Skip to main content

Ode to Indian erotica's first author


If there was a memory of my growing up that I would like to hark back to, it had to be my first tryst with erotica, in the Irving Wallace novel The Second Lady. The novel, which was about the sexual escapades of a Russian doppelganger of the First Lady of the US as she manages to get intimate with the President in order to extricate war-time secrets from him for the KGB, had me revulsed and excited.

An “emotional-fork-in-the-road” moment confronted me as I finished reading it. I gave the sentiment considerable thought before proceeding to devour all of Wallace’s books, in addition to those by Harold Robbins and Sidney Sheldon. I soon started grading authors on the basis of the e-quotient in their works. Wallace was lurid, so was Robbins; Sheldon and Clancy were measured and graphic; Archer the archetypal British prude; Puzo the neophyte American; Steele the eternal bore; and Grisham the American misfit.

However, a nagging sentiment persisted in me: the source of the literature was invariably the West. If we Indians needed to satiate our carnal literary instincts, there wasn’t a ‘Swadeshi’ in our midst whom we could look up to. Even if it was a compelling or a charged atmosphere, the treatment was like in our movies: cut to the image of two flowers. For instance, in R K Narayan’s The Guide, the romantic interlude between the protagonist, Raju, and his muse, Rosie, a Bharatanatyam dancer, gets summarized in a blasé sentence. And – forgive the cliché – this, in the land of the Kama Sutra and the bold sculptures of Ajantha and Ellora. It was as if we were incapable of documenting our emotions. Doubtless a disturbing sentiment.

That was until I came across Train to Pakistan, authored by a certain Khushwant Singh– I was wary that the author was Indian; however, I chose to read it, my confidence stemming from having read his joke books, which had a liberal dose of A-jokes, earlier.

It was a gut-feeling that would serve me right.

Here was a book authored by an Indian that did not treat itself as elitist and was not set in a flashy background, it laid bare every human emotion conceivable: love, familial ties, religious tensions, sacrifice, with eroticism inter-twining them. Nevertheless, I found it to be a gripping book. Unputdownable.

I then made a mental note to finish all of his works, which would prove to be a mixed-bag of sorts. While I shall not hear the nightingale, and to a lesser extent, Delhi, made for good reading, I could not even recall the titles of his other books, for so shockingly terrible were they. I realised that you could be better off reading his newspaper columns.

He made, I think, the flashing of Indian-authored books in public a style statement. If you were reading a KS book at a bus-stop, it meant you were someone apart from the crowd, the Indian yuppie with a mind of your own. You knew what was the Indian 'cool', and not conform to its Western equivalent. Also, let us not forget that he, a Sikh, had played a vital role in popularising the Santa-Banta jokes, through the famed KS joke books.


The chronicler in me also suggests that I offer him a salute, for perhaps being the first post-Independence author to have the gall to go descriptive, (remember, he did what every author of his time wouldn’t be caught dead doing) paving the way for Amitav Ghosh, Shobha De and the like.

Miss you, KS; you’d forever be as famous as your namesake contraceptive.


** Corrected for grammatical errors!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Is what you are watching actually a cartoon?

Disclaimer: What you are about to read may seem weird, but what the hell, I am hypothesising it to be true, so who knows... Cartoons are basica lly meant for kids. The main reason e lders prefer letting the kids watch them without their sup ervision is that they need not fret over the incidence of X-rated content in it – namely content that concerns that famous three-letter word or violence. I suggest that we re-examine this mindset of ours (as someone who has grown up watching the very cartoons that I am about to damn, I have mixed feelings as I type this. Consider the following list: Tom and Jerry , Bugs Bunny and El mer Fudd/Yosemite Sam , Tweety and Sylvester and Coyote a nd Road R unner . These are cartoons which we would definitel y not squirm about before letting a toddler/child watch it. These cartoons are hilarious, have palatable themes; have caricatures that look cute (I am yet to come across a girl who hates Tweety). Tom and Jerry, for instance, was once even vot...

Why the editorial is the unsung hero of any newspaper

A tad autobiographical, this account encapsulates my experiences at a news organisation. Why wait until 50 or 60 to compose one? Hell, who knows, this could even be its blueprint! So, here goes my first stab at chronicling myself... I was prepared for all kinds of weird questions for my first job interview as a journalist four years ago, for the post of a sub-editor, but I never anticipated this one that caught me off guard. Noting that I preferred to work in the editorial than the reporting section, a HR representative at the organization asked in almost an air of dismissal, implying that the editorial is something redundant, “After all, we have Microsoft Word, in built with grammar and spell check capabilities, so why must I hire you?” I stared at him blankly for a moment as a smile grew on his face, perhaps out of exult at having stumped me. I trotted a familiar refrain, which I am sure he would have encountered countless times, “Because I am passionate about writing a...

Broadband and the Burst of Bangalore’s Browsing Bubble

Bangaloreans may not have noticed it, but net cafes, or internet browsing centres, are to India’s IT capital as the tiger is to a cell phone service provider – a twist in the catchphrase that featured in its recent advertisements makes for an apt description; few such centres are in vogue, save them. From the days of obsession, similar to what the Dutch had for tulips, to the near disillusionment of browsing centres, the IT capital has had its own Roman Empire; the market scenario prior to the entry of broadband internet can be approximated to the reign of Julius Caesar. Obsession? That too with the internet? Anybody growing up in the late 90s would extoll at length on the city’s then new-found obsession. For, inviting wide stares and fascinated looks on anything remotely associated to the internet – then in its infancy in the nation – be it on a TV channel, tabloid, newspaper, magazine, or heck, even a porno mag, was not unusual. Understandably, Sabeer Bhatia, the creator of Hotmail...