Archive for March, 2012

It was the beginning of a week in 1970 at Ajodhya high School Balasore, Orissa, India. I was studying in class 10. For many years till then there used to be a short period of prayer followed by reading of a few lines from the Gita before the classes started. In a significant departure from the usual routine, the venue of the prayer class had been changed recently from the school verandah to the Science Hall, the only hall in the school. All these changes were taking place at the behest of the school Headmaster, Mr. Prusty. It was his idea also to read aloud some selected lines from the autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi on some days in addition to the lines from Bhagabad Gita. It fell to the lot of Hindi and Sanskrit teacher Shri Brajabandhu Pani to read those lines from the Gita and “My experiment with truth” as Gandhiji’s autobiography was in Hindi, a translation from the original Gujrati.
That day all things proceeded as usual; first the prayer, then readings from the Gita and Gandhiji’s autobiography at the last. But just as we were about to disperse and return to our respective classes the Headmaster’s stentorian voice rang out loud and clear in our ears. He called out the name of Niranjan, a boy of my class, and ordered him to come to the dais. Niranjan came unto the dais where the Headmaster was standing to a side along with all the teachers behind a large table on which scientific experiments were usually demonstrated. The Headmaster, Mr. Prusty asked him “Why didn’t you bend your head and say Namaste on Saturday”? Niranjan replied in a most feeble and terrified voice, “Sir, I couldn’t understand your instructions”. Then what followed was something beyond my imagination. Even now as I am writing about that episode my blood is boiling within me in shock, anger and rage. Mr. Prusty beat Niranjan more than 100 times with all his might using both his hands simultaneously. Sometimes there were slaps raining and sometimes there were blows. The beating continued for full 15 minutes in front of the whole congregated students and teachers of the school. During that time the Headmaster’s wristwatch with a steel band unclasped five times of itself due to the force of the blows and slaps. Each time he took a breather for a few seconds to clasp the strap and resumed beating. It seemed the beating would be interminable. One hundred students and seven teachers stood there as dumb and mute spectators. Not a single voice was raised against the most barbaric act. Such was the tyrannical power and authority this headmaster wielded! By the time the beating had ended Mr. Prusty was as exhausted by beating as Niranjan was from being beaten up. I think that the periodically unclasping strap of the wristwatch had saved Niranjan from another fifty blows and slaps. The violence of the beatings was so severe that Niranjan’s shirt was torn into tatters and was loosely hanging from his body.
I knew what had happened. On the Saturday before, after the school had been over, some of us boys from the school hostel were filing past towards the playground situated just outside the school campus to play. I was bringing up the rear of the line and Niranjan was at its head. Just when he was about to cross the gate, two outsiders came inside the school campus accompanied by the Headmaster. As it turned out later, they were the P.E.T(Physical Education Teachers) inspectors. What went on at the front was not as visible and audible from my viewpoint at the rear as the whole incident passed in a second or two. Our line moved on, we never stopped for a second. As I collected and pieced all evidences and fragments together after the beating, it emerged that Mr. Prusty had signaled by some gesture to Niranjan to bend his head and say Namaste to those PET inspectors which Niranjan failed to do. Had Niranjan bowed his head and said Namaste to those strangers then the next boy would have also taken the cue and all the boys down the line would have bowed their heads and said Namaste. That would have pleased the Headmaster. According to Niranjan he couldn’t correctly interpret Mr. Prusty’s sign language. He thought the Headmaster was gesturing to bow down to himself which Niranjan found preposterous as during the course of the day he had already done that much earlier. But the Headmaster took that as willful disobedience and insubordination.
Whatever that may be, during and after that beating my attitude to Mr. Prusty changed into disgust and hatred. Since then 42 years have passed. But the scene is as fresh in my memory as ever. I was a very shy boy then and Mr. Prusty was a tyrant. I have shed a lot of my shyness as I grew up. With my present mental makeup, if I had witnessed that event, I would surely have reported the matter to NIranjan’s parents and probably would have gone with them to the police. I would have written petitions to the higher authorities. But as I was then I could do nothing. NIranjan’s tattered shirt and bruised body have haunted me since then in so many of my dreams. I promised that day I would never be a teacher like the Headmaster. Subsequently I became a lecturer in Mitrapur College, Balasore and BITS, Pilani, Rajasthan. I have never hurt any student in any way. I condemn corporal punishment and of the view that it should be banned from all schools. Only the perverts and cowards terrorize students and wards in their charges. Wise do things differently.
So much punishment, beating and humiliation before the whole school for just failing to say Namaste to two total strangers! It just doesn’t make any sense. This incident of beating was also not an unusual or exceptional behavior from the Headmaster. For the sake of brevity only I am confining this article to this single incident; but I can write a whole book on the barbaric and inhuman treatment of the students, especially the boys, in the hands of this tyrant. Sadly, there were many parents who encouraged the teachers not to be sparing with their rods while dealing with their children or wards. The most dangerous and complicated thing was that the Headmaster did have some sterling qualities. He was the most energetic, dynamic, and knowledgeable and the most widely read among all the teachers of the school. That was his trump card. By flaunting his knowledge and eloquence he wielded such power over students that fell just short of awarding death sentence and could silence all the signs of revolts from the students and some guardians with an iron hand for more than a decade. He just lacked compassion which is also called as wisdom in action. In all else he shared much commonality with many tyrants in history; many brilliant qualities and capabilities combined with much cruelties and a false sense of honor and prestige.

