It Rains Rainbows in the Big City
Riya Mehta
Jai leaned against the wall, careful not to get any stains on his white shirt as he took another drag of his cigarette. It was a busy day, and this was his first break in the last two hours. After taking a few minutes to grab a bite, he had stepped out for a quick smoke before heading back in for his next appointment. Just as he took a long drag, he saw Mr Yadhav walk into the building.
Stubbing out the cigarette, he headed back in to freshen up. The staff bathroom swung shut behind him as he rinsed his mouth with Listerine. Glancing at the mirror, Jai adjusted his hair and gave his reflection a quick smile before he swung open the door back open.
It was his fourth client of the day. Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention to the already-stripped-and-ready Mr Yadhav. Flat on his stomach, Mr. Yadhav’s nut-brown back greeted Jai. Slipping on his gloves and mask as was the new protocol, Jai poured some hot oil on his palms and greased the man’s shoulders generously. He warmed up Mr Yadhav’s muscles, kneading and working just the right spots and the occasional grunts and moans let him know that he was doing a good job.
Quite soon, a rhythm was set, and he let his mind drift away as he gave Mr Yadhav what he had paid for: a full body massage with aromatherapy.
He was twenty-five now and had been a masseur for four years. Although his family had initially objected to this profession, they soon changed their minds after he sent home the first cheque. He came from a small household and the money paid by these high-end parlours, along with the occasional tip, was enough to sustain them. That was until his girlfriend had suggested that they go see a couples’ therapist.
Together for three years, they had a good routine going. They had moved in with each other early on to save rent and had immediately gotten extremely comfortable. He cooked their meals, while she did the laundry and dishes. They would divide up other chores similarly. She worked at a beauty salon just ten minutes from his spa, so they even commuted together. In fact, their day-to-day lives were so enmeshed that it was hard to untangle them anymore. And yet, just last month, she woke up one Sunday and said that they should go see a therapist.
‘Yes, I know things are good! But don’t you want more?’ she had asked him, only partly curious.
‘I know that the sex has been, well, missing for a while … but, I don’t need it the way you do. The way most people say they do. I love you Smita, and I don’t want to lose you for anything in this world. But I really don’t know how to feel something that I don’t.’
Smita sighed. ‘I know you love me Jai. I see that when you offer to massage my legs when they hurt or when you surprise me with chocolates, even though you worry that I eat too much dessert.’ She paused, and he took her hand in his, his heart sinking at the thought of losing her.
‘It just makes me angry … when you say you don’t desire me. Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? You may love me, but you don’t have any passion or lust for me.’ She looked at him accusingly, but even she knew Jai wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know why he felt, or rather, didn’t feel, the way he did. They knew each other too well for lies.
‘We just don’t know ourselves well enough,’ Jai thought, as he applied a little more pressure upon Mr Yadhav’s back, gaining an appreciative grunt, while he slowly became frustrated.
He did not understand why she wanted more. Life was hard, he had seen that with his parents. It was the little things that mattered. He looked forward to their morning chai together before they had to leave for work. Every evening, they would talk about their day as he cooked dinner, the smells of sizzling onion and garlic filling their tiny apartment. On weekends, they would sometimes catch a new movie or visit a nearby restaurant. Despite all this, she wanted more. After all, was sex really all that important in a relationship? Was it not enough that they had everything else? He loved spending his days with her, and until recently, he thought she did too.
He had finally given in when she suggested that they see a therapist. ‘I want you to be happy, Smita. If you want more from us, then so do I.’ She seemed relieved to hear that. While her smile did not reach her eyes, at least she was smiling.
He moved further down Mr Yadhav’s stiff legs, massaging the length of his calf muscles as his oiled hands moved slowly up and down. His client had his eyes closed and he suspected that he may have dozed off, although this did not stop him from doing his job. He expertly stroked the area above the man’s ankles where stress had turned itself into tight knots under the skin.
Two thousand and five hundred rupees for an hour[with the therapist]! As if he had that kind of money lying around. It was normal not to be attracted to your partner after years of being together, wasn’t it? Companionship and compatibility – those were the foundations of a good relationship. But since he cared about her, he had agreed, even though the idea made him uncomfortable. His family had constantly nagged him about Smita. They said that she bossed him around too much, that he shouldn’t be doing any chores around the house. But he had always fought for her; for equality. So, there he was, sitting opposite the therapist with Smita’s hand in his, only to be called back again – this time alone.
He focused on Mr. Yadhav’s right foot, pressing into the middle and increasing his pressure steadily. Going higher, he took the big toe between his finger and thumb and bent it, to hear a satisfying crack of the bone. He continued this with the rest of the toes, each one bending to his will as the heady scent of spiced ginseng oil permeated the room.
He had kept his second appointment with the therapist but hadn’t told Smita about it yet. None of it made sense. The therapist asked him if he had ever had a romantic relationship with a man, as casually as if he were asking about the weather or a new recipe. After being further barraged on whether he was anxious to live alone or felt lonely in the relationship, he had finally left the office. All of it was ridiculous. Jai was not against people loving a man or a woman or anyone they liked, but how dare someone question his love for Smita.
