Book Review: Electric Feather - The tranquebar book of erotic stories

The cover page illustration to this book gives a little reference to what we are about to unearth inside. A welcome first for Indian fictional publishing, this collection of short stories edited by Ruchir Joshi is what can be easily labelled as some of the first erotic writing to come out of South Asia, although I would still hold short of calling it the best. Most South Asian fiction writers skirt around the topic of eroticism in their writing. And so this book makes one feel squeamishly uncomfortable at first, but still ends up as a delightful read. But if you are hoping for some wet dreams when you finish this book, you can keep that thought aside. Let's proceed with the stories one by one:

1) The Wedding Night Or, Bachelor Boudoir 9 - The most explosive of the lot of stories, this story sets the tone for the rest of the writings. And it is no holds barred as it explores a night of wild sex amongst three people, a menage-a-trois. And it is set during that most common place ritual in the Indian context - a wedding. It's funny that none of the action is attributed to the newly married couple, rather it's their group of friends who indulge in it. The writing is unrestrained and the author Samit Basu crosses over the terrain from subtle erotica to titillation smoothly. Not for the faint hearted, all this talk of sex in dhotis and sarees. Sample this -
"'And if that doesn't seal the deal, nothing will.'
'What deal?'
'Hush. You're not supposed to know. Whisper.'
'What deal?'
'I fuck you, she watches. She fucks Debo, we watch. She wanted to do you, but I told her Debo was too big for me.'
Now I was definitely awake. The heartbreak confirmed it. 'Where is she?'
'There, by the window. Didn't you see her? She was jilling off like a madwoman when you went down on me.'
I look, and there, crumpled up under the window in a heap, lies Sreemoyee. Her sari's off, wrapped loosely around her legs, and in the shadows I can see her silhouette; small, perfect bare breasts, slender arms splayed out on the floor, clouds of tangled hair, the hint of her beautiful face."

2) Tourists - A fantasy tale, this one starts off with the slangest of all Bambaiyya-Hindi abuses - "Arrey bhonsadi ke madarchod sala halkat ullu ke patthe". Set in Bollywood kingdom, Sahir Khan (easily referenced from our ver own King Khan) and Paolomi, a small time assistant on the sets are transported like through a time machine to a household in Andaman and Nicobar Islands from the 1970s. And they have their wildest sex in the lush holiday destination from the 70s. Written by Paromita Vohra with just a hint of subtlety, its probably any woman's fantasy to be lost in a time and place with just their favorite movie star for consumption. Vohra clearly writes for the female reader here.

3) Heavenly Ornaments - Set in a conservative Moslem family in Karachi, Pakistan, this is one of the most touching stories of the lot. Written by Sheba Karim , this story is about a little girl’s introduction to pleasure and fear, to tenderness and humiliation, through her life in her grandmother’s family. The young heroine of this story Bina is just reaching the teenage when she begins exploring her sexuality. The temporary absence of parental protection in Bina’s life leaves her defenceless against the real, but once it has impinged on her childhood world, she has to surrender herself to the “dark waves” of the Arabian Sea.

4) Confessions - This was probably the story which I disliked the most in the entire lot. And this was not really because of the story, but because of the style of writing. There were way too many side notes. At the end of each page there were two-three side notes, which really diverted my attention from the main story. Maybe it was just me, but Abeer Hoque, the author, can explore some simpler writing styles.

5) The Advocate - Set in rural India, this tale evoked an 'Ishqiya' or 'Omkara' kind of landscape in my mind. Ripe raw material for Vishal Bharadwaj to set his next rural sexcapade in. Written in a rather edgy style by Sonia Jabbar, it narrates the sexual fantasies of an advocate and his newly employed assistant as they explore their own friendship. To the point, where they end up sharing the same lay on the same night. The story also brings forward the sexist and casteist machinations of rural India, where being a woman and that too from a different caste would most probably have men from the other castes leering at you with evil intentions.

