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So, what do you think of when you think ‘pornography’?
It’s something that thrives on the dark and depraved desires of men? It objectifies women to the extreme and promotes sexual violence? It’s a world dotted with immoral and unknown dangers and pitfalls?
If you have a ‘yes’ for all these questions, you are not alone. And this is what makes Richa Kaul Padte’s Cyber Sexy: Rethinking Pornography such an eye-opener. For one, the book does exactly what it says – it helps you “rethink” pornography, delving deep and wide into a world many of us have a fuzzy knowledge about, at best. For another, it helps question the filters we use to look at – and judge – this world and its inhabitants.
Padte follows a distinct three-pronged modus operandi to approach the theme:
Each category works for some and not so much for others, and the idea – as the author keeps underlining through the book – is to find your own sexual space online where you can just be, without the fear of being judged or maligned.
All this begins with the acknowledgement of one’s sexuality, and by extension, pornography.
What is the “acceptable” sexual behaviour in our society? she asks, leaving us a little startled with the answer - a heterosexual relationship defined by men (always upper caste/ upper class/ white/ cisgendered), where women and other minorities (LGBT, differently-abled and so on) have no agency – scratch that, they don’t and can’t have sexual desires. What is the acceptable sexual more, changes with what’s at stake for those in power.
And this is where the internet has revolutionised the sexual world. In a society where sex is a dirty, bad word shrouded in mystery, most Indians often get to understand the very mechanics of sex online.
In fact, the chapter where Padte describes sex education classes across Indian schools is as hilarious as it’s relatable.
For, like it or not, a huge number of Indians consume pornography – according to Pornhub’s 2017 report, Indians are their third largest consumers. And a good percentage of this number includes women.
Does this ring a few bells?
Padte goes on to methodically debunk some popular beliefs around pornography – objectification of women (a lot of the content is created by women themselves, so why are we denying them agency?), promotes sexual violence (the objectification of women in daily culture like ads, films etc are way more harmful, according to studies), all content is non-consensual (untrue).
The last one, especially, is a double-edged sword that only definitive laws can help clear. In India, everything from consensual underage sexy participation to what is morally deemed as “lascivious” to violation of consent (think revenge porn) and sexual violence – all come under ubiquitous and vague obscenity laws.
And it helps promote the oft-quoted dictum, she asked for it, and argue in favour of barring women from using technology, among other things.
To explain consent and respect, Padte points towards the BDSM community, debunking yet another myth along the way.
What Cyber Sexy makes us realise is that the debate around pornography is essentially about the right to one’s identity. It is about being comfortable in one’s skin – quite literally – and the right to find pleasure alone or consensually with like-minded people without being guilted out or punished for it.
(Food for thought: Was the idea of sex “dirty” before Christianity and the Original Sin made it so?)
It’s also about respect, about opening our mental doors to accept that there are as many kinds of desires as there are different people – online and off – and denying it helps no one. It’s essentially about respecting the “other”. And this is where online pornography is acting as the great leveller.
Padte’s lucid, often chuckle-inducing style makes Cyber Sexy an engaging read. And apart from the research that has quite obviously gone into it, what strikes one is its honest tone. The author doesn’t flinch from sharing personal fears and failings even as she never stops reinstating the importance of being open to ideas and inclinations different from one’s own.
The ideas that Padte discusses in the book may not be entirely new to some. Groups like ‘Agents of Ishq’ and ‘Whores of Yore’ have been doing some serious work to promote body positivity and encourage conversations around sex, sexuality and desire.
What Cyber Sexy does however, is demystify a much maligned world in an India-only context, while discussing pitfalls and the consequences of possible bans. It is indeed an essential primer for anyone who’s looking for sex education; who wants to understand the world of pornography, and by extension, the inner worlds of men and women.
(‘Cyber Sexy: Rethinking Pornography’ by Richa Kaul Padte is published by Penguin Books; Rs 399)
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