Sometimes I wonder why such senseless events occur. Why such otherwise brilliant and dynamic persons turn into tyrants? The best possible answer that comes to my mind is that perhaps Life was making Mr. Prusty play the role of a tyrant, that hideous monster lurking within all of us, and letting us see how ugly, inhuman and macabre we all could be if we became unaware of the monster lodged deeply in our unconscious. The tyrant in us could be found in action in schools, in homes, in offices, in playgrounds, in business, in all places, in all relationships and in all roles. The tyrant like a rapist only seeks an opportunity and a suitable environment to manifest itself. The weak, the children, the old, the unprotected and the vulnerable are the ones whom the tyrant pounces upon as its preys because they can’t retaliate. In truth every tyrant is a coward, it can’t face up to its equals. It too is insidious, manipulative and capable of disguising itself in honorable robes. Therefore none of us is secure against it. Mr. Prusty that day by his actions gave free play to it and brought out the tyrant in us from the darkness of our unconscious to the light of the consciousness so that we all could take heed and bring all our actions and motivations under the microscope of alert awareness. Gandhiji said that a man can be known by the way he treats his servants; by the way he addresses the waiters in a hotel. Only in conscious and deliberate actions lies our freedom and Nirvana. As the Buddha said, “Ignorance is the cause of all our miseries and bondages. Only wisdom frees”.

Do you know any tyrant or bully ? How did you like his/her bullying? Would you like to share ?


“There is an incredible intelligence and power within you constantly responding to your thoughts and words. As you learn to control your mind by the conscious choice of thoughts, you align yourself with this power”.
Today I am to align myself with this power by consciously choosing to think and write about Nisha, my wonderful and mysterious muse, a woman of many dimensions and complexities who was never ashamed of her difference from most others. What others thought of as the things “wrong” with her, she considered those as the expressions of her individuality, her uniqueness and her specialty. Of course, she never claimed herself as someone special, but to me she was certainly special. She thought we were meant to be different. Hence, for her there was no competition or comparison. It was as if, we all had come to this planet just to express the uniqueness of ourselves.
It was another of her greatness that while she actually granted me her sexual favor, she made me feel always as if I was obliging her. As if I was not the beneficiary of her favor but her benefactor. As if she was the one receiving while in real conferring this great honor and privilege to me. Her joy was in sharing everything she had with me. As a result, our sexual escapades, after that first encounter during the course of an afternoon about which I have already told in an earlier story, became regular ones. But like everything else in life, the sex between us too had its ups and downs, its valleys, plateaus and bottomless pits. Once, during the initial days, I lost erection consecutively for two days. Howsoever I tried, my thing remained unmoved and lifeless. I told Nisha to take the thing in her hands and especially in her mouth. She sincerely did her utmost to revive the flagging, lifeless thing that had almost turned into a vestige of a penis. On the second day, while sitting astride me, after half an hour of all sorts of cuddling and cajoling, she finally called it a day and we lost all hope of resurrection. Even though this episode came very early in the course of our sexual intimacy I behaved as though I had been prepared all along for such a thing to happen, as though it were quite normal and ordinary and there was nothing much in it to write home about. The fact is I had heard from a friend in detail what had happened to him and his wife on their first night. In short, as his erection failed that night, his new bride after making all attempts to revive his libido concluded that “her life was finished” as she had unwittingly married an impotent man. Thereafter she became hysterical and cried, shouted and threw so much tantrum in and around the house that my friend reached the depth of despair and thought of committing suicide. It was very fortunate that he confided everything to me and I advised him to consult a doctor and assured him that his erectile dysfunction was curable. I also said that his problem would have sorted out itself of its own accord in course of time even if untreated, with patience and understanding from both. But as his wife had gone hysterical and was not in a positive frame of mind herself to render the cooperation and understanding needed, it would be better if they both sought medical advice and treatment which fortunately they did. In fact she was brought to the doctor by force. But such was her hysterical state of mind that it took a year of medical treatment to bring her to normalcy. I knew my friend from infancy and as we reached puberty we had experienced and explored our sexuality together. One of our pastimes was to masturbate simultaneously before each other to reach the goal of the quickest ejaculations. From those sessions I knew from the first hand that my friend’s erectile dysfunction was not organic or congenital and hence easily curable.

