Free massage

Yesterday I redeemed my free massage from Gold's gym. It was okay.  The massage was the first thing that seemed even semi-formal there.  For example, when we first signed up, we didn’t even pay for our gym membership (since we didn’t have an Indian bank account yet) for the first two weeks.   No one seemed worried.  I redeemed my two free personal trainer sessions without ever producing the coupons.  When I decided to sign up for long-term PT, they told me to just pay in the next couple of days. 

But the massage- before we started, the coupon was the first thing she asked me for! 

Having never had a massage in India, I asked the front desk a couple of simple questions.   Do we tip?  They laughed. No, no, no!  What about your clothes?  Do you take them all off?  I wasn’t sure, since women seem to cover up much more here, if massages were done over the clothes or something unexpected like that.   The woman at the counter just blushed and stammered she’d never had a massage before and didn’t know.  

I went back to the changing room, because the massage room is inside, and waited until the masseuse arrived.  I was sure it would be a female, because you can’t even get your backpack checked by a male here.  Very same-sex segregation for all activities that involve even the most remote amount of touching.    Plus, it was inside the ladies’ locker room.  Sure enough, a heavyset woman wearing a blue and green salwar kameez came up and shook my hand. 

She took me into the massage room.  It was certainly the smallest possible room you could make to still function as a massage room.  It had the standard narrow table, and a couple feet of space in each direction around it.  The table was covered with blue and white striped towels, rather than sheets.  An additional folded towel sat upon the table. 

She told me to change.  I looked at her, curious.  Change into what?  The towel, apparently.  Since there aren’t sheets, you are supposed to wrap the towel around your body.  She also told me to strip down to my undies, but to be sure (as she emphasized) to keep them on. 

She closed the door, and I folded my clothes neatly on the tiny wall shelf.  Dubiously I wrapped the towel around myself and climbed up on the table.   Unlike normal massage tables, this one didn’t have a place for the head.  It just was a flat table.  Also unheated. 

When she walked back into the room, the first thing she did was pick up a remote control and turn the air conditioner on!  I’ve never had that experience before!  Massages are supposed to be warm, but I suppose in that tiny room it gets too warm, too fast.   But she must have known the proper setting, because I never felt cold.  

I say the massage was okay for several reasons.  The first awkwardness occurred nearly immediately.  She started with standard, normal small talk, ‘where do you live?’ but then immediately stunned me with her follow-up question of, “do you need a maid or cook?” and proceeded to tell me all about her sister or cousin or whomever it was that needed a job.  I patiently listened, and told her no.   Maybe that IS normal, standard small talk in India, but it was certainly unexpected (and uncomfortable) to me. 

The next moment of weirdness came when she pushed my underwear down!  She specifically told me to leave them on, then proceeded to move them.   It was so weird.  I mean, I guess it is good that they aren’t in the way for the lower back and hip massage, but people in the US sure seemed okay working around them….    So that was just too strange for me.

It was a half hour massage, so she did my back and legs only.  It was a Swedish massage rather than deep tissue, so it felt okay, but I don’t think it really got any knots out of my back.  So it seemed a bit like a waste of time.

Near the end of the session, she told me she did home visits, too.  Semi-interested, but mainly acting out of politeness, I asked her rate.  500 rupees ($11.11) for a 1-hour session.  Quite a different price than in the US!  After the massage, she pulled a business card from a drawer under the table and wrote her name on it. She scratched out the image on the card (of a car and driver for hire) and told me the number on the card is hers.

My husband says business cards are extremely important in India.  If you get one, you are supposed to hold it lovingly and gaze upon it, pretending (or actually) studying the printed words with an intensity that says, “yes, I will respect and call you”.   Still naked under the towel, I did my best to do this without feeling too dorky. 

When I arrived home, I asked our maid, Lady S, if 500 was a good rate.  She said yes, it was.  We then had one of those common, but still fun conversations where we try to figure out what the other person is saying.   She said what I thought was ‘pretty center’ which I found very confusing.  What did she mean?  She pointed to my computer, and had me type.     I thought she was telling me the name of a better massage parlor, so I amended my name guess to Pretty Zen Center.  Then Pretty Zenter.  Eventually I learned she was actually saying ‘Priety Zinta’, a famous movie star in India.  Apparently Lady S could give me her masseuse contact, if I wanted.  But she told me that the masseuse is pretty old, so I should stick with the woman I met today.  Overall, a rather worthless conversation, but enjoyable nonetheless.

I like talking with Lady S. She smiles a lot and seems to enjoy herself.  Maybe if I call this woman I’ll get Lady S a massage, too. She says she has never had one before.