The memorable instant.
[Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi]
Lounging barefoot on the pavement, the man is dressed in the bedroom uniform–a white undershirt and a flowery underwear. His white trousers are rumpled around a street post. He is having a massage. The masseur, an elderly man, is wearing a red cap.
The Delhi Walla sees them one evening on the busy Mathura Road. They agree to talk but request me not to publish their names.
The occasional pedestrians are walking past without pausing to look at this extraordinary scene. After all, not every day you come across a massage parlor on the road. The masseur says he has been in the business for more than 30 years. His father, too, was a masseur, who inherited the profession from his father. The masseur’s customer says that he gets himself massaged once every week by this same man. “His hands have magic. All my tiredness goes away.”
The masseur stays silent and focuses on his customer’s legs with renewed concentration. It is a beautiful moment.
The magic of touch