When the same thing happened to me with Nisha I was not at all worried or scared. I knew, with understanding and patience, it would very soon go away. I had the most understanding sexual partner any man could ever hope for. I had also the Buddha on my side. He said, “I don’t say enjoy life or be happy. Just allow the “suchness” of things to be. That’s enough”. In other words when there is an erection and a sexual mate around then have and enjoy sex; but when your thing doesn’t move in spite of being goaded, cajoled and cuddled a lot then enjoy even the non-moving, non-stirring, non-penetrative sexual state also. You have the whole body of the other before you to explore, to bathe, to soak, to stroke and marvel at. Why confine your imagination to only a few inches of her/his body between the thighs, you are now released free to roam around the sky of his/her whole body. I was precisely doing that. There was not even a trace of the feeling that opportunities for penetrative sex were going by. I had surrendered myself to the moment and had let the isness of life to be. In short, even in that surrendered, seemingly awkward state, I was experiencing some grace in the shape of a relaxed, quiet and serene state of mind while I could have been extremely tense, frantic and even crestfallen had I believed in the false notion that an overpowering burden of proving my manhood in the eyes of Nisha was heavily upon me. But there was no such heaviness in me; rather I was in a most playful mood. After all, if sex was not a play, what else it was for? Being shorn of the heavy responsibility of parenthood by the invention of contraceptives, it was only comparatively recently mankind has reached this stage of enjoying the sex act as a play. But alas, even now there are millions who are ignorant of or careless about using contraceptives and spoiling their mental, social and physical wellbeing. I was thinking about like this when all of a sudden Nisha did a thing which was beyond my imagination. I recollect it vividly till this day. All of a sudden, she lay over me with her belly down, bringing her face above mine and her whole body straddling above mine, matching limb for limb. At first I thought she was up to the game of pressing her breasts against mine, a very pleasurable activity for me at all hours of the day, to compensate me for my supposed loss of joy from sex. But she, the mysterious one, had no such thought in her mind that day. Therefore what followed was a complete surprise for me. The first drop of her tear fell on my left cheek. Then it fell like a torrent on both of my cheeks. I became flabbergasted at her tears. Sheepishly I asked, “Have I let you down so badly? Are you so much aroused that you badly need an orgasm?” What came in reply was nothing short of a bolt from the blue. She shook her head twice and said, “Can I not see you well, healthy and strong for once? When you came to this colony your face was so big and you were looking so strong and stout. Within a month and a half you have shed so much weight. Your face looks so small and your cheeks hollow and eyes so sunken that I feel pain at looking at you. You look so pulled down. I feel guilty for bringing you to this state. I wish you soon regained your health and strength as before. ” She was right. A month and a half of hectic life with her with all my routines and schedules thrown to the winds and leading a kind of life with gay abandonment as if to demonstrate to the whole world that taking food was something that men did just out of an unnecessary, primitive bad habit that could be easily and safely dispensed with, more especially on the altar of love, without any consequences whatsoever. All these had no doubt taken their toll on me. The immutable laws of life had reasserted themselves and had shown that my life in imagination should be and could be borne on the shoulders of reality only; it couldn’t exist in and as itself. In fact nothing could exist in and as itself; everything in the universe is interconnected. In short, the food that I eat or don’t eat, the thought I think or don’t think, the words I speak or don’t speak, the silences and stillnesses that give the depth and spaciousness to a relationship I maintain or don’t, all have a bearing on the kind of erection I get or don’t get. I had also been suffering from amoebiasis for long despite all kind of medication. To confound the matter, I had been repeatedly refusing to take any food whatsoever from Nisha’s house that she had generously been offering to me, on the ground that those foods rightfully belonged to her children and husband. However, she made me promise to take more care of my health. For treatment of amoebiasis she referred me to a doctor who turned out to be an excellent one at his profession. Nisha’s knowledge of doctors and drugs was tremendous. Those of my readers who have read my story “The story of my anus itching” may remember a reference to a woman who recommended me the drug Albendazole to put an end to my discomfort and she was none other than Nisha. Considering that her schooling or formal education had been finished when she was forcibly married at the age of seventeen; I am often amazed by her knowledge. I wonder what she could have been if she had been allowed to complete her education. She could easily have been a doctor.

