Life & Style | Health
Finding your spa-ce
It's all about leaving behind the excess baggage of stress and anxiety and taking that flight to a place where serenity envelops you... completely. Malavika Kamaraju visits Mandara Spa at The Monarch Dubai hotel to make that journey.
- By Malavika Kamaraju, Editor
- Published: 00:07 July 4, 2008
- Everything is natural, earthy and cool to the touch. Stone floor, beige alcoves, floating candles and miles of silence.
- Image Credit: Silvia Baron/ANM
Yards of it would sit in a mountainous heap on the bed, freshly sun dried, smelling of the easterlies and you felt like diving straight into that soft heap and filling your lungs with the fragrance of sun, wind and the lemony scent of washing soap.
But the dive would invariably be thwarted as some elderly aunt or other would walk into the room just then, gently pick up the practically weightless heap of mulmul, walk to another corner of the bed and throw you a look that automatically put a distance between you and the feather-soft fabric.
Then she would proceed to fold it. It was an exercise in precision laced with love.
Phase one: the fabric would be laid out flat on the bed. Moving around the bed she would stretch it out at every corner, tug and pull with measured strength till it was geometrically a perfect large square. Then each corner would again be lovingly kneaded to a 90-degree smoothout.
Satisfied that the corners wouldn't curl into a sulk again, she would embark on phase two. This involved holding two opposite corners of the mulmul, working down its length, folding, smoothing, patting; folding, smoothing, patting, till eventually what lay in front of her was a neat small square of cloth, like a freeze frame of pure white milk.
The dozens of layers that comprised the square would be barely visible, so soft was the fabric. But then, acht, a crease .... this time on her brow. She had spotted something. Bending, stretching her septuagenarian spine, she would tenderly lift a few layers of the mulmul, her fingers searching for the truant crease under all those layers.
It was barely perceptible to most eyes but to her expert ceaselessly folding-over-the-decades-and-observing eyes, the crease was a renegade ripple. Aha! Her eyes would shine as she nimbly caught it and coaxed its truancy into submission.
Smoothened, patted, this time her love edged with slight irritation, her fingers would deftly retreat and the dozens of layers would fall back into place, in unimpeachable submission to the command of orderliness.
This now perfectly crease-free square of mulmul would be reverentially placed in the cupboard till the next family function required it to be worn by the head of the house as a dhoti*.
***
As I lie on the massage table in the amber-tinged hush of the room at Mandara Spa at The Monarch Dubai hotel, eyes closed, memories of mulmul afternoons flow and ebb as the two therapists Sri and Yanti work on my muscles, coaxing them to quit hoarding tension and stress as though they were winning tickets at a raffle.
The many similarities between smoothing a swathe of mulmul and easing muscles in a stressed out body pinge noiselessly against the walls of my mind. Particularly when Sri catches a bunched-up striation of silently taut muscles on the left shoulder. That truant crease!
Using strength surprising in one so petite, she lavishes the area with relentless attention till the muscles have no choice but to ease up. A palpable sense of relief seeps in.
It seems like I am sinking just that bit more into an indescribable softness. As the massage progresses, I sink deeper by the minute but it feels so good, so safe. A cry for help? What help? I am getting all the help I need. That sinking feeling has never felt so good.
Before I sink further and lose all sense of narrative, let me surface to tell you how it all began. Walking into Mandara Spa is like giving your home interior instincts a high-voltage workout.
'I want this kind of a home to return to', you mutter to yourself. This is the least you deserve after putting up with the traffic on Shaikh Zayed Road. The décor is so soothing, I think every home should be done up like a spa.
Smiling staff greet you and the formalities of health status and paperwork are completed in a jiffy. Seated in a cushiony chair, sipping a clear, light aromatic brew of ginger and honey – a mini-respite before the mega one to follow – I rest my eyes on the décor: warm, lightly golden, like it has trapped the first colours of dawn.