6) The Cat - The only gay story of the lot, this is a short story which narrates how the sex has fizzled out of a long-term, steady gay relationship. The partners then need some out-of-town guests and a cat to revive their sex life. Written by Niven Govinden, my only gripe with this story was that the sex was very fleeting. It was almost as if the author chickened out of narrating the act.

7) Love's Sunset by Kamila Shamsie is an evocative tale, at times it seems too cloying romantically, but it is engaging nonetheless. I loved the metaphorical connection that the author made between Love and Sunset. In the end, when the lead characters in the story move to Alaska where for months together there is no sunset, the love disappears from their lives.

8) Swimming Pool - Authored by Rana Dasgupta, this story has a very Gus Van Sant - Elephant, or My Own Private Idaho - feel to it. Extremely bohemian, this is a tale definitely for the silver screen. A drugged out musician Boris, meets an equally drugged out girl Lara, while travelling on a concert tour to LA along with his muse and companion friend, Irakli. The combination of sex, drugs and the swimming pool brings forward a very satisfying climax to the story and its characters.

9) The Delicate Predicament of Eunice De Silva - Tishani Doshi concocts a very likeable bevy of characters in this story. Eunice De Silva is a matronly, unshapely, almost 40-yr old virgin. How she begins an affair with a married man, who makes her do all those things that she had only read about is what forms the crux of this story. The funniest part is when, in a long-distance train while travelling to meet her mother, they exchange a host of sexual SMSes, and finally Eunice masturbates herself for the first time while in the train - under the tutorship of her lover. All the while, she faces a host of ethical and moral dilemmas, and thus the title of the story.

10) Missing Person Last Seen - Set in the immediate times post 9/11 in New York by the author Jeet Thayil, this is another touching story. Despair is the colour of the air that the characters in this story breathe. The sex is incidental, not really the main focus of the story, and is a result of mind games played languorously in a coffee shop. Well paced, and well structured, I should say.

11) The First Time - Written by Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan, this is probably a tale which most urban, middle class Indian youth can associate themselves with. Having lived under strict supervision for most of their teenage years, an average sampling of this crowd would make you realize that most of them lose their virginity only when they start living on their own. Which in most cases would begin only after marriage. Which would mean that mostly guys and girls belonging to this crowd would lose their virginity only to their respective partners. Which is not such a bad thing after all. In the very few cases, that people do start living on their own before marriage (mostly because of their job locations), they do want to lose their virginity before their marriage. But by that time, they have been so supervised their whole lives, that they can't do a good job of flirting up members from the opposite sex for that purpose. It is quite difficult for all things to fall into place for that momentous occasion to occur. And when it does, it does quite end up as how this story ends up.

12) The Quilt - The sidenote by the title reads thus "With apologies to Ismat Chugtai. I hope she would have been amused". Never having read Ismat Chughtai myself, I had a hint at the start itself that I am reading into unknown territories. Interesting premise here - lesbians making love while critiquing and deconstructing Ismat aapa's "Lihaaf" (Urdu, which in English translates as "Quilt"). But it didn't work for me, primarily because I had no idea about Lihaaf or any other Ismat works. Also because there were way too many labias, vulvas, clitorises and vaginas for my taste. Parvati Sharma's writing was pornographic to the extent of being cringe-inducing. Or maybe it was just my uptight self.

13) Arles - This last story is authored by the editor of this collection, Ruchir Joshi. This one is straightforwardly hot and has an almost Nancy Meyer's 'It's Complicated' kind of feel to it. Not that the story is any complicated, it's just too brattishly sexy. With the lead character in the story just named as D, and her fetish for strange types of lingerie, the story is just waiting to be shot into a short movie. Strong characterization and witty one-liners make this story very interesting.

So that's it - 13 different takes on sexuality and erotica from the land of Kamasutra. The stories did influence me to try my own hand at some sexual writing, but it is too amateurish an effort to be even acknowledged. While the book is not top-notch sexual tales from India, it is surely worth a read, and worth repeating - a welcome "first". Looking forward to more such collections with more inclusive kinds of sexual tales in the future.

