The Saturday Oil Bath: How Tamil Families Keep an Ancient Healing Ritual Alive
- Vijayakumar Subramanian
- Jul 29
- 4 min read
Every Saturday morning, the smell hits me first. Warm sesame oil mixed with crushed garlic and turmeric, filling our small kitchen. My grandmother is at the stove, warming oil in that same bronze vessel her mother used.
I am seven, sitting cross-legged on the floor and watching her test a drop of oil on her wrist. She nods and adds turmeric. "This keeps your skin healthy and makes your hair grow strong," she tells me in Tamil.
She makes me sit on a wooden plank in our courtyard. Morning light filters through curry leaf branches. Her hands work the oil into my scalp, pressing gently at my temples, moving down to my neck and shoulders. She hums an old Tamil prayer while applying the oil.
I felt discomfort at first, trying to run off and play. But her hands have their own rhythm, and slowly, I begin to accept. The oil feels good. Saturday morning slows down.
Now, thirty-three years later, I do the same thing with my own son in Chennai, using oil from the same bronze vessel. He fidgets just like I did. "Why can't we just use shampoo and conditioner like normal people?" he asks.
The oil bath wasn't just about hygiene or tradition. It was, and still is, a form of care that needs no language.
A Ritual With Deep Roots
In Tamil culture, the oil bath, called ennai kuliyal, is more than just something you do. It’s from Siddha medicine, one of the oldest plant-based ways to heal.
In Siddha, staying balanced is important. The body is governed by three elemental forces. Vatha (air and movement), Pitha (fire and heat), and Kapha (earth and structure).
The idea is that your body can get too hot - makes you restless, gives you joint pain, breaks out your skin. The oil cools you down. Sesame oil naturally cools your system.
In our tradition and astrology, Saturday belongs to the planet Saturn. It’s called Sani Bhagavan in Tamil. Saturn is slow, stern, and karmic. The oil bath on Saturday protects us from these negative effects.
My grandfather is now 85 and still strict about his Saturday oil bath. He explains it simply: "When you skip the oil bath, your mind becomes restless. You won’t always notice, but your body does."
How the Oil Bath Ritual Works
The process requires patience. You warm pure sesame oil in a heavy pot. Not too hot - you test it on your wrist first. My grandmother added curry leaves to make hair stronger. My mother adds neem leaves for skin problems. Everyone has their own recipe. Some people add turmeric for its healing properties.
The massage follows a pattern passed down through generations. We begin with the scalp, working the oil into hair roots with gentle circles. Then we move to the temples, behind the ears, down the neck and shoulders.
After applying oil, we let it soak for at least thirty minutes. This is the important part - the waiting. After waiting comes the bath. We use warm water and natural cleansers like shikakai powder or green gram paste to remove the oil. The skin feels incredibly soft afterward.
"The oil bath isn't something you rush through," says Kamala Aunty, my 72-year-old neighbor. She has been doing this practice for over sixty years. "It forces you to slow down. Maybe that's why it works."
What This Weekly Ritual Does to Families
When someone works oil into your hair, you have to sit still whether you want to or not. You have to let them decide what your scalp needs. For kids, this is probably the only time all week they're forced to slow down and accept care from someone else.
When I use the same hand motions on my son that my grandmother used on me, I'm teaching him something that doesn't have words. How to receive care. How to give it. The bronze vessel, the circular motions, the waiting - all of it passes along what my grandmother knew.
What Changed, What Didn't
I live in a Chennai apartment now instead of our village house. Life moves faster. My grandmother pressed her own sesame oil at the local mill. We buy ours from supermarkets. Her wooden plank became our plastic bathroom stool.
Some weeks, when work gets crazy, we do shorter versions. Just the scalp, ten minutes massage instead of thirty.
But the basic thing hasn't changed. Every Saturday, families sit together and take care of each other. My son learns that someone cares enough to spend an hour making his hair soft. I remember that taking care of your body isn't complicated.
"My granddaughter studies in America now," shares Meera Aunty, another neighbor. "Every time she comes home, the first thing she asks for is her Saturday oil bath"
Why I Keep Doing It
I don't follow this ritual as perfectly as my grandmother did. Some Saturdays, life gets in the way. But I haven't stopped, and I won't let my son forget it.
When I warm that oil on quiet Saturday mornings, I think about all the Tamil grandmothers who did this same thing. Their mothers did it. Their grandmothers did it.
This weekly ritual teaches something simple. Taking care of your body happens through touch, patience, and people who care about you. My son learns he deserves this kind of attention. I remember that slowing down isn't wasted time.
Last Saturday, while working oil into my son's hair, he stopped fidgeting for a moment. 'Appa,' he said, 'your hands feel warm.' That's enough reason to keep going.
About the Author
Vijay Kumar is a storyteller based in Coimbatore, India. His writing reflects psychology, culture, and lived experience - rituals, beliefs, and memories that shape us.
