Am I prude?

No, I never considered myself prude. Coming from a regressive society where even after marriage wild cries of passion during love making are muffled up behind close doors, and sex is closeted, I think of myself as quite progressive. Growing up, sex was a taboo subject, our parents never discussed it nor did our teachers. It was assumed that when the right time came, we would know it. But when was the right time, was a big question mark. For long, even in my teens, I believed that if a boy kisses me, I would get pregnant hence that should be avoided at all cost. The Bollywood movies, where love was the prime subject, didn’t help either. In most movies, when they had to show a man and woman consummating their relationship, the scene morphed and all we saw was two flowers gyrating wild in the breeze and caressing each other. For long that was the imagery for sex. Now what did that mean? My curious mind remained unsated. My friends couldn’t help either as they too had no idea. My parents , unlike others of their ilk, were quite open in their show of affection, albeit only within the confines of our home. I often saw them holding hands or wrapped in each others’ arms in the bed on a lazy Sunday morning. But I had never seen them kissing. Anyways, the first time I saw a man and woman kissing in public was when my family was holidaying in Darjeeling. They were foreigners on vacation. Till then I had never seen a white man or woman, other than in Bollywood movies. As my eyes lay on them, I thought to myself are they real or from a distant planet. They were as white as the conch shell my mother blew into every evening to produce a sharp shrill sound as a part of her daily puja rituals. In the blaze of the sun, their cheeks looked like waxed red apples. Unabashedly, they were holding hands, and their lips were locked in a passionate kiss, unaware about the sharp glares of others. My sister and me stared at them with mouth agape, for us it was wonder of wonders. I pinched my sister so hard that her skin was all blotched and blue. Stung by the depravity right in front of her eyes, my mother yanked us off, mouthing curses at them. But the scene remained etched in our fragile minds for days to come and at school we couldn’t help but share it with our friends.

When I was going around with my boyfriend, now my husband, he often wanted to hold my hands in the park or in dark dim lit restaurants when we went on dates. But I always felt a little awkward, no matter how inky dark the place was, I always felt the presence of a someone lurking to catch us in our act. Then when I started to read adult fiction and started watching western tv shows and movies, I realised that public show of affection was very common in western societies and no one raised an eyebrow if a boy or girl held hands in public or innocently kissed in a bus stop. Slowly, it became less of a deal. So when I came to England from India, I didn’t squirm or ever felt uncomfortable when I came across teenagers kissed in public places. I knew it was a way of life here.

When I lived in India ,that was like 12 years back, gay-lesbian relationships were thought to be queer. It was considered that such relationships would tear apart the moral fabric of the society. Most gay and lesbians relationships stayed in the closet, or the consequences could be dangerous, amounting to even honour killing. Yet I saw nothing wrong in loving the people of the same sex, It was hard for me to feel what they felt from within and hence I had no right to judge them. I felt bad for them, living a life of secrecy and the shadow of fear, totally ostracised by the society. When I came to England, it was lovely to see the freedom the LGBT community enjoyed. I spotted them in restaurants, roads, park, cinema hall, totally comfortable with their sexual orientation. Then one day as I was walking to a closed car park, I saw two grown men, probably in their mid thirties, dressed in well cut suits looking dapper, kissing, lips on lips, oblivious, soaked in the moment. I stopped in my tracks, it was as if my feet was pinned to the ground and I couldn’t move. My ears were scalding hot and my hands were clammy with sweat. That was the very first time I saw a gay couple kissing in public. Somehow managed to drag myself to the car and heaved a sigh of relief. At home, I couldn’t help but think am I prudish? How could I consider myself a staunch supporter of LGBT community when I cannot accept their act of love. But then I realised, it was not easy to shake off the years and years of social conditioning. Though I have always been a free thinker and often questioning the traditions, culture, religious dictates preached by generations after generation, some salt like grains of prejudices still remain. It may take a little more time, but I am determined to get rid of it.