It’s a myth that Indians, as a rule, write badly about sex. Some of them have written about it with great elegance while others have done the job as well or as badly as writers anywhere in the world. Jerry Pinto in Mint Lounge:
The Revised Kama Sutra: Invisible Man Books, 333 pages, Rs1,295.
And now in the bedroom, love falls away and nature takes over. This is the realm of the body. This is the territory we all know. Indoor sanitation and mirrors mean we know our own bodies. Childhood curiosity means we have explored them, at least a little way beyond the visible areas. Pornography or high art means we know what the other gender has, too.
Writing about this should be easy.
But leave those who are about to have sex alone for a moment. Avert your eyes from their wonder at each other, the readiness of their bodies. Look towards the foot of the bed. There stands the author, feeling a little uncomfortable. She is wondering whether she should be here at all, playing voyeur in the lives of her characters. He-for we need to be gender unspecific here, for this discomfort is not one that is only felt by women-is wondering how he should write about it, if he chooses not to draw the veil over the bed and depart to the next chapter or to the post- coital cigarette, often the source of as much guilt as the lovemaking. Should he be matter of fact about their bodies?
