So this photo isn’t of the guy from this story, but getting a photo of him would have been tough and as you can tell from Steph’s face, this interaction wasn’t that welcome either…

We hadn’t expected the knock at the door. It was 4pm and I had just woken up from an almost two hour long nap, my solution to the afternoon heat in Kollam.

I was puzzled as to whom it could be, but Steph suggested it was housekeeping with the second towel we had requested hours earlier. The odd thing about Indian hotels is they proudly insist that they will provide you with a towel, however that is exactly what you get, one towel for two of you. Try to request a second one and you will be met with a blank stare, a head bobble, but no towel.

I sprinted to the door with an unrealistic optimism that this time the request would be fulfilled and opened it to find a young Indian man in a crisp button up shirt and big brown cow like eyes. I actually found his soft features somewhat attractive. At the sight of me (a foreign girl) his eyes lit up with delight and he gave me a shy smile as he held up a laminated menu and introduced himself.   I think his name was Inger, although in hindsight, he might have been telling me that he was eager.

“Hello Miss, would you like to order breakfast for tomorrow?”

Ugh, the attempt at a towel had failed.

“No thanks, not really sure when and where we will be having breakfast, but thank you. Do we have to let you know the day before?”

“No you can just go down and order in the morning.”

I was uncertain as to why he was at the door trying to take an unnecessary breakfast order and attempted to kindly say goodbye, but he did not want to go away.

“Would you like to have dinner in the hotel restaurant tonight?”

“Um..I don’t know. Maybe? We might just walk around town though. We don’t really want to decide right now.”

I smiled apologetically and tried to close the door again.  He piped up in a panic,

“Miss would you like to have beer at the beer parlour?”

Stephanie and I had been avoiding a presence with drunken men since the New Years ass grab incident, so that was not going to happen.

“No thanks.”

I couldn’t help but giggle at his determination to find something we might be interested in where he could be present.

“What do you drink?”

“Umm… lemon sodas.”

“Ah! Beer is just like lemon soda! Only 6% more alcohol. So you go to the beer parlour then.   At what time will I see you there?”

His beautiful white toothed smile grew large (and flirty) at his own ingenious answer. It was clear that for eager Inger this was no longer about attempting good customer service, but was more about him knowing where he could find us later. He could see my hand still attempting to politely shut the door between us so he changed tactics.

“Would you like a massage?”

“No, not really!”

I was unsure whether or not he was offering to arrange a massage or give me one himself. I won’t go into too much detail, but we had discovered that Indian massages were not meant for the modest and felt awkward enough receiving one from a female masseuse. I had only received a massage from a man once in my life and it was an uncomfortable experience until I clued in halfway through that I had stumbled into a “Seeing Hands Parlour” where the masseuses were blind. I had felt like a complete idiot for the rest of the massage when I realized why the young man had seemed so confused when I insisted he look away whenever he asked me to turn over. Inger on the other hand was definitely not blind.

“I promise you my massage will be good, it will only take 15 minutes.”

At this point I looked to Stephanie for backup. She was just out of Inger’s sightline, only her feet at the end of the bed were visible to him from the door. She was now lying on her belly, burying her face in her pillow with her entire body convulsing with stifled laughter. Alas, I was on my own with this one.

“Really, we’re good.”

At that point I couldn’t control my laughter. I even found myself wondering if this young man actually worked for the hotel or had just spotted us from off the street during check in. He had run out of things to offer, but he was not going to let my reaction phase him and just stood there smiling at me. Then it came, the question all men in India end up asking:

“Are you married?”

He didn’t seem threatening enough to require lying to so I answered, trying to ignore Steph’s shaking on the bed behind me.

“No I am not married.”

I did not think it was possible, but his eyes actually grew larger.

“Why are you not married?” He asked with 10% confusion and 90% delight.

I tried to straighten myself up since my laughter was making me double over slightly. I hated this question more than the first.

“Because I would prefer to travel than be married.” I said with exasperation.

He considered the answer, slightly confused that a woman might not wish to be married.

“How old are you?”

“29.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

I was exhausted at this point. I had attempted to close the door at least 5 times, but he would not budge. I gave him a consoling look and said “I do.” I held my breath wondering if he would ask me any specific questions about my imaginary boyfriend, but he interrupted my thoughts with a different question while gesturing over my shoulder.

“Ok. What about your friend?”

At that point I found it in me to close the door.

3 hours later…

After walking around Kollam, booking a houseboat tour for the next day and grabbing dinner we returned to the hotel to call it a night. On our way up the stairwell we ran into Inger and another employee who was dressed in the same outfit. At least he did in fact work at the hotel. He lit up when he saw us.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

I was fine but Stephanie had actually forgotten to buy a bottle of water and asked if he could deliver one to our room. Big mistake.

He appeared with the water, but naturally he wanted more. He once again asked if we would like a massage. According to him, his massages were very good. We did not even have to go anywhere. He pointed over our shoulders and explained that he could do it right on our bed! It was certainly stiff enough to pass for a massage table, but I was unsure as to how we would all fit.

He proudly produced his cell phone and showed us a photo of a woman he claimed to be British (surely if a British woman was game a Canadian woman would be convinced) lying topless face down in a bedroom identical to ours with Inger sitting on top of her, straddling her buttocks between his thighs and massaging her back. I couldn’t help but wonder who exactly took the photo. I was less concerned with that thought than the next. How was it possible that this hotel offered a door to door service for my rear end to be straddled while someone took photos, but I was regarded as nuts for wanting to have a second towel delivered?

We tried desperately to convince him that we were not in the mood and then, by accident, I discovered the perfect way to get rid of him.

“What I could really use is a second towel. Could you do that for me? It would make me sooo happy.”

He froze. He knew management would never let him do this, but he also knew saying no to a request would ruin his chances with either of us so, with great difficulty, he said “yes” and disappeared with his mission.

We never saw him again.