Keto, Paleo, Vedic? How to Spot a Diet Disguised as Spirituality

KaustubhaReflections

Jun 22—2025

The Instagram Moment

Last Tuesday, Chinni, my curious niece, barged into my study holding up a glass jar.
“Maasi,” she said, eyes wide, “did you know this moon water burns fat while you sleep and helps align your chakras?”

I blinked. “Where did you hear that?”

“Instagram,” she said proudly. “It’s from a quantum ayurvedic keto healer.”

“Burns karma, did you say?” I raised an eyebrow.

Chinni grinned. “Will it also clean my room, Maasi?”

I smiled. “Not unless it also folds laundry.”

Let me begin with a truth that might sting a little: many modern diets wear the mask of spirituality—not to guide us inward, but to sell us something outward. From keto monks to paleo gurus chanting mantras in loincloths, wellness is often marketed as sacred, but operates as spectacle.

But before we wag fingers, let’s pause. Why do we fall for it?

The Hunger Beneath the Hunger

Here’s what I believe: most people don’t start a diet because of carbs. They start because of confusion. About their bodies. About their place in a world spinning too fast. About that ache that food cannot fill.

In ancient times, food wasn’t just fuel—it was ritual. The act of eating was woven into festivals, fasts, and community rhythms. When you ate neem on Ugadi or broke your Ekadashi fast with sabudana, you weren’t just nourishing yourself—you were realigning with cosmic cycles. You were participating in something bigger.

Today, in our attempt to recreate that sacred rhythm, we stumble into something shinier—but hollower.

I call it sacri-fads: diets that drape themselves in the cloth of spirituality but are stitched with ego, exclusion, and sometimes, misinformation.

Exhibit A: The Keto Yogi

Let’s be clear—there’s nothing inherently wrong with a ketogenic diet. Clinically, it’s used for epilepsy, and some people do thrive on low-carb regimens. But I raised an eyebrow when I saw an ad claiming,
“This Keto Cleanse aligns your chakras and burns karma.”

One influencer—barefoot, turmeric latte in hand—claimed that going into ketosis is akin to achieving samadhi. No joke. He quoted the Bhagavad Gita between tips on MCT oil. This is not a spiritual path—it’s a curated aesthetic.

Here’s the issue: when ancient Indian texts speak of food (Ahara), they do so in the context of gunas—sattvic, rajasic, tamasic. Food wasn’t judged by calories or macros but by its energetic effect on the body and mind. A sattvic meal—simple, fresh, light—was meant to calm the mind for meditation, not make you Instagram-famous for your abs.

Ketosis is a metabolic state. It is not enlightenment.

Paleo and the Fiction of the “Pure Past”

Then comes Paleo—the idea that we should eat like our hunter-gatherer ancestors. No grains, no legumes, no dairy—because apparently, we were healthier in the Stone Age.

First off, let’s clear up one thing: our ancestors had lifespans shorter than a Netflix subscription. They didn’t avoid dairy because it was “inflammatory”—they hadn’t domesticated cows yet.

The Paleo diet often romanticizes a Western version of the past, ignoring the diverse food evolutions across Asia, Africa, and the Americas. Indians, for example, have been fermenting grains and dairy for thousands of years. To erase that in favor of “raw liver and bone broth” because it feels primal? That’s not ancestral—it’s ahistorical.

More importantly, many Paleo influencers wrap their messaging in pseudo-sacred language: they talk of “returning to Source,” of “cleansing generational trauma through primal eating.” What they’re really doing is rebranding restriction with a touch of mystic dust.

And the irony? Many so-called primal regimens completely miss the spiritual element ancient cultures infused into food: gratitude, community, balance.

The Vedic Diet (Rebranded)

Now let’s talk about the newest darling: “The Vedic Diet.” It sounds profound, doesn’t it? Ancient. Authentic. Approved by sages.

But dig deeper and you’ll see many versions of this diet cherry-pick from Ayurvedic texts, slap on a Sanskrit name, and pair it with $80 copper tongue scrapers and weekly “dosha resets.”

Traditional Ayurveda is not a diet. It’s a framework for living. It doesn’t tell you to eat “low carb” or “high fat.” It considers your prakriti (body constitution), your location, the season, your age, even your emotional state.

Mr. Raghavan, my favorite spice vendor, once told me:
“Asha beti, in our home, my grandmother gave us pepper rasam when it rained—not because of carbs or calories, but because the body knew what the sky was feeling.”

That is Ayurveda. Contextual, intuitive, seasonal. Not universal meal plans from wellness retreats in Bali.

Why We Fall for It

So why does it work? Why do so many people, even well-read ones, fall for the sanctified diet trend?

Because spirituality sells. In a world where everything feels commercial, wrapping your wellness in ancient scripts or Eastern mysticism gives it a sacred sheen. It makes you feel part of a lineage, a purpose, a purity.

Marketers know this. So do influencers. That’s why a protein bar will say “Inspired by Himalayan monks” even if the closest it’s been to the Himalayas is a yoga mat in Santa Monica.

And we’re not immune. Even I, years ago, found myself drinking goji berry smoothies “for qi alignment,” until I paused and asked—“What’s wrong with my grandmother’s ambli (kokum)?”

The Whisper in the Middle

And yet—let me offer a soft breath of contrast.

I know someone who found real peace through sattvic living—not because of the label, but because it helped her listen inward. For her, it wasn’t about perfection or purity. It was a return to simplicity. A softening of the noise. A way to reconnect to her breath, her hunger, her day.

So yes, sometimes the ritual is real. But it begins with listening—not labeling.

The Way Back is Forward

So, what do we do? Do we reject every diet that smells like incense and sounds like a chant?

No. We look deeper.

The answer isn’t to shun all spiritual-sounding diets. It’s to discern. To ask:

Does this practice honor its roots or just borrow their vocabulary?
Does it include local, seasonal, culturally relevant foods—or push exotic “superfoods” with carbon footprints longer than the Mahabharata?
Does it make you feel more connected to yourself and your community—or more isolated, rigid, and anxious?

A true spiritual approach to food is one that nurtures—not just the body, but the relationships that hold it.

As I often say, wellness is not about purity. It’s about presence.

It’s in how you cut your vegetables.
How you thank the hands that grew them.
How you sit, breathe, and receive your food—not just as fuel, but as gift.

That’s spirituality. Everything else is branding.

Closing Reflection

Last night, Chinni and I made khichdi together. We soaked the rice and moong dal, added ghee, cumin, turmeric, a touch of hing. As it simmered, the smell wrapped around us like a shawl.

She asked, “Maasi, is this Vedic?”

I smiled. “It’s love in a pot.”

She nodded. “Then that’s enough.”

It is.

🪔 If something in this piece stirred a memory, sparked a doubt, or made you smile—share it. Wellness, like recipes and stories, grows stronger when passed around.

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