Well, when I wrapped up my last blog post, I speculated about what the fates might have in store for me by the time of my next entry. Little did I imagine it would be an attempted bumhole invasion – albeit, I hasten to add, only of the Ayurvedic “therapeutic” variety (so don’t panic, Dad), rather than anything truly nefarious. Specifically, this would have entailed a) a disconcertingly long plastic tube and b) a mystery medicinal oil, both sneakily earmarked for direct backdoor application as part of an otherwise ostensibly innocent massage, allegedly designed to “balance out” my Pitta-Vata doshas.

It’s safe to say the #metoo conversation has clearly not yet reached the Southern Indian Ayurvedic community – or at least not based on this afternoon’s consent-based (or lack thereof) shenanigans at any rate. It wasn’t just the audacity of the surprise backdoor ambush – unannounced and uninvited though it was. No, the real issue was the sheer and unrelenting persistence of the young masseuse in question, who just wouldn’t take no for answer – despite my making my views on the matter very clearly known.

At the time, I was of course lying prone on a massage table, near stark bollock naked, slathered head to toe in some form “detoxifying medical oil” and really not in the best position to assert my boundaries towards this lady – whose English was as limited as my Hindi. Still, I managed to channel my inner Thatcher with a defiant and repeated “no, no, no!”. When it comes to rectal politics, this lady is definitely not for turning!

Her justification was essentially “doctor’s orders”, for which she was the mere proxy. Only after far too many minutes of mortifying, mainly gesticulatory, back-and-forth did she finally concede defeat – though not before dobbing me in to the consultant first, who (once I was decent again) summoned me to his office for a headmasterly lecture about how rectal oiling was entirely normal – clearly inferring that I was the odd one for not immediately hopping on the alternative medicine enema bandwagon. Of course, I’ve thought of one hundred odd re-“butt”-als (as it were) since, but at the time I just said I hadn’t been expecting it (I hadn’t!), and it was my personal choice and all that (it was!). So, in short, thanks but no thanks on that front, you weirdo bunch of self-righteous, sanctimonious, uninvited rectal evangelists!!

And so it was that I emerged from this long and awkward afternoon session as oily as an Exxon slick, clutching a bag of dubious herbal remedies, best part of £100 lighter and with an emergent case of PTSD to contend with as a result – not to mention a renewed appreciation of the NHS and science-based medicine as a whole.

Obviously, aside from this I have also been visiting lots of temples and markets and shit in vibrant Panaji over the last day or two, and having a lovely time too – but as it stands have nothing further to offer that beats the above anecdote! For that reason, I’ll sensibly save the detail on that till another time – presuming that no one else tries to test my boundaries with any further bum-bound interventions in the meantime, that is! Until then!