I had been a massage therapist for six years now. Learning my trade in a shady massage parlour (where happy endings were more the norm than special requests), I did my fair share of old, dirty men and tired women. Some of them wanted relief from pain, the others, an easing from daily life, being alone while still surrounded by 15 million people.
But now, that was the past. I was lucky to receive growth in a dead end profession. I worked well, had strong arms, and understood the internet enough to learn new tricks of the trade. Over time, I added Swedish, shiatsu, Kerala and other type of massages. Though most people in India preferred the less painful Thai massage, once they tried one of the others on my recommendation, they were hooked. That I was tall, lean and easy on the eye helped as well. One thing led to another, and I was soon called upon by the crème de la crème of Bombay society.
Over time, I learned enough english, enough subservience and exercised caution, discretion and a genuine appreciation for my clients' lives. The hour and a half they spent with me was perhaps the only time in the week where they could truly switch off, wade in that special zone between sleep and mindfulness, and think about the simple joys in life.
Today, it was just one such day. I arrived at the Khar station, making sure my little 'bag of wonders' (as my current client of the day referred to it), survived the jostling. It was maddening to survive the train journey at this time of the day. Consequently, given my sweat infused state, I could not reach the client directly. Over the past few years, as my earnings had increased, I befriended a local hotel owner who let me use the bathroom of a vacant room to take a shower, and then take a quick taxi to the clients' homes. Thank god most of my clients lived in a microcosm of this great city, else I would be forever stuck with this problem. The issue of body odour wouldn't normally occur to a person of my class, but watching enough deodorant advertisements pasted on each train and bus had told me it was expected behaviour from a man, to smell good. Also, the little time I spent in a five-star spa in Bandra had made me realise the power of good smells.
The bath over, I doused a few drops of petrichor ittar, ensuring I smelled earthy yet not perfumed, and took a taxi. There was a slight breeze blowing, and the day was as Bombay as it could be. Arriving at the Oberoi Crest, a large white building, I noticed the building security being more vigilant than usual. There were three media vans standing around, and some bustle. Sensing this as usual, I wondered what made the security guard stay on edge, with a pensive look lining his face. Shankar Pandey knew me well from previous visits, and greeted me with a slight nod of the head as he opened the gate. 'Seedha andar jaiye aaj, thoda panga hai', so I walked on- was there some tabloid news that I had missed?
The door was opened by the housekeeper, who asked me to set up in the study, my usual spot in the house. Going in, I noticed the living room was empty. Given my client's irregular hours, I thought she might have just returned from an engagement late in the night, and they were still sleeping. I took out the burgundy massage table nestled behind the large book case, and set it up. The candles were already in place, meaning my client had partaken the aromatherapy session I had recommended the last time. Happy that she had some time to relax the night before, I was looking forward to the massage session. Her last film had been a huge hit, a typical hindi blockbuster. An item song had caught the nation's fancy in particular, and everyone from little kids to old men were humming its particularly raunchy lyrics all day long. She had travelled the length and breadth of the country for a month, and now as the clamour died down, she had a week or so before she went on to shoot for the next movie. Telling me all this during her last massage, she had sounded excited about this brief period of rest.
I was all set, and let the housekeeper know. She was carrying a tray with some snacks and a few plates, which meant there were more than the usual two people at home. I went in, put on the Buddha Bar CD, and waited for my client.
The door opened and someone walked in. Recognising her usual perfume (she had worn Jean Paul Gaultier Classique all her life, I had learnt), I bellowed out a 'Good morning madam' to wake her up. It was essential to get her to a mindful state before I melted her consciousness away. Turning around, I was surprised by the other presence in the room- along with Kareena Kapoor, dressed in a shapeless cotton kaftan, was her elder sister, Karisma Kapoor. "Good morning, Kabir ji", Kareena replied, smiling and radiant. Having just had her morning coffee, she was bubbling. "You know Lolo, of course." "Namaste madam, how are you?" She smiled and moved to the bookcase to check out the latest books her mother had stacked up. Kareena told me she was going out, and her didi would be partaking of my services. I nodded, and set about getting the towels and other things ready. Kareena and I stepped out of the room while Karisma changed. Kareena hesitated for a moment, and then said "She's not been in a good state of mind for quite some time. I tried the candles last night, but she still needs a little more help. Please ensure you do whatever you can to get her to relax?" I nodded again- not speaking much with my clients was a policy that had served me well. My relationship was more physical, more instinctive and my clients relished the opportunity to not be peppered with questions and comments on everything. People had a tendency to try to impress and swoon over them, and my silence appeased them. Vidya Balan had expressly said as much to me, and I had not met a more observant woman in my life.
Knocking at the door, I received a curt "Come in" in response. Stepping in, I dimmed the lights, put the candles on. And warmed the oil in my hands. Her alabaster skin had always baffled me, and now, lying on the table, with just a towel covering her hips, was the object of my teenage fantasies herself. Ever since she had asked Harish in Prem Qaidi to take some money out of her bosom, Karisma had become a sensation, delivering superlative performances across dramatic, comedy and romantic roles. With her 'type' of films waning away in the early 2000's, she had married a once divorced Delhi business man, had two children, was now back in Bombay to live with her mother. I knew all of this not because I knew the family intimately, but the country's media let us know every sordid detail every single day of the week.
