I felt decadent and a hedonist with a woman working magic with her fingers all over my feet. It was a Saturday afternoon in Suko Thai at Versova, Mumbai. And I was lazily sprawled on an easy chair, with my feet up on a stool.
She arrived with a bowl of warm water, soaped and lathered my feet, and carefully wiped them dry with a towel. And then she began working her magical fingers on my feet; beginning from my toes, working on my heels and inching towards my calves. I was languid and droopy eyelids begged to take over. But I wanted to remain awake and savor the experience. The whole of it.
She was quiet, whispering occasionally. But she was invisible for the most part, except her fingers. They spoke, they kneaded, they pummeled, they massaged. They danced upon my flesh making me feel suspended in time. She was liberal with the lotions and potions caressing my legs. I felt like a ball of play dough beneath her hands.
And just when I thought that it couldn’t get any better, she delicately rested my feet on the floor and asked me to sit a stool and bend forward. This time round, I’m not sure if it was her fingers or elbows but they pressed hard against me. I probably flinched a bit but wasn’t willing to let go of the exquisite pain as yet. She worked my shoulder, shoulder blades and forearms. My mind which was almost switching off just a while ago, snapped back awake. I was feeling muscles that I’ve never felt earlier. It was a heady rush. The fingers moved on to caress my neck and hair and the various facial muscles. They transported me to another world.
It was a rude reality check when the 60-minute session ended. But I felt awake and renewed, with a smile dancing on my lips. She brought over a tray laden with a bowl of fruits and some ginger tea. The mother would have been of me as I polished off both the tea and fruits with much glee and enthusiasm.
On my way out, I wondered if a man would have had a similar response to a massage. Would he have taken the initiative and ventured close to a spa, either for himself or his partner? Or was that optimistic thinking given that most men are averse to grooming tips and suggestions?
They complain of having to shave daily. But little do they know the pains of waxing and threading. And perhaps the only thing that comes to close to alleviating that pain is the promise of a massage. When the sting of the hot waxing strip is replaced by carefully kneading fingers, elevating you to another plane.
So now I know what I could do to push the man to get rid of his evening stubble. Get him sponsor my trips to the spa for a languid massage post each waxing appointment, else I’ll threaten to turn into a grizzly bear. And if he grumbles too much about either, also deny him delicious home-baked goodies.
He can choose to be unshaven. But the stakes rise each day he chooses to do that. Let him crave to shave!