Sex and the Indian woman

*Not suitable for children, contains explicit adult content

Strange, that the subject matter of making of children happens to be non-children content. Thinking of such ironies of life, I start my adult piece. 

Its 9 am and probably the best time to write this. So I start thinking of morning shows at Regal, Connaught Place in Delhi. Talking of Regal, you must checkout the regal facelift it’s got. From its crumbling, pornographic look in the 90s, it’s undergone a fine transformation. Today’s Regal is white, shiny and slutty like Sunny Leone. Talking of Sunny, she has turned out to be the most searched Indian celebrity online beating the likes of Aishwarya Rai hands down, rather pants down. Okay no more digression....

Very late in life I understood that being horny has nothing to do with being fertile. Turns out I have been the former majority of my life, and the latter for a much lesser time. In the pursuit of horniness, fertility takes a backseat and vice versa. Being a woman has its disadvantages. And if you are an Indian woman, you start a few notches down. For starters, you can’t talk of your sexual appetite, experiences or preference, except in blogs like this that no one reads. If you are talking sex, you better stay anonymous, they’d say, or at best use asterisk to take the sting out. You can’t talk about the bronze chest you were distracted with at a meeting (but men can casually joke about your rack). You can’t say you envied a friend in college who was dedicated the song Nymphomaniac Fantasia by her then partner. You can’t say you are distracted by women whose last names are Kant. You can’t say a lot many things, funny things, dirty things, serious things. The Indian woman is supposed to have repressed sexuality, and carry it around as her biggest virtue.

This is how the typical desire cycle runs through an Indian woman’s life - In your teens, you are so busy guarding your physical security that sexuality is mostly an unwanted or feared phenomenon. We jump the exploratory phase that is crucial to defining our sexual identity and assertion. In your twenties, love starts rolling into your life and alongside your horniness quotient becomes directly proportional to your position on the ‘loose girl’ index of the society (considering the mostly inseparable linkages between love and sex). Of course, with a high quotient you will have more loves, more heartbreaks, more life. But to beat the ‘loose’ tag, most girls try and behave on the face of it. That’s the cause of more repression and exploitation. 

Then you start your work-life, of an independent modern Indian woman who likes her whiskey and pays her own bills. In this phase, you get to call the shots in almost everything about your life except for the four and three lettered joys (love and sex) that never seem to come together. If you are worthy of an Indian man's love, you can't display uninhibited passion. If you express passion, you are just good for that. You can't be taken home to mum. So if you are in love, it will do you well to keep your sparkling sexual conversations in your head unless you can handle being judged harshly. And if you've given up on love, you might as well give up on sex. Keep the scenes where you pick up dashing men with your dashing pick-up lines confined to your fantasy. Indian men don’t like to be picked up. They like to pick their target, fool around, chase, hunt, and later, sit on judgment. 

Along the way, you may meet an evolved man who will know you and love you for your spunk and original passion, but don't bank on them. They are as rare as - I heard somewhere recently - the 6th finger, the 11th toe and the 3rd nipple. Majority you meet for dating or keeps, get excited by, as a matter of concept, the wild woman or the sexually assertive. But prefer the cloistered variety, the semi-puritans who keep their eyes shut, like their lights off and save bedroom talk for out-of-town (with capabilities of packing a gratifying four-course meal in a tiffin carrier the morning after).

Then marriage happens for most and post marriage action by both partners are for various motives – hopeful of an offspring before the female of the species runs out of eggs (offspring - offspringing like a byproduct); as an accompaniment to the vivid fantasy of Sunny Leone or Hugh Jackman or a real-life Sunny or Hugh you’ve been eyeing; or to keep your machinery in working order. Everything else, except love and sex for love and sex itself. 

And before you can say Jaaaccckkk Roooobbbiinnnsoon, you would be running downhill. Whether you have a bundle of joy to distract you, or are free of such encumbrances, your hormone switches start turning off and your balance life is spent in consolatory, loveless-sexless pursuits.

Given the bleakness of the situation, in my next birth I would like to be someone like ND Tiwari, the posterboy of unabashed sexuality - a Y chromosome, with the ability to buy choices and wave the stick of morality in someone else's face; all along enjoying fucking blessed longevity. 

And to the Gods reading this (since human beings are not), please throw-in a lifetime membership to mile high club...