He wondered who the five thousand morons were, who had given this doctor 5-stars on Google. Who wasn’t anxious about living alone in a big city, who wouldn’t be scared of being lonely? If anyone asked him, this doctor was a scam, only looking to make money. Why else would he attach big labels to such insignificant issues? ‘Autophobia!’ As if that were a real thing! He was with Smita because he loved her, not because he feared living alone.
Mr Yadhav stirred, and Jai took this chance to softly ask him to turn around and lie on his back instead. As he turned, he noticed that the blue disposable shorts given by the parlour were almost translucent, and he wondered if the clients knew this and just didn’t care, or if it was just these shorts, today. As Mr Yadhav settled down again, he moved his hands to his chest, working in clockwork strokes as chest hair got entangled in his gloved fingers. He pulled on them a little, evoking an involuntary groan from his client.
He had been doing this for years, and not once had anyone questioned why he took this job until the damned therapist. He slowly moved back down to Mr Yadhav’s thighs, cupping each one in his hands as he applied the oil. He always knew every muscle that hurt, every nerve that wished to be touched, just how much pressure to apply and when to stop
His stomach fluttered nervously as he continued the massage, trying to push away all thoughts for later. Mr Yadhav was a regular here and he was usually ticklish below his knees, so he tried to be gentle and work around them. This man gave good tips and he wasn’t going to lose out on it, especially after the unnecessary expense. He moved fast now, liberally oiling the man’s legs in turn, his hands a blur that reached just a little above the thighs and back. Oil touched the edges of the shorts, turning the material transparent.
He thought back to why he had moved to the city in the first place. It was all Suraj’s doing, really. Suraj - his best friend and his first client - he had demanded free massages whenever he got the chance!
‘You know, you can be anyone you want to be in the big city!’ He had declared, spreading his hands wide as the wind ruffled their shirts. They were sitting at their favourite spot on the hill overlooking their small town, empty cups of chai at their feet.
‘Anything?’ Jai had asked, cocking his eyebrows.
‘Anything!’ Suraj’s grin was infectious and Jai had believed him.
That was when the idea had taken root in his head. His heart thumped daringly as he truly considered training to be a masseur. Suraj was moving to the city for work too, it would be perfect. But when they had moved eventually, something as banal as traffic and distance fizzled their friendship out the way only a city could. He was confident that he would still be able to identify Suraj’s sloping shoulders from anyone else’s, blindfolded. His mind’s eye traced the slight bump of a mole just below Suraj’s right ear.
He remembered Suraj had once come to class with his hair coloured entirely blonde. He had gotten such a whacking from the principal for it, but that had not stopped him from coming back the next day with a tattoo on his arm and a cheeky grin on his face! Jai smiled a little, his hands growing gentler as Mr Yadhav’s shoulders slackened under his touch.
Finally, he massaged Mr Yadhav’s scalp, running his fingers through his hair, weaving it all the way to the neck, as he stroked his shoulders before slowly sliding his hands down the spine, stopping right above his buttocks. One last push on the lower back, and he abruptly took a step behind.
“The massage is over, Sir.” he said softly. “I hope you liked it.”
The oil glistening on his skin, Mr Yadhav got up slowly and made his way to the shower. At the sound of the running water, Jai stepped outside the room to give his client some privacy.
As he waited, Jai thought about that day on the hill again.
‘You can be anything you want in the city!’ For him it meant that he could finally be a masseur, or at least so he had thought. He now wondered what these words had meant to Suraj. The boy with a big heart but a sense of humour that constantly got him into trouble. Why had he been so attracted to the freedom that came with anonymity?
He picked up his phone to find Suraj on Facebook. There he was, smiling at the camera although his hair was now its natural brown. Jai zoomed in, checking to see if the old tattoo still existed; an umbrella on his left arm as it rained the colours of the rainbow. It was still right there, even if the colours seemed a little faded.
Hey Suraj...how r u? I know its been long but do u want to catch up sometime?
He pressed send before he could change his mind or feel awkward about it.
Just then, Jai heard the sound of rustling cloth as Mr. Yadhav put on his clothes, and he slipped his phone into his pocket.
*
As he packed up for the day, Jai’s phone alerted him to a Facebook message with a ping.
Jai!! It’s so nice to hear from you! How are you, dude? Of course we should meet up! This is my number – 91371 59091. Call me.
Jai smiled as he read the message. Maybe the colours were not as faded as he thought.
*
A full-time reader and consequential writer, Riya Mehta has a Master's Degree in English Literature. She loves fiction and desserts, precisely in that order, and currently heads the content team at a travel start-up. In her free time, you will find her exploring the labyrinth of stories offered by both books and cinema; she even has 'Stories' inked on her pen-hand to show for it.
Instagram Handle: @thepositivityofblack
Beautifully written 👏🙌
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