The Ayurvedic Doctor’s dilemma : Between Clinics, Classics and Confusion

I’m 26, doing my MD in Agadtantra — that’s forensic medicine and toxicology in Ayurveda. And honestly, most days I don’t know how to explain what I actually do.

I didn’t choose Agadtantra because I was passionate about poisons or post-mortems. I chose it because I didn’t get the rank I needed for medicine or panchakarma in my city. I didn’t want to leave Pune. I didn’t want to go to some random college outside where I’d be stuck without patients or exposure. So yeah, I stayed.

Now I’m in my second year of post-graduation, and it feels… weird. There’s an OPD, yes — it’s supposed to deal with deaddiction, chronic skin allergies, cumulative toxicity. But in reality? Barely any patients. No real teaching from professors. Most days, it feels like I’m floating — not studying, not practicing, not earning. Just… existing in this in-between world where I should be learning something, but mostly I’m figuring it out on my own.

I Was Lucky With People

Even if the system failed me, I’ve been lucky with the people.

I’ve been going to clinic since my second year of BAMS — my  mentor was just a couple years into his own practice, when I started learning under him. I used to help with panchakarma, with inventory, with whatever I could. He’s well known now, but he’s still the one I call when I’m stuck. Still shows up when I need help — whether it’s a tricky patient or just mental chaos.

After I joined MD, I also started going to a senior physician’s clinic. He’s sharp — no-nonsense, treats using only medicine, no procedures. So I go from college (when required), to that clinic in the evening. At night, I moonlight as a resident doctor at an Ayurvedic hospital.

And no, I don’t get paid the way MBBS postgraduate students or IT grads do. I didn’t have a job on paper till 26. Most of us don’t. But we’re all out here — hopping from clinic to clinic, looking for what our syllabus never gave us: real knowledge.

People assume it’s “just Ayurvedic.” But the truth is, the BAMS course is built like a hybrid. Its short for Bachelor of Ayurvedic Medicine and Surgery and its duration is 5.5 years. It’s modelled on the MBBS syllabus — except for biochemistry and microbiology, all other subjects are shared. But each subject is split: one part Ayurveda, one part modern medicine.

Add to that: Sanskrit. Samhitas. Panchakarma . Classical diagnostic systems. Basically, we’re trying to learn Marvel and DC at the same time — two different universes, different laws, different heroes, and somehow we’re expected to make sense of both.

But the truth? Most of us end up learning neither properly.

We’re told we’ll become this unique amalgamation of ancient and modern. But the college system is broken. Professors lack clinical experience. Hospitals have no patient flow. The teachers haven’t practiced what they preach. And so we’re left in the dark — trying to reverse-engineer medicine from classical texts, reels, and whatever we can find outside.

My college is among the top colleges in India, but I stayed because Pune is full of real vaidyas. Practitioners who know their stuff. People you can learn from, if you show up, shut up, and observe.

That’s where I actually learned things. Not in the classroom.

Like many BAMS students, my internship gave me some allopathy exposure too — had departmental rotations in my college hospital for six months and then six months rural posting– I assisted in delivering babies and C-sections, took sutures in casualty, saw post-mortems. So I’ve seen that side too. I have seen emergency cases. But I still can’t talk in the confident, exact language of modern medicine. I know how allopathy drugs act, but not in the vocabulary MBBS people use — and that makes me hesitant. Sometimes ashamed. Sometimes like I’m faking it all.

And that’s the messed up part. We know so much. But we sound unsure, because our language is enmeshed with Ayurvedic and allopathic vocabulary.

In Maharashtra, we can practice limited modern medicine. That’s why most of us end up becoming general practitioners — especially in rural areas. It’s fast money, stable life. You work in a hospital as an RMO, then start your own clinic.

Others go the influencer route. Wellness centres. Trendy detoxes. “5-Day Panchakarma Retreats” that would make the acharyas cry.

And then there’s us. The ones who actually want to practice Ayurveda and take the road less travelled by.Not the YouTube, “Hairfall-Healing-Haldi” kind. But even that path is broken.

You can’t get all the clinical exposure you want from one place. One vaidya may be brilliant at panchakarma but suck at teaching. Another might get 80 patients a day but not explain a single prescription. So you go clinic to clinic. Day after day. Year after year. Just trying to understand what Ayurveda actually is.

And even if you figure that out — society sees you as “the massage doctor.” Not someone who can sign a death certificate. Not someone who spent 5.5 years studying medicine and surgery.

Do I Hate Agadtantra? Actually, No.

There are things I do like about my subject.

I find it fascinating how dooshivisha (retained toxins) can lead to chronic skin problems. Or how Ayurveda explains the effects of spider poisoning, or toxicity from chemotherapy. That stuff interests me. But it’s just not practiced enough. It’s not something I can see myself doing full time.

My aim is still the same: to be an Ayurvedic family physician. Someone who sees patients daily. Builds trust. Thinks long-term. Someone who uses true Ayurveda, not a watered-down, westernized version of it.

The Real Ayurveda Is Slow, Precise, Patient

Ayurveda is subtle. It’s not plug-and-play. You don’t just prescribe one drug for one symptom. You treat the core — the root cause. You alter medicines by season, by constitution, by hot or cold potency.

And that kind of thinking takes time. Patience. Years of study. A guru. And failure. A lot of failure.

But most students never get that chance.

Because the system’s broken.

Because the teachers never practiced.

Because the language isn’t English.

Because society doesn’t care.

Because everyone’s chasing fast fame.

Because it’s easier to post reels than read Charak samhita.

Somehow, some of us stay.

Not because we’re saints. But because somewhere deep down, we believe in this path. Or maybe we’re just too far in to turn around.

I’ve been lucky. I found mentors. I entered the right doors at the right time. Many of my peers didn’t. Many are still drifting.

I’ve seen people lose confidence, give up, or settle for something they never wanted. And I get it. I’ve felt it too.

But I’m still here.

Still going to clinics. Still learning. Still not earning much. Still trying to become the kind of Ayurvedic doctor I once dreamt of — even if that dream looks nothing like what I imagined.

Have you felt something similar in your journey ? Drop a comment or connect with me on Instagram @learning__ayurveda

— A second-year MD (Agadtantra) student. BAMS, somewhere between Marvel and DC.