If you can't talk about sex, laugh about it. Everyone knows at least one sex joke, and everyone has laughed at many. I know an excellent sex joke, but I can't write it here. Because sex is considered to be an intimate subject. So, to be able to laugh at that hilariousjoke of mine, you shall have to get intimate with me.
Out on the street, sex jokes are commonly referred to as 'non-veg' jokes. I wonder why? Probably because the concept of morality is related closely with the concept of puritan Brahminism, a race known for its vegan ways. Or probably because sex is as basic to human nature as food is. Everyone eats. Everyone f**ks. Bengalis are a funny race. We have a history of humour, touching on almost every facet of the funny. Sardonic, sarcastic, caustic, dry, witty, outrageous, exploitative, racial, blasphemous, clean.
We have heard them all. And till the late 19th century, Kolkata was a hotbed of various forms of humorous art forms that used sexuality. Kheur, Kechha, Palagaan, Dhop were all forms where the artistes lampooned and ridiculed, using sexuality as a key device. From the rickshawallahs to the Babus, everyone laughed and paid to watch these artistes twisting the language. Women had their own fun, and kitchens were a riot of laughter because there was always one woman with a basketful of juicy gossip or rhyme.
Humour is the juice with which we quench our sexual thirst. Nowhere is it more obvious than in the domain of abuse. Words that we use on a regular basis, words that are pariah, indecent. The streets of Kolkata are constantly abuzz with these amazing words that do not find their way into living rooms. We use one language for friends, another for society. Words that are supposed to be used in rage are more often than not used for effect. The joy of saying a word like 'BOKAC****' aloud is thrilling. Titters of laughter inevitably follows a timely and effective use of such words. They add a twist, a twang, an immeasurable amount of glee to an otherwise placid sentence.
Bengali is a fantastic language, ideal for humour in its phonetics. As one of my friends pointed out recently, the paucity of verbs in Bengali makes it possible for it to be used in ways that bend the meaning and take on a sexual slide. Let's look at one such word. DHOKA/Dhokano/DHUKE/Dhukiye/ Dhokalen/Dhokalam/Dhokachhi etc. Now, now! I know your mind is racing, and the purists are shuddering in horror as they read this filth in their favourite family newspaper. But just hang on. I could be harmlessly referring to a verb that is commonly used in everyday Bengali to convey a thousand things. Can't talk, , and nothing proves this more than Bengali abuse. Khisti, which was an accepted form of language, was pushed down to the gutters in the early 20th century.
I grew up in a middle class family, where good behaviour is the passport to success. Every parent wants his or her child to be 'Bhalo'. Anything remotely sexual is considered 'Kharap'. However, as a child, I often overheard the adults laughing their heads off on an aside from a funny uncle that most definitely bordered on sexual. Confused as I was with this conflicting nature of the Bengali adult, I wondered about the duplicity of this behaviour. But then, as I grew up, and discovered the world of sexual humour in school, I slowly woke up to the fact that these jokes were so funny because they were taboo. The joy of saying something that was considered dirty was immense. Nothing came close to the majestic feeling of indulging in the illicit. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why sexual humour has been always underground.
The word, underground, brings to mind a piece of literature that enjoyed cult status in schools and colleges in the Eighties. A piece of Bengali verse that ran into pages and that some kids memorized much faster than anything by Tagore. Don't kill me, I am not even remotely belittling the literary qualities of the Bard. Just that somehow, this piece resonated more strongly with hormonally challenged teenagers. The piece was called Mahayan. No one knows who wrote it. Indeed, I have a strong feeling that it was a collective effort, that grew with time, and attained an epic form, imitating the source of its creative origin, the epics of India, Ramayana and Mahabharata.
Mahayan was an ingenious punch of the two epics, taking advantage of the fact that every Bengali knew every character from the epics and their unique traits. So Ravan could easily engage with Vidura, or Valmiki met Lav and Kush under strange circumstances. As I write this, I am rolling on the ground holding my tummy, and I am about to choke and die laughing. This piece has that effect on people. With dramatic flair and enviable imagination, and based on the basest of basic sexual association, Mahayan paints a lurid picture of the epics. Timeless, meaningless and cathartic, this linguistic masterpiece brought back the brilliance of sexual humour of the 19th century, straight into the 21st. I am dying to quote a couple of lines for my dear readers here, but I daresay that it won't get past the editorial team, for best of the reasons. So I plead you to visit the wonderful world of cyberspace, where finally, the frontiers of morality cannot build walls, and just use Google to point you to the right direction. I assure you at least quarter of an hour of the most painful laughter you will ever know.
Humour and sex are old friends. Because you need friends in hard times. And sexuality has been going through a hard time for long. Society has been harsh on it. Though, ironic as it is, society wouldn't exist without it. We could argue about this till the cows come home. Or we can tell each other a particularly raunchy joke, and laugh at society for being such a prude.
Men are crazy. And they get crazier when they see you approach him in those red pumps and skinny jeans with a baggy and casual tee in style and confidence.
Although there are a thousand things which make your irresistible, here are the top most unbelievable ones:
Men believe that the perfect girlfriend is the one who has a high sex drive, enjoys a hearty meal and gets ready to go out in 10 minutes.
