He makes a pittance working as a masseur in Hyderabad, but Ghulam Nabi believes soothing others in this chaotic city is a dignified line of work and should be recognised as such
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s the sun sets over Hyderabad and people head home to rest, a different kind of shift begins on the city’s footpaths, roadside hotels and transport stands. Holding small bottles of mustard oil, a group of men set out quietly to earn their living. They are traditional street masseurs, the malshis, who spend their nights easing the pain and stress of others.
The masseurs do not have shops or fixed places to work at. Some spread out small rugs next to restaurants, others wait near busy spots of the city like bus terminals, truck stands and railway stations. Their work begins, in the glow of streetlights, after most of the city has already fallen asleep.
Among them is 38-year-old Ghulam Nabi, who has been in this profession for over a decade. Originally from Alipur, a town in southern Punjab, Ghulam Nabi came to Hyderabad in search of work.
“There was nothing in my village. No jobs, no support. I heard people in Hyderabad often need massages, especially truck drivers and travelers, so I came here,” he says, sitting outside a tea shop at Halanaka.
Armed only with oil and experience, Ghulam Nabi spends his nights waiting for customers. “Some nights I work non-stop. Other days, I sit idle for hours, sometimes till morning, without a single customer.”
He charges around 100 rupees for a full-body massage, but many people don’t pay the full amount. “Some argue and try to negotiate, others walk away after paying just 50 or 70 rupees. They say it’s too much. They apparently don’t know how expensive things have become,” says Ghulam Nabi. “Mustard oil is costly and food isn’t cheap.Even sleeping next to a hotel costs money,” he says.
Most malshis in Hyderabad come from the Seraiki belt in the Punjab places, with little employment, poor infrastructure and no real social safety net. Massage work, though looked down upon by some, offers these migrant workers a chance to earn with dignity.
“We do not beg or steal,” Ghulam Nabi says. “We work with our hands. It is not easy and it does not pay well, but it’s honest work.”
“We do not beg or steal,” Ghulam Nabi says. “We work with our hands. It is not easy and it does not pay well, but it’s honest work.”
On many nights, he sleeps on the same rug he uses for work, next to cheap restaurants that let him be without a charge. “Sometimes the hotel staff gives me old clothes left behind by their guests. That is what I wear now,” he says, pointing to his worn-out shirt.
Ghulam Nabi has three children back home. “They have asked me for new clothes. How do I explain that I do not even have enough to buy shoes for myself?” he says. “I haven’t bought anything new in over a year. Whatever I earn, goes to food and sending a little money home maybe 6,000 rupees a month, sometimes even less.”
Not every customer is harsh. Some truck drivers appreciate his work and pay tips. “They say, thank you for helping us relax. That’s the only kindness I get,” he says with a faint smile.
Traditional massage has always been part of South Asian culture. It helps tired bodies recover, improves blood circulation and offers short-term relief to overworked muscles. But for those offering this kind of care work, life remains full of discomfort and uncertainty.
There is no health insurance, no fixed income, no one to ask for help. Their names are not recorded anywhere, their work not recognised as a profession. Yet every night, they play a silent but important role.
“We are a part of this city, even if no one sees us,” Ghulam Nabi says.
As Hyderabad grows and changes, the lives of its malshis remain the same — rooted in hardship and carried forward with quiet resilience. They may not be noticed by many, but every tired back they heal is a reminder of their place in the fabric of the city.
The contributor is an assistant director in the Election Commission of Pakistan