On Sex In Delhi (III/X)

Everybody is doing it. With almost, everybody else. The regressive judgment, the notion that a woman has allowed herself to be owned because she’s revealed herself, the casual sexism that is a constant undertone, the repressed guilt and the sense of entitlement are its paltry attendants. Sometimes, it’s a power game, sometimes escapism, mostly self-validation, sex for its sake is what most men, contrary to popular belief, can’t wrap their heads around.

Gratification, historically speaking, has been the male domain. And, nowhere is this truer than in Delhi, the red-blooded, proudly pulsating heart of North India. A woman who dares to wear her sexuality on her sleeve, isn’t afraid to choose the men she sleeps with much like taking your pick from a brunch buffet is more often than not perceived as a threat. Sex with these women is treated as something furtive, a covert operation carried out in the dead of the night. Most men, whether they realise it or not, are brought up to believe that the proverbial ‘woman of their dreams’ wears power suits on weekdays, dresses ‘appropriately wild’ on weekends and brings out her homely upbringing every time a family member is in sight. This idealised, if misplaced notion, is shattered effectively with women in this city challenging the latent notions of patriarchy. This supposed revolution, sometimes characterised by misplaced signatures of feminism such as believing that holding your liquor after your fifth Jägerbomb is the mark of a ‘liberated woman,’ or the other end of the spectrum where you end up photographing better than you exist, aren’t exactly answers to this omnipresent entitlement we’ve gotten so accustomed to. I don’t know what the answers to a healthy, emotionally and physically thriving sex life are but I do know that sex has always been an enigma. When you’re young, wild at heart and weird on top, it’s cool to want to touch everybody a lot and want to be touched by everybody a lot. Anybody who tells you otherwise has had a questionable upbringing. That being said, search far and wide and you come to the stunning conclusion (much to the chagrin of some of my slightly misandrist counterparts), men have feelings too. Emotionally stunted, emotionally overwrought, men have an entire array of emotions ranging from fear, desire, love, lust, want, need when it comes to sex. And, it’s just equally, if not harder for them to navigate the treacherous waters of sexuality and sensuality. Many, if not all, romanticise it and are brought up under societally, pop-culture induced pressure of being “the alpha male,” the one on the constant hunt for ‘the next piece of ass.’ I’ve known men who’ve fallen in love over first night stands, men who are virgins by choice, men who didn’t text her back because they weren’t sure what to say, men who are okay dating a woman they met on Tinder, so it’s only safe to assume that most twenty-somethings are as good at knowing what sex is really about as they are at doing their taxes, with the exception of consultants. Anybody my age who’s a consultant seems to have catapulted ten years forward into their life experiences and have stock investments and therefore, can’t be taken seriously for the purpose of this discourse.

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