shop, never being able to afford the treats. That sense of hunger is still rooted in her,” the healer reveals. They not only discovered the root of the wound, they also carried restorative sessions. “I spoke to her recently and she was happy to report that the cravings are gone,” Kalro smiles.
Now if you’re a sceptic, you have probably rolled your eyes back into your skull. So, let the rest of us give you a moment to settle down. Go ahead, make that sarcastic quip in your mind. Send a screenshot on your group chat. Giggle. Get it out of your system.
Are you back? Okay. Whether you’re a believer or not, it’s likely you have someone in your circle or, at the very least, on your social media who has recently dipped their toes into the magical world of spiritual wellness. Akashic records, once relegated to the ultra-niche corners of the internet, are also becoming more popular. Only last week, Mumbai’s Sanchi Nasta co-founded India’s first Mystery School. “It’s called Temple of Light. We teach you how to connect with your inner mystic, priestess, and queen and how to embody this in your everyday life,” she says. Six live sessions of energy exchange cost ₹44,444, while a private Akashic session with Nasta is ₹18,888 an hour. (In case you’re baffled by the digits, four and eight are ‘angel numbers’ that represent divinity, abundance, success, and all those great things.)
Outside the light records, other “woo-woo” practices like aura cleansing, chakra healing, reiki, tarot, and crystals have also graduated from hushed whispers to dinner-table conversations. And no matter what your algorithm looks like, Astrotalk ads plush with dating advice (and sponsored by the cosmos) have most definitely broken into your carefully curated feed. And how can we forget about Digital Snaan? Creative entrepreneur—fight me on the title—Deepak Goel takes requests for people’s photos and dips them in the holy Triveni Sangam to gift them a special kiss from the universe. Everyone from Sydney Sweeney after the American Eagle debacle and Lewis Hamilton post-Ferrari-curse to an entire class from ISB have been blessed via Goel.
While the ‘snaan’ is more irony than truth and this entire bent towards alternative healing may have started as just-for-laughs gags, the treatments are slowly creeping into believer territory. Maitreyi Nigwekar is a Bengaluru-based trauma therapist whose oeuvre includes the breadth of psychotherapy, somatic experiencing, reiki, shamanism, hypnotherapy, tarot, and oracle readings. She often employs spirituality to heal dietary issues and physical ailments, and charges about ₹4,000 per session. “The world has gotten darker and we need some of these ancient systems that help us connect with nature and with ourselves more deeply,” she shares.
Even cynics will nod to that. Daily news of climate disasters, genocide, animal abuse, and precarious finances have created a frightening sense of doom. As we live in fear of uncertainty, where few decisions seem within our control, an indomitable higher power suddenly feels more believable. A 2021 study shows that 62 per cent Gen Z-ers find clarity from spirituality. It also helps that social media allows aura-dealers to rebrand themselves. For years, literature and pop culture have portrayed cosmic healers as unruly-haired, kaftan-wearing women who sit in dark, hidden rooms with a crystal ball and unreliable potions, ready to cast a spell of misfortune on anyone who blinks the wrong way.
But on Instagram, you realise that they are just like you and me. Even healers and tarot readers make videos to PinkPantheress’s ‘Illegal’ and succumb to the lure of matcha lattes. A slow drip feed on social media converted New Delhi-based Bilal from a sceptic to a subscriber. “I started seeing Woodstock Witch’s (Zohra Shakti) daily horoscopes, and they were freakishly accurate,” the 40-year-old startup operator says. “I then reached out to her for career-related guidance and she gave me the courage to go through a difficult time. Sometimes all you want to know is that the universe is looking out for you.”
Shakti, who charges ₹6,500 per session and works as a tarot reader and theta healer, credits this acceptance of spirituality to a larger focus on wellness. “People are working on themselves, whether it’s going to the gym or therapy. This is an addition to that.” Meanwhile, the problem-to-solution pace also matters. At a time when young people are accustomed to instant-everything, these forms of micro-healing that bring relief on demand and provide quick clarity, feel comforting. “Every time I do a reiki or aura healing session, I feel drastically better immediately. It isn’t like Pilates, which takes months to show results,” shares Jigyasa Harlalka, a Bengaluru-based musician who works with a private healer and pays ₹8,000 per hour.
While these alternative treatments can never replace cognitive therapy or physical fitness—and they don't aim to—they are increasingly becoming plus-ones to the package of holistic wellness. Soon, monthly budgets won’t just account for gym memberships and spa sessions; they will also slot in aura readings, Akashic records and shamanism. And you won’t need to be covert about your appointments with your higher self; they’ll just become another brunch anecdote. Remember that one time I accessed my past life and discovered I was a worm? Would you still love me? (jkjk)
