Sex, desire and taboos

Hinduism must be the only major religion that puts the pursuit of desire among the four highest goals of life, writes Pavan K Varma.

On a recent visit to Soho I noticed an Indian couple visibly embarrassed by a sex shop. I don't much care for such establishments myself, not because I am prudish, but because some of their wares require a degree of adventurism and a stretch of acrobatics for which I have neither the inclination nor the ability.

But the reaction of the couple set me thinking. In his Kamasutra, Vatsyayana has an entire section on the making of love potions and the use of sexual aids. He wrote his manual on the art of making love two thousand years ago. His work was based on earlier works dating back another thousand years. The study of desire, and its accomplished pursuit, has, therefore, been a concern in India for at least three thousand years.

The significant point is that this concern was never furtive; it was not confined to secret corners, or kept away from public scrutiny, or reduced to the level only of sleaze. It was part of a public acceptance of the validity of desire. The flesh, undoubtedly, has its limitations, but the joys of the flesh were not, according to sages like Vatsyayana, to be looked down upon as immoral or bad or, worst of all, unnecessary.

On the contrary, Hinduism must be the only major religion that puts the pursuit of desire among the four highest goals of life. Dharma, Artha, Kama and Moksha, are the goals enjoined by the Hindu worldview. Kama, the pursuit of desire, is right there, among the other three: Dharma, or right conduct, Artha, the pursuit of material well being, and Moksha or salvation.

A lot of people know about the Kamasutra, but very few have read it carefully, and this includes Indians. Most people look at its illustrations, or flip through only the chapter on 'congress'. But this is doing a great injustice to the treatise. For instance, hardly anybody knows that the KS opens with a chapter which has nothing to do with sex, but is a philosophical discourse on the validity of desire in a balanced life. What is equally remarkable is the emphasis on the need not merely to be a lover but to be an accomplished lover.

There is no sense of guilt in the book. It describes the right way to prepare for a lover's tryst, and the creation of the desirable mood; it enumerates the many ways to embrace and kiss; it talks about the use of nails and the judicious use of violence; and it teaches you the importance of post coital etiquette. The manual is also exceptionally sensitive to the needs of a woman. Its consistent injunction is that a good lover should do what pleases a woman. This sensitivity is quite amazing given the male dominated milieu in which it was written. Or perhaps, two thousand years ago, women were really far more the equals of men.

The KS is not an isolated example of the enlightened acceptance of the erotic in Indian tradition. One of our most popular gods, Krishna, is famous for his scintillating rasa. Prudish attempts to say that the grandeur of his physical dalliance with the gopis was only a 'spiritual' merger of the atma with the paramatma, is rubbish. Krishna was the complete incarnation, the purna avatara, and his personality included the glorious attributes of sringara rasa. In my Anthology of Erotic Literature in Ancient and Medieval India, I show quite convincingly, I think, how pervasive was the presence-and the acceptance-of the erotic in India. And, if anyone still has any lingering doubts, a quick visit to Khajuraho or Konarak is strongly advised.

What has happened today that we are embarrassed by the mention of the word sex? Was it Islamic influence, or Victorian morality, or Gandhian phobia that makes the land of the Kamasutra blush at even the possibility of showing a kiss on our television screens? Every society has the right to set its own norms with regard to decency, but I have no doubt that there is a great deal of ignorance and hypocrisy in all of this. Things are changing though: the other day I saw an Indian film where the leading couple seemed to be actually enjoying their kiss; in most other cases the kiss is so tentative, amateurish and ham handed, that I am left with the distinct impression that they are punishing themselves-and us-for bringing their virginal lips together.

(A Stephanian, Pavan Kumar Varma is a senior Indian diplomat and presently Minister of Culture and Director of the Nehru Centre in London. Author of several widely acclaimed books likeGhalib: the Man, the Times and the recently released Being Indian, he will be writing the column Hyde Park Corner, exclusively for HindustanTimes.com)