Work in progress...

Working on a story of the love and longing involved in a long distance relationship...can't think of how to proceed forward...suggestions are welcome!

Happy Anniversary

It's been 65 months since you went down on your right knee at Bandra Bandstand and proposed and I embarassedly, gleefully, nervously said yes. Things haven't changed much since then. We looked for a place to fuck at the end of that evening. We are still looking for a place to fuck at the end of many more evenings. More often than not, without success. Thankfully, God gave us hands. But I've been alone with my hands for so long, that I don't know what my cock will do when confronted again with the daunting task of the actual physical act. I hope God has a plan for us, a plan which involves love, in its physical connotation. I am pretty secure about the emotional part of it. Pretty soon, we will be again faced with the problem of long distances between us as well. And that will push the timelines for the jobs undertaken by our hands by some more months. I hope some more months only, it is. Happy anniversary again. You know, I love you, I don't need to repeat it. But it is the season of love. So it doesn't hurt repeating. Let's try and follow it up with the real act.

From the train

I am writing this note in the train. I have nothing better to do to kill time. I have been up from 6 am. It's 7.05 am now. I have to kill time until 5 in the evening, when we are scheduled to reach Mumbai. I am lying down in my side upper berth. There is a middle aged lady and a gentleman below my berth discussing the rentals in Mumbai. Both businesspersons, i presume. You meet all kinds of ppl in the train. It is fun at times. This lady who I referred to earlier, had started chatting with me yesterday evening. Extremely chatty, and blower-of-her-own-trumpet types. I got so bored of her telling me abt the greatness of her daughter and herself, that I immersed myself in my book to avoid talking to her. But too much, I say. She is again starting off on that 'I love where I stay, it's right besides the mountains'. I know where she stays, it's hardly that cool over there. But no, our lady has to tell the entire world abt how hot it is inside the AC compartment as compared to the 'fresh' air she gets in her apartment. Also she mentioned yesterday how she helped a needy guy. Does it help to be helpful when you take credit for it later? Or do we belong to a generation where we need to sell everything we do? More abt that later. Now they are discussing their kids, and this is the part i hate most abt our Indian culture. There is really nothing called 'personal' in our world. I hate it when my relatives and other elders are intrusive abt my personal stuff. But I guess, it's comes with the territory. So the gentleman has a 13 yr old daughter, and he says she is already 5'6” in height. So he is scared if she grows on to be taller say 5'8” or even more, then where will he get a suitably tall alliance for her. Isn't it ridiculous? You are wishing that your daughter doesn't grow anymore taller! Are weddings, child-births and funerals the only thing that matter in this part of the world? I have to find out the reason for this. Why is our culture so fixated on weddings? Why is it an omnipresent topic in every conversation? Maybe it is from a culture where getting married means the only legal way to fuck, and the entire population in the village realizes that the sooner we give two people that right, the better. Maybe also because marriage then leads to child birth, and having kids around them is a good pastime for the village elders. It gives them something to be busy, rather than sitting around doing nothing in their post retirement days. Also the fixation on weddings might be coming from ages ago when weddings were the only means of entertainment in a village. Weddings and festivals would be the only times when an entire village or tribe or clan would come together to celebrate and have fun. And hence an entire community of elders would conspire to get two of them wedded, just so that there can be further celebrations.

So now I got down with the intention of sitting on my assigned seat and continuing with my reading. But what do I find? The same elderly gentleman who is sitting on my seat, is not even offering to get up now that the person who owns the seat is there. I stuck around for a while near him to make him realize that it was my seat, and he ought to get up, and go back to his allotted seat, no matter how inconvenient it were to him. But being Indians, we aren't obliged to follow basic norms of civility. So we spit, urinate, wash, throw garbage everything out in the open, and rules of decency are not really meant for us. Anyways, I think I will have to tell this man to get up from my seat.