The Professional Sex Writer

Her husband thinks she writes porn. This is what happens when you know stuff like the Sanskrit word for the G-spot

The disappointment on people’s faces when they first meet me and more importantly hear what I do is palpable. The very least one expects of people who write about sexuality surely is that they are youthful and sexy, not overweight, middle aged women, right? Wrong.  The truth is that sex knows no race, religion, gender and, thank God, weight. So I’ve happily been at it for some time now—writing about erotica, that is. All human behaviour is fascinating, but nothing intrigues as much as things sexual. Civilisations have evolved, as have human beings and attitudes, but one thing has remained unchanged—society’s preoccupation with sex. What is it that makes us behave the way we do? What should we do, where and how, and who with?

Being Indian, my first encounter was naturally with the Kama Sutra. Giggling self-consciously as a bunch of sexually thwarted teenagers, we nervously flicked through the pages in shock and awe. So, this was what sex was all about… synchronised gymnastics! Some years and many Cosmos later, I was a bit wiser, but remained intrigued. This was what all the fuss was about? The more I researched and read, the more fascinating it became. Finally, after years of study, I was asked by a well known publisher to do a version of the Kama Sutra for women. “Equal rights these days,” he said justifying the adaptation for a feminist era. I agreed enthusiastically. My husband was obviously not so excited. “Writing about sex is usually called pornography,” he said, gently trying to dissuade me. The discussion went on for a while as I defended lusty writers of a bygone era, and, as usual, feminine guile and sex won the day! But he wasn’t far off the mark.

There was the inevitable awkwardness of having parents’ friends and relatives read reviews of my amassed wisdom on sexuality. Soon I was getting calls from Western networks: could they film me holding Kama Sutra workshops? By the time I’d fobbed off everyone, my husband wore a permanent I-told-you-so look!  

The dust had barely settled when I did an anthology of eroticism in literature, titled Love and Lust.  I proudly presented the first copy with what I thought was a loving dedication to my Tamil mother. “Sex again! And this time about the sex lives of gods?” she asked, horrified after reading about Yama, Yami, Indra and other naughty gods. She added as an after-thought, “Why don’t you try your hand at fiction like everyone else?”

Managing my husband and parents is relatively easy, but children are much more judgmental. I remember my son peering over my shoulder when proofs of the book came, leaving me in a quandary about whether to let him see the pictures or shoo him away. Finally, I decided that leafing through the book together may well break the ice, since he was due for the talk, anyway. We did and had a rollicking time laughing at archaic antics with names like Herd of Cows, Crushing Spices and Doing the Monkey. So, many enlightening conversations about girl psychology, safe sex and campus excesses later, when he turned 18, I ended up presenting him a deluxe version of the Kama Sutra,  inscribed,  ‘Anything worth doing is worth doing well.’  In fact, when he went to university, I found the demand for my books grow. Apparently his friends were flaunting it in college, claiming expertise on the subject since their ‘aunt’ had written it!

A friend of mine in a sagging marriage perplexed by the utter lack of stirrings despite explicit overtures on her part, believed that her husband’s ‘maximum ejaculatory distance’,  to use a Newsweek term, had been reduced to nothing, specifically with her. She wanted me to discreetly find out whether he was getting action elsewhere or whether it was a case of sudden death. The affronted husband laid the blame squarely on all wives for being perpetual naysayers; moreover, “How can you make love to women who go to bed slathered in anti-wrinkle cream?”  

A week ago, I came across an Italian gentleman who stood, mouth agape, when my friends introduced me as someone who knows ‘a lot about sex’. “I’ve lived 10 years in India and never met a woman who writes about sexuality…understandable since India is the ‘inventor’ of the Kama Sutra, but amazing when you see so many shaking bushes in Lodhi gardens,” he said.

More often than not, curious men sidle up to me, asking for details. One persistent guy even landed up at my doorstep insisting that he share his experiences in the interest of science!

Then there are the discussions with Sanskritists about details like the correct name and etymology for the G spot—when and where does it find mention? The sardagrdi, as it is called, first appears in the horse sacrifice rituals in the Yajur Veda (approximately 3,400 years ago) and stands for a
part within the vagina, which, when stimulated, maximises pleasure. Latter day medical texts make other precise and interesting observations. For example, the recommended interval between two sexual encounters should be no more than a muhurta, which is 24 minutes. When I shared this with a group of friends, all the women pointedly turned to their husbands, who scurried off to get drinks. These books also recommend the usage of alcohol as a sexual stimulant, and one even has a prayer to Kamadeva, the God of Love, to ensure that dildos (they were in existence even in Mohenjo-Daro) do their job satisfactorily!

No, before you too turn up at my doorstep, I am not a sex therapist, relationship specialist or agony aunt, and so obviously not qualified to dish out advice for dysfunctional body parts, sexual anxieties and relationship angst. I am only a researcher of obscure manuscripts on sexuality, who is riveted by the huge repertoire of human behaviour. But no more. To pacify an extremely distraught husband, I’ve had to take my mother’s advice. I have now taken to writing fiction.

About The Author

Sandhya Mulchandani