The Imperial New Delhi's Summer of Stillness Is the Antidote to Every Gruelling Work Week

It had been a gruelling week, if not month. Ask any print journalist about 'closing days,' and a deep sigh is sure to follow, exhaustion visible in deep, sunken eyes. Often, these days (or rather long nights) come with the promise of a race against time — scrambling to spot last-minute typos and fix errant page numbers before sending pages to press. Despite considering myself an organised person, I somehow found myself in the eye of the tornado once again. My spa appointment at The Imperial New Delhi could not have come at a better time.

"It'll be a three-hour session," explains the team as I plan my visit. Panic rises: how ever will I spare 180 minutes!

"It'll be worth it," I'm told — this is exactly the kind of lifestyle that the upgraded wellness rituals at the hotel aim to cater to. The Summer of Stillness programmes are The Imperial's latest wellness offering, where each ritual is designed to target various challenges typical of today's fast-paced life. There's a Stress Relief programme crafted for urban professionals, Sleep Enhancement to calm minds, and slow-paced restorative Ayurvedic rituals to restore balance. I opt for the fourth offering: a Holistic Detox.

The Imperial Spa: A Closer Look

The spa wing at The Imperial New Delhi is a sanctuary in its own way. Spread across 44,000 square feet, the Imperial Spa is not stark white and 'minimal' in the way of most wellness sanctuaries. It's hard to miss the architectural inspiration from Morocco, beautifully interwoven with Mughal and Indian motifs — think exquisite tikri work embellishing the walls of a warren of arches. The natural light filtering through adds a sense of drama. I'm still taking it all in when I'm guided further inside. "Today, you'll be at the Kerala suite," I'm instructed.

The Kerala Suite is The Imperial's traditional Ayurvedic centre — a more inward-facing corner of the spa. The therapies here draw on what feels like a living pantry of ancient remedies: Moringa, Indian gooseberry, country mallow — herbs that protect and nourish the skin while working from within. The suite itself is dressed in soft whites and marble inlay. At once, the outside world feels far away. For those who want to go deeper, there's also the option of a consultation with the resident Ayurvedic doctor — though today, I'm simply here to be taken care of.

The Holistic Detox at The Imperial

The session begins with a warm foot soak — simple, almost deceptively so. And yet, something about the gesture signals to the body that it is, finally, time to stop.

Abhyanga comes next. I lie face down on the table as warm, herbal-scented oil is worked into tired muscles with long, deliberate strokes — the smell earthy but not overpowering. For my rather sensitive sinuses, this was welcoming. I try to observe my therapist's every movement, wanting to make mental notes of the process, but her rhythm is slow and deeply soothing. My intentions don't last long. I find myself slipping in and out of a half-sleep, my mind still stubbornly cycling through deadlines and page proofs even as my body begins, albeit slowly, to let go.

Step two, Udwarthana, is a different experience entirely. The transition is almost jarring — where Abhyanga was gentle and lulling, this is purposeful and vigorous. A coarse herbal powder is worked firmly into my skin, including my face, and I am wide awake, aware of every stroke. And yet, for all its vigour, there is something oddly satisfying about it: I can feel layers of dullness being sloughed away, tensed muscles slowly releasing in their wake, my body growing lighter with each passing minute. By the time it is done, my skin feels as though it has been properly woken up — face included!

Then comes the Tanlepa. Cool banana leaves are laid against the skin — a shock after everything that came before. I hadn't expected the gentleness of it; if Abhyanga and Udwarthana were the storm, this is firmly the calm. Gradually, as the Ayurvedic pack beneath begins to warm, the coolness gives way entirely. By the end, I feel thoroughly swaddled — cosily cocooned in a heaviness that I hadn't known I needed.

But even before I can make sense of the burrito roll I had become, my eyes are nudged shut with a towel to pave the way for Takradhara. I'll admit my first thought is curiosity. I have done oil Shirodhara before, fully aware of the warmth the medicated oils induce. But buttermilk is new to me. Then again, given New Delhi's sweltering summer sun, this might just be a welcome surprise.

A thin, cool stream begins to trickle steadily across my forehead, and I find myself trying to observe it, to register the difference. After the intensity of what came before, it feels like a gentle closing note. I'm dimly aware of what's happening, but only just. I'm still turning it over in my mind — the temperature, the sensation, how oddly grounding it feels — when, without any warning at all, I am completely, deeply asleep. So asleep that, even as the session ends, the therapist has to call my name twice before I surface!

I had panicked at the thought of surrendering 180 minutes. As it turns out, I could have done with more.