Everything is natural, earthy and cool to the touch. Stone floor, beige alcoves, floating candles and miles of silence. Plenty of Balinese touches for those who can recognise it. Beautiful objects artfully placed. The sinking sensation starts right here but like I said, it's a great feeling.
Then it's off to the changing rooms for some locker room dialogue (between anticipation and expectations) before padding into your designated massage room.
"Please sit here," says Sri, pointing to a chair that has at its feet a big (wooden/metal) bowl filled with warm water and teeming with rose petals. "And place your feet in it." A quick, efficient basic exfoliation, massage and moisturising follows. Feet and legs hydrated, the bowl is removed to one side and your feet placed on a low footbar.
It's the start of foot reflexology, a marvellously destressing treatment that could just as well be a neon sign flashing your state of health. As she presses deep into the specific points relating to specific organs in your body, it's calming and joyous to know that nothing hurts. Just the sensation of deep pressure being applied, taken off, reapplied, taken off...
"Would it hurt if some organ was having health troubles?" I ask (OK, that is a no-brainer but no harm in seeking comfort in reassurance.) Yes, she nods silently. Thank you, feet.
A clean chit then. Now it's time to lie on the massage table, on your stomach, face nestled in an opening that allows you to look down upon a copper bowl placed on the floor with petals bobbing up and down like small boats on a pond – very conducive to contemplation.
The Mandara Special Massage is a combination of various disciplines that come together to banish stress and fatigue from your body and mind – a blend of different massage styles – Japanese, Shiatsu, Thai, Hawaiian Lomi Lomi, Swedish and Balinese.
I am no expert to know when one starts and the other ends but the rhythmic seamlessness of the massage movements make it irrelevant to want to separate and acknowledge each one. The fact that they are like a bunch of friends showering you with unbeatable TLC is enough to wish away any kind of curiosity.
Sri and Yanti, the two therapists, who look like you could dress them in a school uniform, complete with ponytails and a satchel of books and march them off to catch the school bus, demolish your perception the moment the synchronised massage begins.
In strong, effective and deeply comforting movements, they catch every bundle, truant muscle band and pooled stress area and play good cops (or should that be bad cops) till order and restfulness flow like a silent river in the body.
At regular intervals, they whisper, "Is the pressure OK?" It is perfect. Because by the second, it is allowing you to become more and more relaxed.
But I don't say any of this to them. Speech is slightly difficult at this stage as I am in a state of semi-stupor. So I simply nod hoping they will understand. They do.
You have heard of the term relaxation from head to toe. It is a literal term, you had better believe it. Having experienced the supremely destressing foot massage, I had benchmarked it. Now, (Yanti or was it Sri? Difficult to tell since I don't have eyes at the back of my head and the stupor was turning more stuporous) it's time for a neck and head massage and, believe me, you do not want to book yourself for space travel. Just give yourself up to those wonderfully knowledgeable hands.
Every inch of your scalp, nape and shoulder area is dealt with like a celebrity chef who kneads his dough for artisanal bread.
Precise, lovingly punishing and ultimately liberating beyond speech. If there is one thing that can convert a cynical carper into a speechless figure of gratitude, it is a good head massage.
It even rearranges your thought patterns, herding the negative ones out – right out of your head. And now comes the most difficult part because it involves some very uninteresting things. a) You have to accept that all good things come to an end. b) You have to reluctantly emerge from the languor, c) sit up and gather your AWOL senses, d) realign your awareness of your place in the world, get dressed and thank the courteous staff and step out into pure sunlight and the noise of the traffic.
But the afterglow, the sense of peace that clings like a second skin, a clear head and relaxation sloshing about in your system like pure, distilled water keeps you going. Even an unreasonable, demanding individual raving over the phone over some non-existent issue seems like a lamb to deal with. It's all about finding that ripple of a crease to achieve perfection for the moment.
Tomorrow is another day. If only the creaseless textile technology would invent something that would work for the mind and spirit. Till such time, there are always special massages.
*Dhoti is a long rectangular piece of unstitched cloth wrapped about the waist and the legs and knotted at the waist.
Malavika Kamaraju is Editor, Friday
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