A massage a day keeps pediculosis away???

So, how lucky can a woman get? Apparently, unbelievably so….. I can just see the lot of you thinking of the most unspeakable things that might fit that category. Mostly to do with men and rude behaviour involving dark chocolate and whipped cream, I suspect… Well, you can ease up on your panting, and suck up that saliva (ugh! Gross imagery!). What I’m talking about here, is the desire for learning. Someone else’s naturally....., Somya to be precise. For those ignorant of how history has unravelled, I used to know Somya in Bombay many years ago (neither of us like to dawdle over these mangy details) and reconnected in London in the recent past, to our great mutual satisfaction, and in the same neighbourhood as well (that was a result of deliberate engineering and not kismet however). Still, the fact remains, she’s a good friend, who lives nearby and had this sudden desire to improve herself. As a friend, I wholeheartedly supported this noble endeavour, and when it transpired, that salvation lay through holistic healing, which included the word ‘massage’, my support knew no bounds. A handy neighbourhood medic cum masseuse – doesn’t get much better than that!

Still, we are in the UK and they just don’t let you loose on the general junta without full on training and insurance indemnity, so for those of you who were under the delusion that our Somya would be reminiscent of your neighbourhood maalishwaali, put away your paltry Rs.150. She will be ‘phofessionally’ qualified, possibly ‘certified’ and definitely with a massage table. So there, Kantabai eat your heart out. But, to get to this exalted status, Somya’s had to sacrifice weekends hitting the books – anatomy, musculature, physiology… yep, it’s like being back in school, except for this time around, you need to know more than where your gluteus maximus is! (4.5657 points to those who swear gluteus maximus is to be found in Asterix, along with radio and ulna…).

Being the supportive friend that I am, I offer myself as her ‘case study’, and lesson 1 commences with much fanfare. It’s decided, because I’m lazy, the venue for test /practice massages will be my place, and Somya turns up with all her paraphernalia: Mexican carpet to drape over the bed, copious quantities of notes, towels, and a full on professional demeanour (which lasts all of 15 seconds). We agree on olive oil – actually, she instructs and I fetch, and after a quick read up of her notes, dimming of the lights to a suitable seductive level, and agreeing on a soothing oud (that's a Moroccon sitar type instrument) rendition in the background, we’re ready to go…. The first challenge, and what might possibly be her undoing… the great English towel wrap. Living in the land of the politically correct has its own peculiarities - it’s apparently not done to tell your clients to strip down to their undies and hop on…., So, modesty must be protected and comfort maintained with some fancy towel work. Except, Somya hasn’t been paying attention, and muffs it. So there I am, my modesty shielded by a large towel, lying flat on my stomach, as she commences her manoeuvres. ‘hmm, now how did they do this.. first fold this one here, then move it like so, then take the other one.. no that’s wrong. Maybe it’s this, first, fold, no that’s not right either.. how did they do it?...’ That, my friends, is a foretaste of things to come. And before I know it, the whole towel escapade has gone horribly wrong, and I’ve been none to gently pushed and poked in an attempt to get rid of the towel I had, only to wind up towelless completely. Right. She’s going to flunk the towel test.

Having given up on the towels, we just get on with it Well, she does anyway, and I’m thinking, I feel like I’m being basted. Olive oil.. just chuck in a little rosemary, thyme, tarragon, and call me Italian! Just the legs and back… remember, this is the first class. She gets to my back, muttering under her breath all the time, ‘now easy, gentle strokes along the outside of the spine, oh… I forgot my notes.. but I’m not supposed to leave you.. always have your hands on the client…’ and then the both of us are in splits at this delicate dilemma – to abandon the fundamental principle of keeping your hands on the body, or find out where those are hands are supposed to move to next! Sanity prevails, and Somya leaves me giggling as she fetches her user guide and we continue, mutter, massage, giggle, mutter, massage, giggle.. and voila. Lesson 1 complete, although I felt a bit incomplete being only partially basted, so remedied that with more olive oil while we drank tea and reviewed the session. A very fragrant night.

Lesson 2, was a lot more technical and exhausting, not helped by the fact that we began after 10 pm. A long drawn out consultation, which I failed miserably. Her sample case study was depressed, had man trouble, was unhappy at work and thusly deeply stressed, so the benefits of massage were bountiful. My profile was a bit lightweight – mostly healthy, happy, stress free, and just loved being massaged. Well, between us we managed some creative expansion to that just to give her case study profile a bit of meat. Between my scarfing down random wantons and Somya’s drinking tea, choosing the appropriate writing implements, googling some of the more technical terms that popped up in the paperwork (if any one that reads this can tell me what "pediculosis" means without referring to anything or anyone else, I will cook them a 4 course meal), we managed to complete all the documentation (and this included a trip back to her place coz she’d forgotten the most critical bits of paper..!!!) having read all the necessary bits, established the client healer relationship and signed off all release forms for any injury claims, we were finally ready for the damn massage.

This time, experience came into play, and we had sunflower oil instead of olive (lighter and easier spread in case you’re wondering – it’s not about the flavour!), notes with us right off the bat. But alas! The towel syndrome was inevitable. She thought she’d cracked it, and didn’t take notes, and there we went again.. mutter, mutter ‘no that’s not right.. it’s like this.. .let’s try again…’ 18 marks for the towels, so don’t snigger. Anyway, we gave that up as a lost cause for the moment, and with the directions precariously balanced on my bum, we crack on – a pretend cleaning of the feet, then the back of the legs, spine, shoulders, and a hunt for the trapezoid and some other complicated muscles that I can’t even recollect, gentle soothing strokes, draingage of the lympatic system… all going well, mutter, mutter….. 'hain, again? but i've already done that.... i did it before i was supposed to.. oh well, mutter mutter' and then, it’s time to flip over. But can one just flip over? Don’t be ridiculous, there’s towel technique involved here as well, and after some most inelegant yanking, which was meant to have me gracefully roll over with the towel now draped over my front, well, at least in theory, we just admitted between guffaws, towel grabs and rude displays of flesh, that she was going to have to do some serious note taking if she wanted those 18 marks.

New territory… the face and shoulders… and I swear, any injury I sustain will be a result of being massaged under mirth. My body tensing in anticipation of damage.. I mean what can you expect when your masseuse keeps muttering, and not under her breath either, of what she’s doing wrong, and what she ought to have done instead…. So much for a relaxing massage. Still, we made it through this one unscathed, and then realised, that she was supposed to have done a pre and post massage write up… which again set us off into hysterics… what did you notice in the client when you were massaging her…we decided crystal deposits sounded good as did structural integrity problems (first very kindly pointed out by this sadist masseur in Berlin who I had the privilege of paying for to be told in my agony that I was structural unsound….). Well, at least she can’t complain, might be happy and unstressed but hey, structurally flawed – that’s got to make for a good case study! Tonight is supposed to be lesson 3…. and I can feel my trapezoids tense in anticipation….and oh yes.. pediculosis has nothing to do with your feet, but everything to do with.... get this, head lice. And in case you were beset with overriding curiosity, there is a National Pediculosis Association founded in 1983.... you live and you learn!