Confession Of A Dirty Old Man

"Dad, how do you know so much about the female anatomy"? 

 

With a hint of suspicion in his eyes my son asked me.

As an aspiring Character Designer for games, he was rigging a female model. With abundant reference materials available on the net, every detail of a human anatomy can be digitally generated with ease. But there were some areas I thought a little more sensitive detailing was needed, and that's when he asked me.

CG models by my son, Pencils sketches - mine.

 

 

 

 

"You must be seeing lot of porn! You are a dirty old man dad"!

 

My romance with the beauty of the female figure began pretty early at my younger days at my home with Renu and in my school with that young teacher.

Renu had come to stay in our house to do her  last year of schooling. She was elder to me by few years and looked grownup compared to her age and looked beautiful, judged by the standard of my young sense of beauty. Renu had a good sense of humor and we spent our after school hours cracking jokes. It was one such summer afternoon and I was waiting in her room. Unaware of my presence Renu came out of the bathroom completely nude. I stood there with my mouth wide open looking at her. She too stood there not moving or attempting to cover herself as I inched forward closer to her.

Drops of water rolling down her silky smooth skin were hanging like drops of liquid pearl from her nascent breasts. Slowly I touched her; she looked down at me and smiled. My hand ran along her body feeling the warmth of her cool skin, the sheer drop of her curves and the rise of her mounds. It was 'Cashback' in real life, only I could not freeze the world. I pressed myself to her, feeling the strange hardness of her taut nipples against my cheeks. Slowly she pushed me away and commanded in a whispering voice-

"Go"!

I spent that evening completely numbed by a strange euphoric feeling I had never known. I was apprehensive of our reactions on the dinner table. Renu was her old self ever with her crazy jokes again. 

Age today has robbed her of the beautiful curves, gravity has taken it's toll, the smooth skin has wrinkles, but she is still same beautiful person to me.

"But everything you do has something to do with a woman. You paint woman, even the stories you told me when I was a little kid were of princesses and queens, never a prince! Now you are writing about women. You need to see a shrink"!

I was never a writer, except of those lousy school essays.

I began to paint and sculpt in my schooldays. The female figure kept dominating every drawing, every painting and every little figurine I made in clay. Mr. Dey, my art teacher would show me how to give transparency to fabric, insinuate the breast  pressed tightly against the thin blouse of the fruit seller I  painted. He taught me how to use light and blur out the curves of the torso silhouetting against the sunlight making these details dreamy.

I learnt to control the pencil and  make it flow in a smooth curve, exert pressure and go softly, just as I would run my hand along Renu’s soft body. The Photography books in the locked cupboard were my only source of references.

But strangely, I did not become a painter or sculptor. I studied to be an architect instead.

my water carrier!

my women from Kutch!

In my third year of college I was madly in love with a girl from my class. We used to spend hour together in secluded corners of parks, holding each others hands lying on the grass gazing at the dark sky. Sometimes we  would rarely speak a word. 

My roommate and friends in the hostel could not understand how we were not heavy petting. How I wasn't squeezing and feeling her breast in those dark secluded corners. I could not make them understand how for me, any part of her body was associated to her whole. It did not matter I held her hand or touched her breasts, -I was holding her. 

They said something was wrong with me and I should see a Shrink.

Later part of my college days I left the hostel to rent a studio apartment with a friend. He was student of fine arts and was studying sculpture. He loved working with horses. The forceful lines of his horses and soft rhythmic curves of my women in charcoal, began to dance in tandem all over the walls of our room.

The maid servant refused to work for us. After a long cajoling she agreed with condition that she would work only when we are out.

We made a clay nude and were arguing how to bring about the feeling of softness in the sculpture. Just as we were running our hands along the curves of the sculpture we were visited by our landlord.

Later that evening, he called me over cup a of coffee when the lady of the house had gone shopping. I was told how it was not normal for a young fellow to get his orgasms by feeling a clay sculptures and I should see a shrink. A list of psychiatrists was ready with him.

A month later we were told to vacate the apartment.

Paintings and stories are fine, but Porn is sex! You seeing porn at your age, dad its YAAK! 

 

What is so bad about sex, doesn’t everything end in sex always? But why then we are scared of talking, writing or painting sex. We Indians do not talk sex, it's dirty. At mere mention of this word everyone squirms with an uncomfortable displeasure; but would  think about it!

And then what's with Porn? What is porn - something that you know when you see it but can not define ?
Where does art end and pornography begin? 
Which painting of a woman is an art and which one is vulgar porn? 
Which scene of love making enacted in a movie is Oscar material and which one is to be rated X. 

