Some time ago, me and two other friends found ourselves in the province with not much to do. Ronald, a regular traveler through most of the Philippines, and our defacto guide suggested we get a massage at this place he knew off but never actually went to. So off we went, three guys with time to kill.
At the massage place, I had a room to myself while the two shared one. I lay down, and soon enough the masseuse arrived. I thought nothing of the fact that he was a man, and had myself a thoroughly relaxing massage. It turns out that in the other room, my two friends were giving each other “the look” the moment their male masseuses’ came in. It turns out male on male contact still carried a kind of homophobic vibe to it. Oblivious to the near revolt that was going on in the next room, I was lulled into bliss by the manly hands that manipulated the knots out of my body.
Since then, this story kept cropping up at reunions and parties and although I laughed along with them, secretly I thought “what was the big deal?”
Jump forward a couple of years. I find myself in India, home of the therapeutic and medicinal Ayurvedic massage. My wife and I had just come from the majesty that is the Taj Mahal in Agra which was followed by a grueling 6 hour road trip among India’s infamous Agra-Delhi highway. It started off nicely, we passed serene countryside, every now and then the sometimes dreary brownish green landscape was interrupted by a group of sari clad women in the most outrageous colors imaginable, at one point I even saw a neon orange one. But between these and the trucks, over laden by heaps of hay I was soon lulled to sleep as I always am in any form of transport.
Soon however, as we were nearing the more populated areas, the beeping starting. Horn blowing on the road it seems, is a part of life in India. It maybe as justified as “hey man, I’m coming through” or as ridiculous as “you, in the opposite lane, I’m passing by so stick to your lane okay”. I couldn’t decypher the rest of the reasons why our driver Jagdish was blowing his horn, sometimes I think he just liked to see if it was still working. After close to 2 hours of this, my stress levels were way up and we were both glad to arrive at the relative sanctuary of New Delhi’s Le Meridien hotel.
It was my wife’s idea to de-stress with a nice massage and so we headed off to the spa.
The choices available included some international types of massage, from Thai to Swedish but I was intrigued by the local Ayurvedic massage. Apparently, in the state of Kerala you can check into an Ayurvedic hospital in order to treat everything from hair loss to spinal injury. I couldn’t let it pass me by. When we initially made our inquiry through the phone I was asked if I wanted a male of female masseuse, and remembering my previous encounter I opted for the female.
When we checked into the spa, I was given my first surprise. Apparently, traditional Ayurvedic massages are considered an actual form of medical treatment and before a trained practitioner even came close to me I would have to fill up and sign a disclaimer, which also required me to give part of my medical history. No problem, I was what I consider in the prime of my life and gladly signed. Next surprise, it turned out that traditional Ayurvedic massages do not allow cross gender contact and so I would be assigned a male masseuse. No problem I think to myself, despite my friends previous reactions, I would not cringe from male on male contact . . . . for massage purposes that is. And then our spa receptionist dropped the A bomb. “Sir, traditional Ayurvedic massage is performed with two masseuse simultaneously”. This took me by surprise. I was aware that Ayurvedic massage involved a lot of hot oil but being told now that two burly men would be rubbing me down with hot oil simultaneously, well that just gave me some pause for thought.
“BRING IT ON!” I shouted silently to myself “That will do fine” I told the receptionist nonchalantly. I just had to go through with it. In my constant struggle for one upmanship with my friends, whether it was mountain biking down a fast hill, trying dyno that last handhold on in the rock climbing gym or just trying to goad ourselves into a triathalon, I find I had painted myself in a corner. I just had to go through with it in order to say “Dude, you remember when we were massaged by men? Well I just beat you, I just got massage by two men . . . eat my dust.”
The massage itself went fine. I lay on my back and had four hands rhythmically rub my body from the bottom of my soles to my shoulders. I have to say I was hoping for more of a sensation, maybe that’s not the right word, more of a difference but it felt no different from an ordinary massage. Then they asked me to turn over and this is where I almost lose it. Four hands rubbing, kneading your back is fine, but the same number of hands rubbing your chest automatically makes me . . . smile in a ticklish sort of way. Were it not for my intense teeth clenching and the face towel covering my eyes the masseuse handling me (literally) might have thought I was getting some perverse pleasure beyond the therapeutic ones the massage intended to give me. I was torn between laughing out loud and jumping out running away kicking and screaming. Thankfully, after a while, one of the guys gives me a tap and says “Finished already, did you enjoy?”
“Yes” I said, still fighting the grin that still hung around “Yes, I did, thank you very much”.
Prologue
Not long afterwards, I find myself in the backwaters of the state of Kerala, ground zero and the origin of Ayurvedic medicine. As I check into the resort I’d be staying at for the next 2 days the receptionist asks me if I would like to try a relaxing and traditional Ayurvedic massage.
“Can I get just my head and shoulders massaged?” I ask.
“Why yes sir” she answered.
Just to check, I asked “Will they be massaging my chest area?” signing towards my newly realized sensitive area.
“No sir, only the head and chest sir, but if you would like . . . . “ she replied, slightly quizzically.
“No, no, no, no " I replied a little too hastily and after getting my composure asked "And it will just be one person massaging me?”
“Yes” she answered me skeptically looking at me.
“Then sign me up” I said nonchalantly, but deep down inside I was screaming “BRING IT ON”.