We watched curiously as Mowgli carried on an effortless conversation with him. The ‘him’ in question is a teeny tiny man. A masseur by profession. He is now rapidly clapping his palms on the back of Mowgli’s neck. Mowgli is delighted. Then, they set to work on Mowgli’s troublesome knee.
“So… is this what you do for a living?”
More clapping and thumping follows and Mowgli can’t talk for a while. Conversation is resumed soon.
“Where are you from? Do you stay in these parts?”
“Kya baat keh rahe ho, bhai sahib? This whole place is blanketed in snow by this time next month! I am from M…”
“You are from M?? Heard of that famous park there? A lot of maalishwallahs sit there…”
“Saabji! You know that park? I work there during winters!”
And so the conversation continues to delight the both of them, while the others watch on with a tinge of envy and a lot of amusement. Mowgli gets a massage done in half the price they had agreed upon earlier. All this, while the masseur doesn’t feel fleeced one bit.
Quite a smooth talker, that Mowgli.