Podcast: Pornography, Growing up and Why I Stopped Watching

Before the internet, pornography was far from sordid. It was part of growing up.

It was the beginning of this century and there was nothing sordid about it.

Four boys, all of us under 13, cycled 25 minutes from our homes through snaking, pot-holed galis which had turned into obstacle courses thanks to an unusually heavy winter shower.

Freezing, wet and high on anticipation, Amar, Akbar, Anthony and I (names changed, obviously) reached the rows of magazine shops and dhabas at the Malviya Nagar-Khirki border. Our cablewala had stopped broadcasting Fashion TV and we needed a replacement. We stacked up on all the ‘innocent’ magazines we could find, and somewhere between Sportstar and Autocar, Amar slipped in a copy of Mermaid and, while we were at the counter, Anthony stole a copy of Debonair.

Now, not to put too fine a point on it, but Mermaid sucked. And was a bit much for our barely pubescent sensibilities. Or perhaps it was the fact that none of us wanted to look at something that graphic in the company of our friends. Without saying a word, we consigned the lace clad, orally enthusiastic ladies of Mermaid to the wayside.

Debonair was a different story. It was Playboy for those who couldn’t afford it. It had articles, stories of sexual encounters that American college students had, and what has to be the greatest agony aunt column of all time.

Together, we pored over the magazine for months, even years. Of course, the ladies displayed on its pages did get a lion’s share of our attention. After a while, though, the same thing gets boring. When you’re 12 or 13, it’s a long while, but even attractive women in all their glory can lose their charm.

But the rest of Debonair did not. We would read the articles with interest and the first person tales (something like Letters to Penthouse) with fascination. And finally, the agony aunt column led to what is still and will always be the greatest creative collaboration of my life.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Debonair Advisor.

Recorded on an old dictaphone of my father’s that we discovered in the loft, it became the funniest thing we had ever done.

Akbar was the host, the man who would provide “solutions” and the rest of us would be the callers with the “problems”. Caricatured high pitched voices for women, over-the-top baritones for men and a sort of Scooby Doo-ish voice for a very memorable, if gross, incident involving a dog. And it wasn’t just advice provided straight up. We would re-enact the problems posed in the magazine, complete with sound effects and sometimes even background music, provided by the musically gifted Antony, pieces of cardboard and an old ‘Casio’.

That was pornography for me, a part of growing up. It was illicit, exciting and frankly, not too unsavoury. We grew out of that phase of bicycles and magazines. Amar was the first one to get a girlfriend and a few months later, the rest of us followed. Then the internet revolution happened and anyone could access anything. It was no longer something you needed your friends for, something that was daring and difficult to get. It also became sleazy. Sitting in a room, alone, watching other people have unrealistic sex is far from appealing. There was for me, something pathetic about it. So I stopped.

But like the first cigarette smoked secretly, or your first hangover, the days of the Debonair Advisor will always be an important part of my coming-of-age tale.