Peacocks preen,dogs sniff tails,monkeys may do excessive
grooming in the dance to mate.
World wide men may resort to walking across bars,and women
may elicit those encounters with shy fluttering of eyes or maybe even bolder
come hither looks.
It’s a dance that each species perfects in its bid to
perpetuate itself and evolve along with the best specimen that they can win
over.
But have you ever wondered about the Indian mating
ritual? After the Kamasutra got world wide
recognition from the hidden recesses of a ledge under piles of books in an Indian
home,gathering dust,what happened?
As cultures imposed on cultures,different veils fell on women who became more translucent behind the fluttering
muslin of life,a screen that pulled the eyes forcibly away from the sway of a
woman’s hip,and masked the masculine strut of the average Indian man , the
glance of the hooded coded looks fell to the floor after centuries of muslin
divide,leading to an opaqueness.
But evolution and survival of the fittest cannot be screened
away,its nature that devices ways around it.
Chancing upon peeking assets hidden away for centuries makes an Indian mans blood dance and boil. As the unsuspecting female specimen walks
into the sphere of influence, The Indian Male Breaks into a spontaneous
song. Could the song be one that last played on radio? or could it be that they
channel into the most lewd song they have heard, to transmit the audio waves,creating
a reactionary glance out of mere shock?I would never be able to tell.
The purpose is to channelize attention to self and as eyes
connect Voila!theres the chance.
This happened well into the eighties, an experiment that was
successfully carried out nation wide sung from voice boxes propped on lanky
shoulders of ten casually leaning boys,with hands finding business in their
pockets very engaging and the other hand loosely draped over the other nine in a standing chain.
When conditioning led to the recipient becoming tone deaf to whistles or seranaded
bollywood songs bounced off unaffected ears.The once easily shocked glances glazed over,busying
themselves into their tweeting phones it Announced the turn of the century of ignoring.
Compounding the issue is the fact that the muslin cloth is
sliding gradually away from the curve of the shoulder and the whiteness of the
Indian woman's untanned legs are titillating in touchable allure in front of a man that’s standing
muted in lack of response to his practice of almost a century.
Curbed by society,where hands join in veneered salutation
yet the glance leers disrespectfully at half mast, sometimes straining against
it, a few of these bulls break free and shock with brute force.
Shock a mating into reality that shrieks resistance from the
ebony hair that get clutched in a raging fist.
Breeding a mutual distrust bodes danger for the beauty of
creation.Leeching the creativity away.
Making the streets of possibilities amongst the smell of
marigolds fall silent in terror,a silence broken by Women scrambling past in a tearing hurry to get to safety before the clock strikes twelve.
Where has the romance vanished off the streets? the music and
rhythm of life has paved way to scrambling and online dating excursions deemed
relatively safer.
If Man were to realize that the glance of chance could fall
on him were he to say put the transistor away and open a door for the lady instead,that door
could lead into a conversation that binds for life.
Could the Indian man be taught that even though the muslin
has been shredded and slipped into the modernity of time,the beauty that is
exposed is standing hesitant behind.
It is still an object to be won over, not possessed.
These soft lessons are best whispered , Its all in the teaching hand.And its all a learning Curve
taught in a loving mother's lap.
Respect, Gentleness,Trust - A lullaby that cradles our future.
