The Rise of the Middle Finger

Embarking on the road of sexual exploration with malnourished senses, imprisoned in our respective cages in a destroyed, sterile world, is an endless pursuit. We’ll end up sexualizing everything, while still remaining deeply unfulfilled within.

A friend, though quite innocent himself, when visited and stayed for some time with indigenous people of MP, India, said he was very conscious of his gaze, lest it interfere with the innocence with which they choose not to clothe their bodies.

In college I had another friend from a rich and elite family of Punjab. (He incidentally, realized in later years that it wasn’t such a good idea to mingle with those from poorer families). One evening, introducing another friend of his he said, “You wouldn’t have met any gay so far I guess, so meet Mr.…” I must have been about eighteen then, when I first met someone gay (bisexual actually). This person too was from a very rich family and had gotten bored after screwing scores of girls. (Boys from our section of the society then, on the other hand, used to be on cloud nine having just exchanged hellos with a girl.) Said, he needed change.

In mid-nineties when I was studying French from the Alliance Française, we had a French director who had just joined, and it was his first time in India. We became friends and one day he said it was strange the ease with which boys here can hug each other. It was impossible to do so in France, given the gay culture. And then there was this theatre group visiting from France to perform here. The director invited me to dinner, but cautioned – “Don’t be your usual self with them, you’ll be misunderstood.” A little embarrassed, he added, “They’ve even asked if I could arrange some child prostitutes. That’s one of the reasons they love visiting poor countries.”

When I met and attended their week long theatre workshop, and held long philosophical discussions, I didn’t feel anything odd about them. They just seemed normal people, like everybody else (outside of their bedrooms of course.)

Should this be considered a loss?

As for the hugging, it’s getting to be a different matter in India too, at least in the metropolis. The gaze is sexualized, so is the touch. Should this be considered a loss?

One gets to read in papers more cases of bullies sodomizing their victims in schools these days.

Around the same time, I used to go to police lines for horse riding. Some mornings we would hear stories from our constable friends, how the ostlers got drunk the previous evening and humped mares. In their defence, the ostlers would say, “Well you can afford the whores and we can’t.” They just needed some place to put their dicks in, we’d laugh. Animals, in any case, were our slaves, ordained by God to satiate us any which way we wanted. And by the way, the constables would show us the prostitutes who served the police lines, if one happened to be passing by. Later in life, my lawyer colleagues would narrate how they managed to get fresh, young girls through their police contacts.

Another friend of mine from college days, who’s always been quite open about everything, could source porn VHS in the pre-internet days. He still likes to jump to talking about some Sunny Leone after five minutes of conversation. Today all of us have internet.

Even the girls.

They proved Osho wrong, by the way. Those were my Osho reading days too. He had said somewhere that boys surf pornography, girls do not. Because boys are voyeuristic by nature and girls exhibitionist. Today, I constantly hear from many of my girl contacts about their porn surfing stories.

People are proud, exploring their sexualities.

0.111I remember reading Desmond Morris some fifteen years ago; said, monkeys start masturbating after a few years of encagement in zoos.

Their penis, their choice.

(Shhh… don’t mention the cages!)

In this age of my penis, or vagina, or anus for that matter – my choice; in this age of a constant onslaught of media prodding us to question and explore our sexuality in order to be fully modern; the entertainment media industry constantly under pressure to bring in new commersexual productions; our glamour world constantly hammering in the message, “this” is the in thing dude! (and we must listen and look up to them. After all, what is our life without them – our idols and gods and 2goddesses! Just a hollow, boring drag?) – if I dare talk on the subject, a good number of my own friends would rip me apart.

We don’t talk these days, we take stands. And then we unfriend. The other good number is understandably silent. It’s them actually, I constantly get a feeling about, as if their voices were living in the closet. Too ashamed to express their voices, lest they be outcast and labeled backward, orthodox or fundamentalist. Actually they have stopped thinking altogether. They have come to believe, whatever the trend, has to be right. And it’s definitely good to be fashionable. Maybe, some day we too may get to be considered elite. Who knows! And it’s definitely fashionable not to judge. “Not to judge” definitely means “not to think”.

And what could be better than having not to think, and be automatically elevated to the “progressive” and “open-minded” status?

In an interview with Derrick Jensen, David Abram says,

“Yet suddenly we find ourselves cut off from that full range of relationships…

“The only things you can enter into relationship with, the only other sentient beings around, are other humans. Yet the human nervous system still needs the nourishment that it once got from being in reciprocity with all these other beings and entities. And so we turn toward each other, toward our human lovers and friends, in hopes of meeting that need. We turn toward our human lovers demanding a depth and range of otherness that they cannot possibly provide. Another human cannot possibly provide all of the outrageously diverse and vital nourishment that we once got from being in relationship with dragonflies and swallowtails and stones and lichen and wolves. It’s just not possible. We used to carry on personal relationships with the sun and the moon and the stars! To try and get all that, now, from another person—from another nervous system shaped so much like our own—continually blows apart our marriages, it explodes so many of our human relationships, because they can’t withstand that pressure.”

Derrick Jensen responds,

“…to place our needs for intimacy and ecstasy — needs like food, water, acceptance — onto only one species, onto only one person, onto only the area of joined genitalia for only the time of intercourse, is to ask quite a lot of our sex.”*

It’s quite a journey we have made, from the uncivilized naked bodies to our potently penetrating gazes (and then acts) that don’t spare unclothing even children.

But where do we stop? Where do we stop really?

How safe are our children in our buses, schools, neighborhoods… even homes? How safe are they from us really?

At what price must we go on the same road? Any price?

Where does this pervasive genitalizing stop, really?

Where does this pervasive genitalizing stop, really?

Men, women, hetero, homo, pedo, bi… zoophilia, paraphilia, swinging, swapping, cutting, urinating… it’s all natural… sado, maso, bondage, rape… more, more and more and more of them.

And now, proudly so.

It’s all a matter of sexual orientation; a matter of lifestyle, isn’t it? All matters of love. Human love in its myriad expressions. Ah, how human it is to love! And how impossible to express it except through a dick.

After all we’re all trapped in our bodies. Unfulfilled, weary and frustrated, hungering for some love! Love, which is nowhere to be found, no matter how many doors we knock, or bodies we knock down.

No matter of what gender, or species, or age.

Bored and alienated bodies. Deprived, impoverished senses. Depraved, perverted senses. More and more trapped, more and more lost and confused us.

001In our cages, we don’t stop.

We cannot stop.

Our bodies, our choice. Whatever we do in our bedrooms, (or stables, or buses, or schools…) our choice.

Our genitalia, our only succour.

It’s all a question of rights, right?

A girl who reads Krishnamurti otherwise, posts on FB, “Keep your head high, but higher still your middle finger.”

Yes, of course, wherever you think your brain is, keep it higher.


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