Instead of diagnosing me as a patient suffering from amoebiasis like many other docs before, this doctor diagnosed my dysentery as due to “Loss of vegetable spores in the intestines due to prolonged antibacterial and antiprotozoal treatment.” He radically changed the medicines, the course and regime of the treatment. I followed all his instructions religiously. I paid more heed to my diet. Then the problem of general weakness and erectile dysfunction went away for good within a week. She was right. When I myself couldn’t stand properly how my thing could be expected to stand? And thereafter, what a plethora of juicy sex sessions we had! By and by Nisha’s name got associated in my mind with lots of love and juicy sex. Juicy sex because she exuded a lot of juice, along with love and tenderness, while lovemaking. Those sessions of juicy sex were so pleasurable, powerful and intoxicating that I would, not imagined at that point of my life, be left pining for them for the rest of my life. Buddha said, “Conquering the craving for sensual pleasure is great. But even greater is the conquest of craving itself.” During those heady days I was heedless of all such maxims. I read those from the books and thought those were best left buried there. What was wrong with sexual pleasure? Why should one stop craving? Especially if a juicy sexual mate like Nisha was around and available? I thought my favorite seer Buddha was wrong for once. But alas! That was not to be. Buddha could never be wrong. But that is the subject for another story.

There is nothing in my life that could be termed as exclusively mine, in the sense that something or some quality could be attributed to me only and to nobody else. All ideas, sensations, feelings and emotions, desires and impressions I have, I share those all with others. Those are from the common pool of existence. We all are one. We have more things in common than we can think of. The Yogi and the Commissar, the saint and the sinner are all in me. As my friend Bill once wrote, “The life we live and the love that we are, is the same.” Sex is not opposite of saintliness or Godliness. The way out is the way through. The way to Godliness can be traversed with sex too. Buddha, of course, had a different view. For him life has no joy. What mankind called joy is only a short gap between two sorrows. Later on Thomas Hardy also said in similar vein that happiness is but a short episode in the general drama of pain that is called life. Buddha said that all our sorrows are due to the reason that we are all “joined to the unloved and separated from the loved’. In other words what or whom we love we never get, and we get what or whom we never love. This in short is the cause of our miseries. In real, the world has nothing of lasting value to offer us. The best we can do to end our suffering is to love whatever or whomever we have got as though we have consciously chosen it/him/her. In surrender lie the peace, harmony and grace. But that surrendered state is not so easy to come by. Because that would be the death of our egoic self that thrives on wants, fears, comparisons, interpretations, and feeling in some way separate from and superior to all others. If I can’t be superior in any other aspect then I can claim to be the most miserable man of all. But the truth is that even if there are much sorrows in my life; they are not the real me. My past, my history, my story are the contents that unfold in the consciousness that I am. As I go about my life can I remember that I am the awareness, the field of alert stillness in which all perceptions, memories and experiences happen? Can I shift my focus from the world of forms and objects to the one who perceives? From the world of impermanence and change to the One who is unchanged and abiding? The One who is of lasting value in a world of flux and change? All my stories try to illustrate this. I write only from and about my experiences. If only I can make a truthful rendition of them in my writings then in some miraculous ways that would strike a chord in your hearts too. After all, we are not separate selves, but only under a powerful illusion that we are so. It is only the existence experiencing through us in myriad ways. It only fell to my lot to record this particular experiencing as truthfully as I can. Once out of me it is as much yours as mine. As I write of Nisha I am trying to show not only her formal aspect or dimension but more about her eternal, abiding, spiritual aspect; Nisha as part of the knowing consciousness, full of beauty and love.

