Mala Sahani

It was a Wednesday afternoon, just after the monsoon rains had given way to the soft sun of Kerala, India. The air was fragrant with jasmine and damp earth, and I had a brief moment to sip chai before my next session. A couple had arrived the previous day, wealthy enough that their presence in our resort wasn’t surprising, but something about them felt... different.

The woman, sharp-eyed and restless, couldn’t stop complaining about the "uneven" stones in the garden pathway. Her husband, on the other hand, was eerily quiet, his presence more of a shadow than a partner. Usually, people who come here carry their burdens, but they surrender them over time, soothed by the treatments and the stillness we provide. This couple, however, seemed to bring their storm with them.

I’m 39 now, and over the years, I’ve learned that what people seek isn't always what they say. Their stress isn’t just from work, their tension isn’t just from travel. Healing isn’t just physical; it’s deeply emotional, sometimes more than they are ready to admit.

As I prepared their oils, I felt a rising sense of tension. The woman had demanded that the massage room be made cooler, then warmer, then back again. Her husband sat, staring out into the coconut grove, not saying a word. I could sense he wanted to be anywhere but here. And I was right. In the middle of their session, she erupted—over a minor issue with the towel, of all things—and stormed out. He stayed behind, looking almost relieved.

There are days when I feel like the energy I give is more than what I receive. Even in a place designed for healing, sometimes the ones who need it most resist it the hardest.