Manav was very excited that his official trip of two weeks was about to end. The end of the day last Friday felt like an escape day. Two weeks away from family in a hotel was really taxing. He was supposed to fly back on Saturday evening, so he had a full night and day to himself. He wanted to relax a little before having his dinner. His tired body pushed him to go for a massage if possible. And needless to say, it was possible.
He took out his mobile phone and searched for “full body massage near me.” More than 50 options presented themselves. He texted nearly 20 of them. Fifteen of them immediately replied with common responses like “all massages available,” “1500 for 90 minutes and 15 minutes shower,” “hot, beautiful, slim girls from North, Northeast and Kashmir available,” “Russians available for extra charges.” Manav suddenly realized that these offers were less about massages and more about brothels. Some even called and insisted he come as soon as possible for an extra discount and “services.” A few of them shared photos of girls as well. One of them called and said corporate girls were available as well. He asked what that would mean, and got the answer that many girls living alone in that ultra-expensive city did this work as a part-time gig to earn extra quick bucks.
He glanced at the pictures of the girls sent to him and found many of them gorgeous. He suddenly felt two distinct voices inside him. One was saying to have a go and experience the services from these so-called well-being centers. The other was saying the exact opposite. How could a person of his character go to such a place?
This battle went on for a good hour and a half. By then all 20 had replied, and he had more than 30 calls on his mobile wanting to know about his timings. They all called him “Sir,” as if he were a client interacting with a big corporate firm. Many said they were open through the night, so he could come whenever he was comfortable.
He decided to give it a go.
He called one with a rating of more than 4.9 on Google from over a thousand reviewers. He asked for the final price and duration and was told the best rate for the best services would be 3000 for 90 minutes. He asked if he could have it for 180 minutes. The front office (read: agent) said he’d be glad to offer a discount of 1000 and two different girls for the session if he wished.
His heartbeat began to rise, and his feet carried him to the massage parlor. It was on the first floor of a four-story mall. The stairs were all labeled with the spa’s name, with arrows pointing people to the correct venue, as if a large number of people had missed the shop while trying to find it.
He entered and was immediately welcomed by a young man of about 24. The man asked about the massage he wanted and, after a brief discussion, asked for payment. Manav took out his wallet and paid. After payment, he was escorted into a small room containing a bed, a bathroom, and an area where oils, towels, and other related items were placed. He stood there for a while before a girl entered the room. For some reason not entirely clear to Manav, the room had only blue neon lighting — things were not clearly visible. A silhouette of the surroundings was apparent, but the details were left to imagination.
The girl appeared to be in her early twenties. She wore a black shirt and black pants, likely her uniform. The dim blue light made it hard to see her face clearly, but the curves of her body made her look attractive. She greeted him and asked him to undress and wear the underpants provided by the spa. She told him the clock would start ticking as soon as the massage began.
With a fast-beating heart, he asked if he could have another masseuse option, and she politely told him he was allowed to switch once if he didn’t like her services.
He lay down, and she began the massage with some basic stretching. He felt her soft hands on his body and felt a strange sensation — almost what he used to feel on date nights. She started a conversation, asking his name and where he’d come from. He replied, then asked her the same. She said she belonged to a very big city but lived and worked here. He quietly asked why she wouldn’t do the same job in her own city. She replied that spas there required masseuses to have intercourse with clients if requested, but here she could refuse such requests. Curious, Manav asked what she could oblige here. She said that apart from sex, he could ask her to do anything, but he’d have to pay extra. He asked the amount, and she promptly responded with three different figures for three different services, as if reading from a well-documented rate sheet.
Manav tried to negotiate, as if buying vegetables from a local vendor. She was a pro and refused any discount outright. Manav took out his wallet and put some cash in her hand. She accepted it gladly and began the promised service with all her experience and sincerity. Manav lost his senses, trying to soak in everything happening to him in that moment. The girl, in the heat of the moment, pushed him on the bed with a force that wasn’t very comfortable for him. He was out of his senses anyway. Instinctively, he shouted in a hushed tone, “Not so hard, Manvi!”
Manvi was his wife, waiting for him to return. Her name broke the trance for a moment, but the experience pulled him back with even greater intensity. She did nearly everything he asked, but refused the things she wasn’t comfortable doing. In half an hour, the extra session ended, and things returned to normal. He still had more than an hour left in the session. The shyness on both ends was tossed out of the room. They spoke now like the best of friends.
Once his consciousness returned, Manav started asking her personal questions, and somehow she became human to him again. He said, “You are such a beautiful young woman — why do such a job? Why can’t you try something else?”
The girl replied, “Like what?”
“Any other decent job. Don’t you feel bad about yourself, doing this every day?”
“I do feel bad, but I don’t have the education that would get me a proper paying job.”
“Who’s in your family? Do they know about you?”
“I have a family of five. My father passed away some years ago. My siblings are all younger than me and still in school. I don’t want their education ruined too. My mother can’t support them on her own. The money I send from here helps them live a decent life.”
“You say it as if this is the only job you can do. Have you even tried to find something else?”
“How much do you earn?” asked the girl.
He lied about his annual income, tripling the real figure.
She stopped massaging, took out her phone, and started calculating something.
“What are you doing?” asked Manav.
“I’m calculating your hourly income.”
“Why?”
“You just gave me more than two days of your pay for half an hour of mine,” the girl said, and resumed massaging.
Manav felt humiliated. His nakedness felt more real now. All the attraction from a few minutes ago vanished.
Manav gathered himself. “Money isn’t everything. What about dignity? Respect?”
“Do you feel dignified and respected right now?” asked the girl.
Manav was lying there in translucent underwear in front of her. He held neither dignity nor respect in that moment.
“In front of society, yes. I’m a respected member,” he said.
“Do you plan on telling them about meeting me?”
“No. Not even in my dreams,” Manav said, shuddering.
“Then your respect depends on hiding parts of your life from them. How is that any different from me?”
The massage was over. For the sake of the paid time, both remained in the room. Manav wanted to rush out as soon as he could, but he’d paid for the full session.
“You’re selling your body for money. How do you see yourself in the mirror every day?”
“Do you like the work you do? Do you feel a deep satisfaction that what you do is meaningful? The way you climbed on me a few minutes ago revealed who you really are.”
“At least I’m not selling myself.”
“Aren’t you? Don’t you go to the same workplace every day, even when you don’t want to?”
“I have a family, a wife. I live in a posh place meant for respected families.”
“And yet — you’re here. Say hi to Manvi from me, if you can. I feel sorry for her.”
“She’s a respected married woman. Why do you feel sorry for her? What are your own plans for marriage?”
“I’ve never met a good man. There’s no point marrying scum.”
“So by that logic, you feel no remorse for your actions.”
“Do you?” the girl asked, flatly.
Manav had nothing more to say. He went to the bathroom for his hot shower.
The girl carefully began putting everything back in its place, then took out her phone to check the time.
Both wanted the remaining time to pass quickly, but it moved at its own pace, indifferent to their wishes.
Finally, the bell outside signaled that time was up.
Manav stepped out in his towel, freshly showered. The girl had put everything back in order. The room was the same as it had been before Manav arrived.
She smiled, wished him well, and went out.
He couldn’t even respond, too focused on getting his clothes on.
He rushed back to his hotel, wanting to reach home as soon as possible. His wife was waiting for him. And then, at the back of his mind, he remembered — the girl had asked him to say hi to his wife from her.
On his way to the airport, he found the memories of his wife and the girl intertwined. He realized that that day, in front of her, he’d been disrobed twice — once by himself, and once by her.
He was leaving the city, but the city would never leave him.