Now back to the story. The juice or seminal fluids flew freely out of Nisha during sex, so much so that sometimes I thought I was drowning. One day, halting in the middle of lovemaking, I said,”Nisha, you are in flood and in full spate again. I am drowning. Is there any way to dam this flood?”She understood my plight and as in many other situations before, took the reins in her hands. She wrapped a portion of her petticoat around her right middle finger and shoved it deep into her vagina and rotated it clockwise and anticlockwise till she thought the field was just suitable enough for me to sail through. I had not known till then that among the many uses of the versatile Indian petticoat, the garment Indian women wore under their saris, one was to clean dry the hallowed chamber of love during sex as and when required. She remarked that that was a demonstration for me and I was to replicate the procedure subsequently as and when I needed one. I admit, I had to dip my right middle finger with a portion of her petticoat wrapped around it into her vagina many a time after that and each time as I did that I was filled with an enormous amount of love, tenderness and gratitude to her for granting me the privilege to do so. Indeed it was a privilege granted to me by her very generously with no strings attached. By this one privilege she made me feel a lot of good about myself. To a confidence lacking youth of thirty this acted like oxygen and fired my imagination like nothing else in life ever had. She showed me my strengths. Up till then I had thought of myself as a bundle of weaknesses and frailties. As if by a magic wand, she proved with kindness and untold love that all so called weaknesses were just long- held thoughts in my head and thoughts could be changed. Indeed she changed a lot many of them. Being smothered with love above and under her, nestled in her body in sex, sucking her nipples in my mouth on the slightest pretext and opportunity as children do chocolates and sometimes dipping my right middle finger inside her, I began to bloom and thought of ways of making her and myself proud. It was no mean transformation for an extremely shy and diffident youth whom many had forsaken as hopeless and beyond redemption.

She made me feel prosperous too, though I didn’t have a great deal of money with me. She brought out in vivid illustration a truth about which I had only read somewhere but hadn’t been able to grasp its real importance so far. “True prosperity begins with feeling good about yourself. It is also the freedom to do what you want to do, when you want to do it. It is never an amount of money; it is a state of mind. Prosperity or the lack of it is an outer expression of the ideas in your head.” She put all the right ideas in my head that induced a calm, stable and happy state of mind and a prosperity consciousness which was foreign to me till then. Each time just before sex, she would make me sit straight on the bed beside her for a couple of minutes and instruct me to inhale deeply and repeat with her these three sentences silently:
1) Everything I need comes to me.
2) Everything I need to know is revealed to me.
3) All is well in my life.
I wish I had kept up that habit of repeating those powerful affirmations to myself as many times as I could in a day till this day. But Nisha having gone out of my life just as suddenly as she had appeared and my disastrous plunge into the mission impossible which is also called as marriage and its catastrophic consequences on my life, one of which was to render me into a forced celibate at the grand old age of forty and having to bear many scars on my body and psyche as a result of that misadventure, all this made me drift asunder and I was again cast away in the ocean of aimlessness and hopelessness. Just when I needed those affirmations most I let them slip off my mind and memory and reaped a heavy harvest of sorrows, despondencies and sufferings.

Again life has its balances and blessings. It gives us an opportunity to turn every mistake into a learning experience if we accept it in the right spirit with grace. These stories about Nisha, which are consciously written to put myself in the trajectory of love again where Nisha had showed me that we both belonged and indeed all of mankind, animals, birds, insects, fishes and trees also do really belong, should hold me in good stead and give me enough courage to repeat to myself “All is well in my life” notwithstanding my Quixotic adventure into the mission impossible. After all, all the commotions and agitations of life are on the surface. In the depth, all is only calm and no agitation or disturbance can reach there.