When does the act of sex is called love making and which one is plain sex? Isn't the ultimate end same in both cases? 
Or you are supposed to feel purely divine in one and die with shame and resent in the other? 
I could not understand the thin line that separates them.

"A story, movie, painting or a sculpture can be erotic and yet not be Porn"

 

Oh! You call them erotica, now that’s art! Of course that's how you differentiate them alright.

Let us see some of these erotica and art then.......

Is this Art ?
"Of course its Art" !


 


 And this ?
"Come on don't be dumb. This is a Manet"!





And  This one?
"This is,  say, umm erotica"!

OK. Lets see this one then.
 "Hey this is  Porn. Remove it"!









So this too is Porn, right ?
"Uh, Not exactly. Could be erotica..."

Fine . What about this one?
"Huh, what the hell is here "?

 And this one ?
Well, let me put it this way, if it's by Picasso then Art, and if it is your drawing then its shit !

 Here is one more.
"Hey put that black strip over that thing!
And stop this  already ! I had enough".

But I have saved  the best for the last. This was sold for a princely sum of  50000$, and the damn shitty thing is so precious, it's copy protected !

Click  here to see it. Enjoy and contemplate. 

Does an artist, a photographer, or a sculptor always view his model in a clinical way, like looking a ceramic vase from Ming dynasty?  Doesn't a sculptor even for once, close his eyes and try to imagine the softness of the breast, gently cupping the bust of his marble sculpture? Doesn’t he even for  moment feel sexually inclined? Bert Stern did, while shooting  Marilyn Monroe nude.

Or may be they sculpt or paint the women with mathematically calculated formulae. Maybe great artist can shut all doors to human nature and  become as insensitive as the piece of stone they are working with. But not me!

Thousands of times I have run my hand thru the air, trying to simulate the undulation of the female form and again feel the warmth of the skin, softness of the breasts and go thru the sensual beauty that I had discovered years back with Renu.

Pencil sketch- mine-
Art vs. Porn -unknown writer

Art vs. Porn 
"Art should strive to evoke a contemplative mood, in contrast to pulp entertainment which aims to distract us.

A "contemplative mood” is one in which you find yourself trying to think more deeply...art should strive to evoke a contemplative mood in contrast to pulp aims to distract us from the world.

A contemplative mood can be dark, disturbing –but  has a feeling of significance and element of enlightenment. 

We,nor does the artist necessarily have to consciously aim for any great depth,            

Distraction tends to take us away from contemplation. 
 

At times we are too tired to think deeply or “grow” in any way,This is OK. We don’t need to be profound every minute of the day. We need time to just unwind and be totally frivolous"……

So art is to evoke contemplative mood and porn is supposed to evoke desire and distraction. 

Baroda Museum of Occidental and Oriental art displays a marble sculpture named temptation of eve, a beautiful example of  bringing life into a piece of stone. The serpent coiling Eve, is trying to tempt her with the apple. But unfortunately the snake failed and it was Eve who managed to tempt the visitors instead.  

Eve's breast in white marble became black with greasy hands  pawing and feeling them in their desperate attempt to squeeze the stony boobs!   
Finally the Museum authority had to enclose the sculpture in glass. 

So much for a contemplative mood!

"Well even you keep looking at breasts in all those porn sites. You too have breast fixation dad"! 

All men love to look at breasts. But I do not see them alone as an isolated framed object. The dotted line, back in my mind joins and forms a complete picture, giving them a personality. And strangely the person in my mind has always been more beautiful than the real person. Unfortunately most see them just as an object of sex. I wish these people get infected with Polymastia and grow multiple breast all over their body, -they can keep playing with their own things then! 


In his book 'The Naked Ape' Desmond Morris writes-  
"The female of our species is unique in developing clearly defined hemispherical breast swelling. In their shape they mimic the rounded buttocks and now transmit powerful sexual signal".

That may be true but I would see breast as breast and not fake butts in the front. It kills the very feminine beauty of a woman. So let them be breasts, boobs, boobies, knockers, jugs or whatever you may call them lovingly!

Talking of breasts, reminds me of Lipika. A petite sweet looking girl. She was a year junior to me in college and was from Delhi. Always walked with her note books or the bag pressed against her chest.

“Why Lipika why do you always carry something like that”?                        
I one day asked her.

'It's a habit with us girls from Delhi. You should know what might happen otherwise'!

Only then I realized Lipika did have beautiful pair of breasts! On her birth day I made a card for her-

“Lipi had a beautiful pair.

