"Madame, Please!" Can't I have A Towel?!?!?!?!"

An Awkward Experience in Goa, India.


India........A country that I always thought I would fit in because of its extreme modesty. Saris and oversized fabrics can hide a not so toned Buddha belly. Arms and shoulders are covered to avoid the unwanted glances by creepy men. Legs buried under many layers. And in some severe cases, many faces are hidden completely, except for the eyes.

Now, bring in the Traditional Kerala Massage.

Our first destination in India was to be a relaxing week on one of the beaches in Goa. My sisters decided to indulge and be pampered by having a massage at what appeared to be a reputable spa. They convinced me that I should try having one as well. I had never had one before, as I don't like to be touched by people I know, let alone a complete stranger. This time around, though, I vowed to be open about having one.

From the moment I walked into the room where the massage was to take place, I knew it was going to be a strange experience. My female masseuse told me to take off all of my clothes. I gasped, and asked her if she was serious, "You want me to take off everything?!?" "Yes, everything." Call me a prude. I don't like to be naked. I am uncomfortable with nudity. I can't even change in front of other women in a locker room, and here I was having to be in my birthday suit in front of a random woman, a complete stranger from a culture who can't even show her neck or ankles. I asked her if I could at least have a towel. She said I was ok without it.

The most uncomfortable part was that she didn't even turn around so that I could undress. I proceeded to sit on a chair where she began my massage by performing chop suey on my head. I had never felt so vulnerable or exploited in my life. I shed a tear or two, and tried my best to sit in a manner where I wasn't so exposed.

All, in all, she was a very professional masseuse, and it wouldn't have been so bad if I could have concentrated on the massage and not on my insecurities. My thoughts kept going back to "she is making fun of my thighs and my old man's butt." I was really uncomfortable about the fact that she had a full frontal view. In days that followed, I heard horror stories of what goes down in some massage parlours in India. Women being raped by men who trade places with masseuses at the end of their sessions, massage parlours turning out to be brothels, or massages being videotaped. I am just lucky that it didn't turn any uglier.

Oh, and by the way, I also learnt that nude massages are the norm in India because of the oils that they use.

India is filthy...

For every good day in India, there is a bad one. It is a constant roller coaster ride of trying to figure out how to appreciate this land and its people. You love it, you hate it. You wonder how people can live this way; you have the utmost respect for those who decide to live this way. It is a land of constant contradictions. This morning, I find myself sitting on a rooftop restaurant in our haveli, shahi palace, in Jaisalmer India. As I sip on my morning coffee, it would appear as though today will likely be one of those days where I spend the entire day trying to wrap my head around all of the garbage in the streets, the open sewage, the cows which are left to empty themselves anywhere they choose. As I continue to sip on my coffee, I know that essentially, everything that has made its way to my mouth these past two weeks has also had contact with feces. How do I know this? Because as I sit here writing this, I am watching a little boy sit on an opposite roof patio in his bare feet roll colorful sweet balls into candy form. The balls are rolled and then laid on the rooftop. Peiodically, as he rolls, he gets up and walks along the rooftop to collect certain tools he needs to continue the job. These candy balls share a rooftop surface that is a public walkway for his family. In a few minutes we will then witness him walk along the streets in his barefeet. Streets that are full of so much waste and feces. Yesterday, I watched two cows in the middle of the street urinate about 2 liters each. Locals walked by as though it were nothing; a holy water jutting out onto the streets. I further passed what looked like a simple bus stand hit where half a dozen men openly relieved themselves against the wall. When I came home and googled this, I learned that it is one large public urinal... An orange stained hut that will never be washed clean. A fly lands on my coffee cup and i am aware. I am aware that five seconds ago, this same fly was feasting on human waste that is being emptied out into the streets in an open sewage system. I just don't get it. I can't help but wonder what Indians who have never left their country must think when they come to a country like Canada where littering is as punishable as theft. And why doesn't the government take action? In canada, don't we put criminals to the streets to serve their country in a useful way while they rehabilitate? In a country of over a billion people, why have things gotten so out of control? There are good days, there are bad days; but every single day is a day whereby one finds themself looking around them atu the beautiful landscapes, temples, forts, and asking WHY?