So in a sense, all is really well in my life, in your lives too, dear readers, if anyone of you should be feeling low or lost at the moment for any reason. If there are some sorrows, unhappiness in our lives we are just to find out what attracted those to our lives in the first place. If I am enmeshed in a relationship with a person who is wrong for me, then also I am to find out the causes that attracted her to my life. If my thoughts and beliefs had been on a higher level to hers then she could not have attracted me, she would have had little appeal for me. Nothing happens by chance in life. Whatever is and whatever happens are the result of a chain of innumerable causes and effects. There is inevitability about everything and every happening. So I have to first accept my lot forsaking all bitterness, whining and complaining. I know acceptance of a bad situation is the first step towards improving it or bringing a happy solution. In acceptance there is peace and grace. Grumbling and complaining only brings more of those bad fortunes, bad things and negative energies. Nisha had done her part in improving me a lot in a pleasant way. Who knows the one with whom I am currently having a most painful relationship might have been entrusted with a lesson equally or even more important for me to be delivered for which painful surgery is the only way, I won’t know. Who knows how much role the pains and sufferings have played in shaping me as I am at the moment. Life has its own ways of teaching us. Learning is less painful when we accept it graciously. With resistance the learning process drags on and much suffering ensues. Therefore, I have to accept things. I have to maintain serenity, peace and mental quietude at all times because stillness is required for wellbeing and creativity. I too believe in the words of the Buddha that one that remains serene even when reviled not only stays calm but also helps bring the other person calm down. That in itself is a “shining victory” in Buddha’s words. Of course, it hasn’t worked in that way in my case always. But one lifetime is not enough for spiritual practices. Creation of a marvel like the Taj Mahal for example, even on a physical or material plane, takes time. Or I might have much more bad karma to suffer till the equilibrium of the pendulum I might have caused to upset is neutralized on repeatedly hitting, knocking, beating and finally stopping on me. I am only doing my part, offering a little bit of olive branch to all, fostering peaceful thoughts for all, including those who hurt me. I can’t change others. I want to be the change that I want to see. It is all a self purification effort purported to be accomplished with understanding and right awareness. Each one is a soldier here for conducting himself in the best way that his understanding dictates.

Now let us be back to the story, the story woven around juicy sex, to be precise. This kind of journeying through past, present and future, through facts and speculations will continue. At the bottom and in the depth only the juice counts. Juicy women not only symbolize good sex but also have warm and loving personality. Intellectually they are vivacious and their conversations are stimulating. They are liberal and flexible. They are also compassionate, sociable and wide in heart. Dryness in women symbolizes frigidity, rigidity. Something in their system is not working. Wise among them consult a physician. Some have the sense to use on advice artificial gels, either water-based or silicon-based, for lubrication during sex. They avoid using petroleum jelly in there as it is harmful for vaginal environment. These women though born dry or have acquired dryness later on in life as a result of some infections still keep the thoughts of the happiness of their partners and the stability of their relationship in mind and thus are actually warm and loving. I count them as juicy too. A little bit of intelligent use of a good artificial gel would surely bring them many notches higher almost to the level of juicy women. But there are some, who would refuse to use any gel, however safe and comfortable they might be, for the barren pleasure of just spiting their partners. I think this specie in the west is already on their way out for extinction under the threat of divorce and a lifetime of loneliness. But here in India where divorce is a social taboo and almost a four letter word, the members of this tribe thrive. Sometimes I weep for myself, after having been on the receiving end of one of the members of this tribe but mostly I laugh at the foolishness of such women who would deprive themselves of a healthy, natural joy and spend their lives in search of joy from acquisition of things like gold, silver, dresses, crockery, shoes, rugs, junk food, fat and what not just to spite their partners. A strange kind of vengeance or there might be some method in their madness which a lesser mortal like me can’t understand.
What a contrast was Nisha from this mad, unintelligible and unknowable world! Whereas just living with a dry, loveless woman is prone to bring about a serious bout of neurosis on oneself, spending a couple of hours with a juicy woman like Nisha was a joy in itself. At the end of the hour with Nisha I would be feeling good and great about myself. Silently I would be repeating to myself that I approved of myself in all ways. And those sessions of lovemaking following those affirmations on the bed with her were so powerful and incredibly joyful that it seemed to me as if with each intercourse I was being flooded with powerful chemicals in my brain and in my system which not only induced supreme joy in me but also fostered a powerful and deep bond between us that knew no fear, no misgiving and no serious thoughts about consequences. We were just deeply into each other and playfully exploring the joys of sex in its entire splendor. Strangely but happily, regarding sex, bodily parts in general and sexual organs in particular, we both believed the same kind of thoughts and ideas which could be summarized thus:
“Every organ of our body is a magnificent expression of life with its own special functions. The anus is as beautiful as the ear. Without our anus we would have no way to release what the body no longer needs, and we would die very quickly. Every part of our body and its function is perfect, normal and beautiful. Our sexual organs were created as the most pleasurable part of our body to give us pleasure. To deny this is to create pain and punishment. Sex is not only okay, it is glorious and wonderful. It is as normal for us to have sex as it is for us to breathe or eat”.
The joys of sex I and Nisha were exploring included a lot of foreplay, like cuddling, stroking and manipulating her whole body and especially kissing and sucking her lips, tongue and breasts. All this foreplay took much time and we didn’t have a safe place to ourselves for that much of time. After that first afternoon of sex in her room and a few sessions thereafter we got bolder and thought my place too would suit us equally well or even better. We truncated the sexual act into two parts. The foreplay part was done in my small kitchen while both of us stood erect. She leaned slightly on the wall and received my impassioned kisses on her lips and breasts. She was not cold or passive either. She responded completely to my commands or requests. During one of these foreplay sessions while both of us stood erect, after half an hour of tongue, lips and breast sucking, I had an inspiration to inspect her genital. I wanted to see the condition in there in response to our impassioned kisses. As I sat down at her feet and tried to lift her sari up to her waist she unexpectedly held on to it firmly in between her clenched knees and thighs and won’t let me see her genital. This was novel and instantly I knew I was in for a surprising discovery. I became determined to unravel the mystery. I tried to separate her legs with force initially but as that failed I requested her to let go and show me all which she obliged with a smile which I have not yet forgotten. Happy memories associated with a good sexual partner are so deeply imprinted and etched in our mind that even a quarter of a century of time has not been able to dislodge them! What I saw there was beyond my imagination. The whole area between her thighs and around her genital was flooded with juice and it had trickled down in a neat stream to her feet where it had touched ground. I remarked in surprise and joy, “You are in flood again. It promises a very slippery journey ahead.”
Sometimes in the midst of our impassioned kisses, strangely, she would start crying. Those crying were without gasping, sobbing or making any noises. She would stop kissing and copious tears would just start flowing from her eyes. On being asked about the reason of her unaccountable tear-shedding, she would invariably just shake her head or say that that was nothing. But I always thought that probably she had been reminded of Hari and his passionate kisses of yore. Or the shock of his tragic death came home to her most vividly and forcefully during those times. Or she might be having some kind of a mystical experience, I would never know.

