Musings by Wayne Yoder

Eventually Shan comes back with an oil candle. One might think, since this happens most days, Shan would have the transition down pat. But, once again, this is India! The candle gives a soft and adequate light, one I much prefer to the cold florescent death bulb. Shan says that many people prefer the oil candle to the florescent bulb. I don't ask why! The massage begins again, the bed swinging back and forth as Shan keeps his movements in rhythm with it. I wonder how this works for someone who gets motion sickness. Again, I think it best not to ask. At this moment the door to the room opens and a child wonders through to the other room. Ah, well……. Back to the massage. My eyes are closed and I see lights begin to flash in my eye lids and hear popping in my ears. Shan quickly flips the switch off and says the electricity is on again. Oh, yes, why not? Relax Wayne! We keep the candle, fortunately. Another man enters the house and there is a brief conversation shouted through the door between him and Shan. I'm beginning to laugh. What else can I do?

Now I'm to turn over and lie on my stomach. The table swings and I get in position. Shan goes to work. This position is not the most comfortable in the world. I feel a bit like a bow with both feet and head maintaining the highest point. Soon Shan comes to my head and puts another 2 inch cloth under it and wants me to put my face directly in it. The bow is being strung tighter! There is no place to put my face and head as there would be on a proper massage table so my nose and face are smashed into this cloth. I try to breath while Shan dumps a quart of Quaker State on my head and begins working it vigorously. His hands feel good but my body is tense and in some pain. Go with it Wayne! Relax! Breathe in, breathe out! Then, thank god it is over! I return to my back and breathe a sigh of relief. He does a few more strokes over my body and then takes a towel to 'soak up' the excess oil. After this experience I think I might invest in oil stocks! Shan says to relax while he goes and prepares a cup of tea for me. I say thanks but I don't drink caffeine. He doesn't understand. It is rare to meet an Indian who does. I say caffeine and usually I am understood to mean coffee. There is no such thing as decaf tea or coffee unless you are in a large city and find a specialty coffee shop. They might have decaf coffee for which you will pay double the price of a regular cup.

So I try again with Shan. Here tea is just tea. When I say I don't drink black tea because of the caffeine, he says "no problem. I can add milk to your tea." No longer will it be black. Simple solution. I don't dare to confuse the situation further by bringing up the subject of green tea and such so I say to him: "Shan, in black tea there is caffeine which I don't drink." I can see he still doesn't understand. I try again by saying, "you know, it has a stimulant," and I make gestures like bouncing off the table to illustrate my point. He finally understands and says he'll make me a cup of ginger tea, but he again doesn't understand that here ginger tea is mixed with black tea. I'm about to give up when I say: "how about lemon juice in hot water?" He says: "certainly and I'll put milk with it." Lemon juice and milk! I can already see the milk curdling! But I don't argue, and figure we're almost home so I say: "great!"

I have sat up during the last bit of our conversation and now lie back down to relax for 10 minutes while my tea is being prepared. Relax? This word keep appearing! As soon as Shan leaves the room the family chatter along with Shan's chatter really picks up. It is loud and rapid fire. By the tone I could swear they are arguing but I don't understand a lick of the language in my American isolation so what do I know?

Mercifully, the tea arrives and it is quite tasty. It is dark in the room except for the candle light so I'm not tempted to see if the milk has curdled. It goes down well while Shan and I chat a bit. He asks if the massage was a good one seeming to want reassurance. I remember the parts that were good and say "yes." After all, I do want to encourage Shan and I'm not here to change him or India. That certainly would be a hopeless task, fortunately, and an unnecessary one at that. Perhaps it might be better to think in terms of being changed by India. Hmmm…

Most anyone can relax under the ideal condition of quiet comfort and soothing music. But what about lying on a solid wood table, looking up at a florescent light bulb, a background of family and neighborhood chatter, the electricity going off and returning with the blinking and popping of the florescent bulb, and periodic mosquitoes and bugs? I don't think I passed the test. That pest, the Buddha, and a laughing one at that, is lurking somewhere nearby!

I finish my tea, get my clothes back on and we walk back into the entrance room. Shan hands me the 'comment' book and asks if I would write something in it. I catch my breath and say of course I will and momentarily fantasize what my entry might be! The massage itself was quite good and I want him to know this. I say: "good massage, nice oil, a pleasure to feel all the different strokes, and the swinging table is a trip!" That's about as far as I want to go and I lay the book back down. Shan immediately picks it up before it collects dust and eagerly reads what I wrote, then puts it in a protective plastic bag and takes it to another room. He returns me to my guest house on his hero Honda 100 and the massage is over. All for $11.00. It was worth every rupee!

But, thank god, now I can relax!