Massage Part Deux

a.k.a. The feel good factor

Mostly misfit’s undying love of massages is well known to the few readers who’ve been so nice to read this blog. While the last massage was pure relaxation for an hour that managed to treacle down to sensual delights for several hours afterwards, today’s was a very different experience.

I found an ayurvedic treatment centre that is less than a kilometer away from home. I obviously had to try it with the anticipation of making this a regular hangout if the service was good. This treatment centre hardly looked promising, even shady to someone used to associating massages with swanky white furniture, some obscure oriental music, nicely placed flowers (orchids to be precise) and smiling masseuses dressed in uniform.  This was an old, inconspicuous building with an old man manning the the reception counter and able to answer your questions only in between bouts of coughing.  I was unsure of trying out this place but the price was so inexpensive that I booked an appointment for the next day.

A long story cut short, they didn’t have a shower room, their steam room didn’t function that day and the over all atmosphere looked rather depressing.  I would have expressed fierce rage under normal circumstances; but having to pay just 400 rupees for a 45 minute massage was too good a deal if it worked out, to unnecessarily create drama and have them refuse my entry the next time. So I was taken to a small room by a masseuse who looked no more than twenty and who wouldn’t have weighed over 45 kilos. My apathy about the whole experience started to fade away once she took charge. She spoke to me in Malayalam or Kannada, I don’t know; and reprimanded me for not understanding and said, “aiyyo, bag keep”. That’s when I realized that she wanted me to keep my bag on the table rather than the floor. The next step was obviously to strip, but this girl let me keep my own underwear on. Goody! This was a lot better than the negligible piece of g-string I was made to wear the last time and the whole time I kept feeling that it was a mockery of my over enthusiasm for all pursuits of sensual relaxation.

This massage was hardly soothing but it was something a lot better than just soothing. I normally like massages where every ounce of your body is kneaded with strength. This was precisely that. The little girl was not that little when it came to her profession. She had strong, firm hands. She didn’t utter a word throughout, even to tell me to move an inch here or there. She was strong enough to brusquely move my feet in the exact angle needed and she did it in the exact same way for both the feet. She vigorously rubbed my entire body in a way that I felt that vigour was actually being injected in every atom of my body. The force jolted every muscle that I didn’t even know I had into a sudden state of awareness and awakening. She didn’t ask me polite questions like, “is the pressure fine? is the music good? (there wasn’t any), is the oil temperature fine?” and the practiced questions. I wasn’t her client, I was a patient whom she had to treat in the way she knew best. There was no need to check what was fine for me. She knew what was fine for me and had no questions about her skills. And it was a great experience. I literally surrendered my body to this little therapist who knew her job and did it perfectly. She cracked ALL my knuckles, even the thumb; and all my toes, even the big one. That itself made me give her 100 percent rating. She massaged my belly with considerable force and strength that I felt as if my belly fat was melting inside and that I’d pee fat after I was done.  She didn’t waste a minute and didn’t have to fill up time with useless things like asking to sit back for 5 minutes after finishing one kind of stroke. She promised 45 minutes of massage and she gave full 45 minutes, not a second less.

I must say that I’ll be a regular here except for the times when I’d want the superficial pleasantries and swanky ambiance. This was some tough love my body got. Unlike the massages where your body is lightly oiled and handled as if you were as delicate as a feather, this was the polar opposite where your muscles were strengthened. No cajoling your body into relaxing to be renewed for a grueling schedule to come, but good old scolding and pulling up your spirit and knocking off your restlessness to just face what you cannot change. This is a perfect place for the kind of massage you’d take just like some vitamins which you know are good for your body, not necessarily leaving you with layers and layers of tickling sensation that would keep unfolding over the next few hours. But a rejuvenating shot of strength and a serious, healthy oiling of your body…just like Dhanwantari meant it to be.


An Ideal Weekend…Finally!

I’m in my office sitting at my desk, but my mind keeps going back to the insanely lazy and spaced out weekend I had. All the weekly frustration, depression and resentment is totally worth the while if it’s going to be followed by an ideal weekend.

I woke on Saturday morning determined to not let this weekend be boring like the ones I’d been having since I moved to Bangalore last month after marrying EM (That’s a whole different story and deserves another post). I had been totally organised and professional about my Saturday. I had booked an appointment for a massage at 12:00 pm, right after EM would have left for work. This made me feel like an awesome mature calm-headed wife (which I’m obviously not) who has it all figured out. It was the first Saturday since our marriage that I felt so relaxed, probably in anticipation of the massage. I woke up early, made pancakes for EM, had tea, smoked a couple of cigarettes and it was still only 9:00. When EM asked me what he could do for lunch and if I could make anything, I surprised myself by saying I’d actually pack a lunch box for him. Wooohooo! This was another way of making myself feel like a power-woman who just moved about nimbly juggling between a zillion tasks like a seasoned monk, when the reality was that I had no intentions of making a habit out of it. As much as I love cooking and find it therapeutic, making chapatis and aloo bhaji does not quite fit in with the romantic ideas of cooking while sipping a glass of red wine, that generally flood my brains. I also had an ulterior motive in cooking btw, I knew he’d eat with his colleagues and they’d be all praises for the hard-working, loving young wife. Reality: The wife doesn’t move her ass off the couch because for her a little bit of mess never hurt anyone. While the husband is perennially in the kitchen, doing dishes left by his culinary enthusiast of a wife who pretends that she is Nigella and keeps cooking just for the heck of it.

I left home with EM and reached for my ayurvedic massage appointment at sharp 12:00. They pretty much strip you of any decent piece of clothing btw. I had no idea since this was my first professional massage. It was like a nightmare come true when my therapist gave me what looked like a very basic and ancient version of a G-string..eeek! Now I had no idea how to wear that long string of cloth with 2 strings attached. I decided to be bold and put it on anyone after making unsuccessful attempts at persuading the masseuse to let me keep my really old underwear which I didn’t mind throwing later. It was surprising how I felt quite at ease after I plunged in. The next 45 minutes were sheer bliss apart from the incessant thinking my mind kept doing. Well why wouldn’t it after it’s owner lay with her precious derriere sticking up in the air and being manipulated in really unflattering angles. I’m sure that now there is only one person in the world who has seen parts of me that even my partner hasn’t…thank God he’s not into trying acrobatic sexual positions. By the end of the massage and steam I felt all new and pretty.

Out of the massage centre, I went straight into one of the exotic veggies store I like here and quickly picked stuff faking efficiency all the time. Back home, the sweet after effects of the massage had just begun to spread their haze over my eyes and I spent the next 2-3 hours awake but unaware of anything around. The evening was reserved for making delicious and super healthy tomato soup and potato wedges for EM and Thai Chicken Noodle soup for me. I know…it seems unfair that I eat light and make heavy stuff for EM. But believe me you, I’ve taken up a personal project of making him heavier by 10 kilos before the end of the year…even if it means making 2 batches of food every time. Then I spent 10 minutes pickling baby cucumbers…yumm!! After what felt like a long fruitful day, I sat back watching Seinfeld and that is exactly what I did for the next 3 hours, even as EM came home and we had dinner.

Isn’t it absolutely empowering to look back upon a day that was so relaxing yet so productive?? Sunday was equally relaxing only with a lot less activity. We woke up late and started drinking at 11, right after breakfast…no wonder then that I hardly remember the rest of the day. 😛

I don’t mind this being my weekend routine…something to think about, huh?