We performed the second and the final part of the sexual act on the bed. On reaching this stage only we shut the doors and windows of my room so as to minimize as much as possible the time when my room actually remained completely shut. I think it never exceeded twenty or thirty minutes at the most. But, that much of time was just sufficient for us to make a relaxed sexual act complete. Almost always we both came out of the act having been thoroughly relaxed and deeply satisfied. My reaching of the orgasm was invariably a violently explosive event while strangely Nisha’s had been a much muted and subdued one, so subdued as to be hardly noticed from the outside. In fact, if she didn’t almost always report in the affirmative to my query, after sex, if she just experienced an orgasm, I won’t have known. Sometimes I thought she was lying to make me happy. A peculiar and strange habit of the human male! Unlike males of any other species we suck female breasts before, during and after sex and worry if she did or didn’t have an orgasm. And proud like a king and happy like a god is the man who has been just confirmed of his mate’s orgasm! The gait of that man for the next forty eight hour assumes a cockiness that sets him apart from the rest of the mere mortals. One day to clarify my doubt I asked her the cause of her so subdued and muted climaxes. She replied that she was fine with them. Any spectacular, violently explosive orgasm like mine would only bring her a migraine which she dreaded most. I was relieved. An unusual woman with an unusual symptom! So juicy, so loving and yet burdened with a curse, or so I thought.

Mating with a juicy woman has many rewards besides being bombarded with lavish doses of chemicals that fill one with feel good emotions which is an experience by itself. It keeps the youth in you alive. Each sexual act with Nisha assumed a life of its own with its own novel experience, its own set of anecdotes and stories woven around that experience to describe it. Here I think it is fit to share an anecdote woven around a particular sex act. I was on her that day and relaxedly humping and pumping away just to keep my erection alive and keep the sex act a going concern. I was in no mood to bring an early, hasty end to the act. That irritable reaching after a swift climax, so prevalent in the animal kingdom and among humans too, most probably inherited through our genes from generations of practices and racial consciousness born out of the need for quick sex as a survival tactic which in the changed circumstances of twentieth century has become an anachronism, was playing spoilsport to my resolve for prolonged sex. In my quest for prolonged sex I had made Nisha take the active role on top of me so many times before and usually it had worked. Like a perfect partner she obeyed all my requests. But that day I was on the active mode and fully in charge. Or so I thought. After a silent count of a hundred pelvic thrusts and a good deal of humping and pumping I felt the powerful pull of inertia and breathlessness bringing me to an abrupt halt. In fact I halted so abruptly that a pelvic thrust was cut short half on its way home. In that restful state I was about to consign myself to a state of forgetfulness for a couple of minutes, to think of everything except sex, in order to nip in the bud that well-known sensation of impending ejaculation welling up from deep within me like a rising crescendo, that dreaded enemy of the much sought after prolonged sex, when exactly a second later I felt a distinctly discernible upward pelvic thrust from below me, from Nisha, and a distinct sound of the creaking of the cot going along with the thrust. In the midst of a rhythmical swing of thrusts and counterthrusts while she was ready for another of my thrust and when that was missing due to my abrupt stop she could not halt herself and her upward pelvic thrust was the result. And what a pleasant surprise that was for me! It uncovered a world of wonder to me right inside her.