Apart from this, the perfect girlfriend is a career-minded woman who earns more than their partner but at the same time wants to stay at home and bring up the children.
The clue to these seemingly contradictory demands lies in the men polled, 3,000 bachelors.
Near the top of their girlfriend checklist is the requirement that she should have a "pert bottom" - which may explain why they are still single.
And while three-quarters of the men polled said their ideal woman would keep her weight in check, 89 per cent also wanted her to tuck into a big meal without worrying. These perfect ladies will have luscious long hair, be skinny and trim and confident enough to go out without make-up.
"While many women might find these standards hard to live up to, six in 10 men firmly believe their perfect girlfriend is out there somewhere. However, there are a few contradictions which might make it hard for them to get their ideal date," the Daily Express quoted Nicole Clowes, spokeswoman for UKDating , which carried out the poll, as saying.
"There aren't many women who can tuck into a mountain of food every day and stay skinny. And there is some confusion about whether men would like to date a high earner or someone who stays at home with the children."
The ability to hold an intelligent conversation isn't a big concern for men - 61 per cent prefer someone who likes a laugh and a joke.
1. No make-up: Oops. Sorry girl. There's a great chance that your guy hasn't even noticed your smokey eyes or the new bronzer on your face. Save money and turn him on!
2. Lingerie that doesn't match : And you though you should pair your lacy, satin purple panties with a purple bra? Show him that you are unprepared and yet give in to his desires and make yourself hotter!
3. Wit : You thought it was all about physical contact? Crack a joke or flash your smile and he's sure to get wooed! Tip: It's better still if you are game even for jokes that are played on you. And why not? It just proves how self-assured you are.
4. Curvy is sexy: He doesn't like flat abs and zero sizes. Men love love-handles.
5. Intelligence, confidence, emotional maturity and sexual openness : Flaunt your real self (sans the gloss), support him when he is down, talk dirty and show your sensual attitude, and girl, you've got him!
6. Wearing a baggy tee to bed: Stay casual and he'll be more comfortable in your company. Don't intimidate him by being prim always or sounding like a know-it-all.
7. Unkempt hair: Whoa, why get prim and proper when your man likes your bed-hair or smudged kohl eyes?
8. Eye contact: Make yourself irresistible by looking at his eyes and putting across your point. Don't be shy.
In Mumbai the rich build helipads atop their houses, the poor beg not just for food but also water. The condominiums of the wealthy tower above the tarp roofs of the poor so that when they turn to the heavens in prayer they see instead the rich at play. Obvious disparity is a defining feature of Mumbai, and the city's survival and relative harmony despite this is what makes it so fascinating to writers.
I don't recall when I slipped from writing about the mainstream to writing only of the margins. But one evening a few years ago I found myself accompanying a young hijra, an Indian transgender, to the home of her guru for a story I was reporting. I was then invited to attend a brothel madam's birthday party in the red light district. Thereafter it seemed only natural that when the brothel workers went on pilgrimage to a shrine high up in the hills outside Mumbai, that they would invite me along.
With every interview, I learnt a little more of the intimate hardships of poverty. Through every shared experience I saw how great a struggle it was for an already marginalized person to survive in a city with eyes only for the prize of power and wealth. For the courage they displayed, everyone I met deserved to have his or her story told. Then in 2005 I was introduced to a girl called Leela who didn't just have a story, but who became part of a story that captivated India.
Leela was 19, and a bar dancer. Every night she danced fully clothed to Bollywood music in a seedy little bar called Night Lovers. The more energetic and calculated her dancing, the more likely it was that her customers, the men who'd come to watch her, would reward her. If they liked what they saw, they flung money at her. On a good night Leela earned the equivalent of $50. Customers also showed their appreciation with gifts of perfume and offers of money for sex.
Leela was one of 75,000 women who danced in bars. And at the time there were 1,500 such bars in Mumbai. Their aesthetic was a curious blend of a 1970s nightclub and a Bollywood set. But even among the crowd, Leela stood out. Most bar dancers were illiterate. Leela read novels. She had a wicked sense of humor. And she knew without a doubt that she deserved better than her customers. Through hundreds of hours of interviews I found that despite the physical hardship and routine degradation at the hands of customers and cops, Leela's life, relative to the alternative of the street or back in the village was under her own control, and, as far as she was concerned, a happy one.
In the summer of 2005, the local government decided to ban dancing in bars. The decision was a bald attempt to capture the middle class vote, and cost thousands of women their livelihood. Innumerable bar owners, waiters, bouncers, even taxi drivers and tailors who'd earned money from the bars also suffered losses.
Leela's life, which I chronicle in my book Beautiful Thing, was now out of her control. Like the Bollywood films to whose music she danced, it was chaos in the extreme.
Mumbai's summer of 2005 captivated India. The ban whispered of sex, sleaze and laundered money. Some dance bar's links to politicians, and gossip of love affairs between dancers and wanted gangsters became headlines. Knowing more about this previously ignored subculture became a national obsession. As interest swelled, so did opposition to the ban. Before the summer was through one thing became clear: The city's enviable equilibrium was only a mirage.
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