So, the porn ban has been partially lifted. Here's my three-paise-worth — dear government, first it was with land reforms and now love making. A diktat, and then when outrage is expressed, a hasty retreat. Autocracy morphs into an Alice in Wonderland sea of weak justifications
Illustration/Uday Mohite
So, the porn ban has been partially lifted. Here's my three-paise-worth — dear government, first it was with land reforms and now love making. A diktat, and then when outrage is expressed, a hasty retreat. Autocracy morphs into an Alice in Wonderland sea of weak justifications.
So, anyway, there were three funny jokes flying around social media this week about the aforementioned subject.
1. After the beef ban, they were planning the same for pork, but there was a typo in the manifesto.
2. 'Acche din' is all very well...but now what happens to 'acchee raat'?
3. 'Make in India', doesn't allow for 'shake in India'.
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But there was a fourth joke, not intended as a quip. The lawyer who filed the 'ban porn' petition claimed all-knowingly, that Indian women did not watch porn. My own early experiences with the X-rated world met with limited success.
Early 1980s porn in Bombay, was a subterranean business. There was no blatant stacking of battery operated gizmos and 'blue films' on the street shops of Flora Fountain. If you wanted to see 'pondi' films or gaze at Penthouse, it was true cloak and dagger stuff.
Illustration/Uday Mohite
Video store owners had their stock. The 'soft porn, X-rated' movies occupied the bottom shelf of their libraries, covered in brown paper packets. But the 'hard core' stuff was hidden in another secret James Bond-type vault.
You entered the store, attempting to be nonchalant, but failing miserably. "Do you have uh…," you asked the counter guy, hoping he understood your half completed sentence. "Haan, bolo, sir," he answered choosing to be ignorant.
You couldn't wink. So you just smiled sheepishly, hoping the guy would get the hint. All around you, customers were borrowing Star Wars and Bachchan hits. After some exaggerated eye rolling and meaningful indications, you were led into the James Bond secret room.
The guy reeled off his repertoire. "Heat Nights Passion-2, Heat Nights Passion-3 and Heat Nights Passion-The Climax." "Accha, Heat Nights Passion-1 nahin hai?" "Bahar gaya. Kal aayega."
But your boy's night was that night. So you borrowed Heat Nights Passion-2. It wasn't difficult to figure the plot of the
first part. Of course, there were also magazines. Like all self respecting hormone raging guys, I sneaked an exciting new magazine into my abode called Oui.
Needless to say, my mother, like most mothers of my generation, chanced upon the aforementioned 'adult literature', while she was tidying my room. "How can you be looking at these kind of magazines?" she exploded 'Mom, I buy these for the music reviews," I explained, unconvincingly.
My mother went to my father. "Our son is reading this vile stuff? Talk to him, tell him this is not okay." My father came to my room. "Your mother says this not okay," he bellowed, with a wink. "Idiot, why can't you hide your stack properly," he added softly. "Oui, dad," I said, softly.
Rahul da Cunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahuldacunha62@gmail.com
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