Or that's what I thought

Till she was in the garden.

And in thorns they got caught

Lipi now has NO beautiful pair,

In went the thorn and out came the air”!

Saying “You sicko” in an exasperated way she quickly put the card in the bag. The bag stayed hung off her shoulders that day.

It was very disturbing when what Lipika feared really happened, not in Delhi but at Trivandrum. We were attending a college festival and the evening program was getting stuffy with lectures by reputed big snob guest architects. We left the hall and walked down the entry road towards the town.

A man coming towards us brushed against Lipika, squeezed her breast and ran away. Shocked, Lipika yelled and I ran after the man just to be accosted by the locals. They became aggressive towards me in support of the molester.  "If she wears a body hugging Tee shirt what do you expect the local boys to do"?

I could not have blamed the Internet for giving porn to Kerala men. Internet was not there then. Sexual antagonism towards women was always there.

This disgusting incident was well forgotten by the time Sarah visited us years later. She married a friend of mine from Calcutta and has come to meet her in-laws. This was her first visit to India and stopped by us before going back.

Her experience with Indian culture was a shock for sure. She came to me and asked, if like others I too shall be offended if she wears a short around our house. In a dead serious tone I replied- 

"Sure I would be very offended if your legs are not sexy enough!

She came in wearing Bermuda short, posed and asked

“Sexy enough”?

Going around her in a mock inspection I replied-

"Exhibits insufficient, would like to evaluate other assets too"!

She laughed, hugged me and said

"Thank you for being a dirty old man!"

With long lessons on Indian culture, traditions and values, trying to obliterate the low image of Indian people in her mind, we reached Vadodara railway station to see her off to Mumbai.

Two boys on a motor cycle came in speed, hit Sarah on her breast and sped away. Crying in pain Sarah sat down.

In a shamed silence we waved good bye to her as she left India.

"Then  YOU tell me What is Porn"?

 

• We Indians do not talk sex. It’s a dirty word. We have morals which are ferociously protected by various groups of people attacking young boys and girls celebrating Valentine’s Day.  Its Non Indian they say.

• We have people who strip a girl coming out of club for wearing a skirt and journalists capturing it on camera with a voyeuristic pleasure making no effort to stop those hooligans. It’s a journalistic prerogative they say.

• We have people taking offences of actress kissing in public and of so called indecent stage shows and the honorable courts admitting these cases.

This is what I call PORN.

The dirt in in the psyche of all Indians. More you try to hide sex under a veneer of morality more there will be porn. We need to clean our mindset. 
We need an inner transition.

And till then I would rather remain a Dirty Old Man.

A Voyuer Salutes A Mother

 

The proud child

The young boy was standing next to me waiting for the flight from New Delhi to arrive. May be he is waiting for someone important. His impatient fidgeting betrayed the smile on his face, maybe he was getting late for an appointment! 

Noticing me he turned and smiled.

“It’s a pity all flights are delayed. There must be a heavy fog in Delhi today". I casually commented. "Is some one important coming"? I just could not stop asking him.

"Yes, my mom", he very replied. "This is the first time she is coming to the place I am working and the flight had to be late. And that too being her first air travel ever"! There was a sign of disappointment on his face.

"Oh, don’t worry. The fear of flight goes away within minutes. Once you begin to see the beautiful land below you just cannot be scared anymore!

He laughed and said-

"My mother and scared, that she would never be. It’s just she always traveled by train to save for me, so I could be comfortable. Today I can afford to make her travel in comfort. It’s such a wonderful feeling!

“Yes I understand. You mom must be very proud of you”!

 “Oh no, you got it wrong. It is me who is proud of my mother”.

“That is very beautiful thing to say. You must be feeling the same for your father too”.

He stopped smiling and looked straight into my eyes. I had a feeling of stepping into an ugly zone!

"It is a very special day for me and I will not spoil it by answering you with anything but the truth.

I have never known my father, never seen him. He is just a name in hundreds of school forms we filled".

He smiled again and continued –

"I am not prejudiced against him. He was the sperm provider for my creation and half of me is comes from him. It is said tenderness of a mother brings a child into this world but the strength of a father makes a man out of him. But it was my mother all the way for me. She stood against the world for me. Gave me everything I wanted, taught me everything that I need to know. Mom did not just make a man out of me, she brought out the human in me.”

The arrival gate was getting crowded with people pushing their trolleys. He rushed towards them but stopping halfway returned to apologize.

“In my excitement I almost forgot my decency to say goodbye to you.”And he went away to receive his mother.

I stood looking at him as some old memories came back to me.