I have treasured the touch of that upward pelvic thrust and the crisp and clear sound of the creaking of the bed till this date and will continue to treasure it till my last. In fact I don’t consciously hold it but it gets held. Such is the power of sex and joy and wonder in life! It may not be an earthshaking event for the world but it was immensely important for me. For some, mounting the peaks of the Himalayas or the Alps, going on a long cross-country long drive or dining on a fifty course dinner followed by a bottle of vintage excellent wine may be more important. But to me getting a glimpse of human nature from a very ordinary act or behavior has been more important and a constant source of joy. That missed pelvic thrust from Nisha that day was an eye opener for me. It brought home to me in vivid detail that women too enjoyed sex as much as men and one could be actively contributing to the joys of sex even while seemingly passive and in spite of having been pinned down under a humping and pumping gorilla. For unknown to me and unthinkable for me at that point of life, Nisha was not only enjoying my pelvic thrusts she was also actively preparing her pelvic area perfectly so as to receive the full impact of each thrust that would stimulate her clitoris and other spots deep inside her maximally. In this participatory universe of love she was deeply into a joyful, participatory sexual experience which many women with outlandish ideas and outmoded thoughts might not have an inkling of. That day with that pelvic thrust which exposed her sexuality so beautifully she became my most preferred mate. I had an unexpected glimpse into her mind through that missed pelvic thrust that melted away all the remaining vestiges of differences, separateness and I felt at one with her and the universe. Didn’t I say that even through sex that highest feeling of Oneness can be reached and our most tenacious illusions of separateness can also be dropped?

She asked not without a visible trace of embarrassment, while incredulously opening and blinking her eyes which she always kept shut during the entire duration of sex leading me to think that she enjoyed sex most in that shut-eye, dark position, “Why have you stopped?”
I said smiling,” If I didn’t stop I would have missed a masterpiece which you created from the world of your imagination that you kept firmly shut from the rest of the world including me so far. Now I know what went on behind those shut eyes during sex. Now I know sex is less on the outside and more in the imagination. It is all in the head, behind those shut eyes more specifically. You are an artiste in there.”
She just smiled shutting her eyes again.
I went on looking at her face, so loving, innocent, pure and alive with that touch of embarrassment for having been found out at her secret joy. Little did she know that I had just discovered the perfect match for me, thrust for thrust, thought by thought.
She asked,” Will you do something or continue to just look at me?”
I smiled and said,”Oh dear, you are just perfect. I love you so much.”
Then I resumed and completed the unfinished joy.
I was thirty then. Little did I know that I was rapidly exhausting my quota of joy from the outside world, the world of physical sex. My joyful days with any sexual partner were hurtling down to an abrupt close. Thereafter was to loom before me the prospect of a lifetime of wandering and inhabiting in the world of imagination behind the firmly shut eyes. Now I create my joys by discovering them in myself, in my imagination. During these two decades I have had innumerable times of sex and almost ninety nine percent of those had been imaginary. There is a whole world to discover within, all the beautiful women and all the joys are there within me. I have already discovered that even forced celibacy is not without its blessings. It compels one to go within, to dig within where all joys, all blessings, all love, all welcome reside. Our loving mates, whether from life or from the imagination only become an occasion, a medium and an opportunity to bring those to the surface. If those emotions were not there, no mates however loving and beautiful would be able to make us see, feel or experience love. In fact, the whole world becomes the screen for projecting the very love and beauty that I have within myself. Loving love in the outside is good but seeing the projector of mind in operation is even better.
All that I need to know is revealed to me. All that I need comes to me. All is well in my life. Buddha said, ”Never forget any person, for howsoever a short moment you might have come across him.’ It meant that nothing that happens in and around you should escape your awareness. To that I only add that never forget or neglect even any tiny pelvic thrusts or counterthrusts; whether on target, missed or otherwise.