marital rape

Sexuality in India: Please don’t try this at home

Sex and language can be inconsolable bed-mates. Best friends with benefits. They can go out for a coffee, talk unabashedly about life, and get drunk on each other. They can wake up in each other’s arms, with one pretending to have already freshened up. And the other playing along for the kisses and giggles.

But I used to feel odd whenever I have tried to write about sex. However uninhibited I may have thought I was, I found myself in a state of imbalance. And I ended up regurgitating bedtime fantasies. Like the rose petal scene from American Beauty. It is the most Indian-influenced piece of Hollywood. I expected Kevin Spacey’s leg to tip over a glass of milk, as nine months go whizzing by and then – a baby’s squeal is heard behind closed doors.

Perhaps, it is because of where I grew up. The land of the Kama Sutra and the home of the prude.

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The one without the birds (just an angry Indian)

I often prefer the company of birds to people. But I take great pleasure in spreading the love I have for the winged ones. And I reckon that this world of ours could always use more love.

Not today though.

I have neither poetry nor birds to show you. If you are looking for love right here and now, please come back again tomorrow. There will be feathers, songs and happiness.

But today, I am just the bile duct of a disgruntled Indian.

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