Ixnay on the massage, eh?

I was, after my last massage, not really eager to repeat the experience. But a few days ago, the hotel's cleaning woman, Annu, approaches me and asks me if I would like a massage, for 300 rupees ($9).

My heart wasn't in it to say no. I didn't really want one, but I've seen this woman, like most people here, working so much harder than I ever have, for so much less, so I said okay, "atcha" and we set about trying to negotiate a time.

She says "Wait," and gets her husband, as he speaks English.

Well, no he really doesn't.

There's a bit of confusion, but it's settled that I'll be getting ths massage furtively, in a way that the Hotel manager can't notice because "he's not good boss," and "he not paying enough".

Rich had already mentioned this to me and told me that they had asked him to hand his laundary over to them and pay them directly, as they didn't get paid by the manager for the work they did.

No problem, they are a really young couple, she's only 20, and has been married since she was 15 and has 3 kids and so, alright, sign me up for another awkward experience that requires my nudity. I usually avoid these types of situations like the plague, or rabid monkies.

That's how I find myself waiting and waiting and not understanding what the heck is going on when the husband is trying to explain in English what time this secret massage will occur.

That's also how I find myself freezing and being given this, no other word for it but 'tude, as in attitude, that I don't have any massage oil ready for my massage. I hand over my cream for chapped and drying skin, and yes, it turns out that will suffice, but barely.

That's how I find myself getting the most painful massage I've ever endured. She worked me over like I was an East German Olympic athlete on steriods. But fortunately, it only lasted 25 minutes. Then I went to pay her, and had included a tip on the price she had quoted me, but the price changed (400 rs/$12). I asked about it, but paid the new price.

Then she advised me her husband would need to speak to me again, about an urgent matter. She had to wait in my room for 10 minutes before she could sneak out, unseen. Ten minutes later, when I left the room, they found me in the courtyard, and asked me to step aside.

In broken English, I got this "Israeli", "2000 rupees" (That's $60), "Much water is coming", and "Ajmer" (Ajmer is the nearest city to Pushkar). I must have looked completely befuddled. Annu says to her husband "show, show," so her husband raises his shirt to show me something on his armpit.

I put the story together that much water is coming from this armpit, a trip to a specialist in Ajmer is required, as is 2000 rupees, please. From me.

I stared at him like I didn't understand. I was cold and sore from the massage, and as far as I could see, there was nothing wrong with his armpit. I know, I'm not in the medical profession, but he could get a second opinion besides mine and I've seen several free clinics in Pushkar.

This is a balancing act I haven't mastered. I am in the same tax bracket as King Midas to this young couple, but in my mind this second massage was more than I could afford already. I'm feeling like a skeptical jerk, we're not speaking the same language, but I know we're on the same page; only we're looking at different books, I think they're looking at my bankbook, I feel like I'm looking at an optical illusion book. The kind that has diagrams in it where you have to soften your gaze and the image you've been staring at will finally appear, and make sense. I stare at them and wait.

Finally he says "okay, okay," in a tone like that's enough then, because we're at a stalemate. I can't stand there forever or it will appear suspicious to the manager, and he can't take the chance of drawing attention if he raises his shirt to me again. I say "Okay, dhanyavad. Namaste."

The Israeli part I never figured out.