"And how was it, madam?"

In my latest adventure, I decided to treat Stephanie to a back massage before she left India as a way of saying thanks for all the help she's given me in settling in. I found a shop called "What Women Want", or "W3", and it seemed clean enough, with reasonable prices, so I made reservations for 2 back massages.

From this experience, I learned two things:
1) A good businessperson never makes a good masseuse.
2) In India, when they say "full body massage," they really mean "full body massage."
Let me explain.

The woman that I made reservations with spoke good English, and seemed professional and businesslike. I liked her right away, because you don't meet many people like that in Varanasi. She was also wearing jeans, which means she is modern and liberal. I think she was the owner of the shop.

When we arrived for our appointment, we were shown to a tiny room upstairs with 2 small beds, but only one masseuse. I was confused. I thought to myself, "I hope this one lady doesn't just walk back and forth between us." But then, suddenly, who should appear but the owner from downstairs? "Lay down please, madam," she said.

Because of her aforementioned professional, businesslike nature, she convinced us that we should have full body massages. It would only cost a little bit extra, and it was worth the value. Okay, whatever.

The lady then proceeded to rub my back with oil for a while, and roll a very squeaky massage instrument up and down my body. She asked if she could take my underwear off, but I graciously declined. I was trying very hard not to laugh the whole time, which probably just left me with a creepy smile pasted across my face.

I don't think that this woman was formally trained in the arts of massage, because she only used her thumbs once during the 45 minutes. Mostly she just moved her oily palms all over me. Imagine my surprise when she asked me to roll over, and then proceeded to palm my bare chest for a while. Just when I thought the massage couldn't get any more awkward, it did.

I never thought that a touch could be so impersonal, so perfunctory. At the end of the massage, she said to me, "How was it, madam? Did you like it?" I wasn't sure how to respond. "Oh, yes. Very nice," I mumbled.

As we walked out, Stephanie asked me if I felt like I had just paid someone to molest me.