My relationship with sex could be summarized in the following terms: ignorance, followed by awareness, followed by an absolute unwillingness to engage, academic engagements, followed by willingness (accompanied by lack of opportunities) and finally now, the curious sexual turn. After having had a fairly pristine life – sexually speaking – sex has now become an integral part of my life: they are always making love in the room upstairs. The charm of living in old wooden houses in America is that it gives you a sense of community. If (concrete) walls have ears in India, the wooden walls here have 1000 watt speakers. There is no scope to mistake, much less to ignore the society around me.
The first time, it started with some wild running and dancing in the room above. Soon it was thump, thump, thump followed by some conversation (or perhaps a monologue in feminine voice), followed by an invigorated thump, thump, thump. Now that sex has descended on me, literally, my preoccupation with it has increased. What kind of bed do they use? That’s not the kind I want to have, I tell myself. I have sworn by now that I will never live with a room below me. What sort of conversations does one have while making love (alas, those monologues keep me up, but are never clear enough for me to make sense of).
Friends of mine for whom knowledge is a practical pursuit will be surprised by my ruminations about sex. How does it matter to me, the eternal single man? Here’s my two pennies for them: I too am a practical man, one with a broad vision. I believe that knowledge should be applied and should be practical, and I always have a plan on hand. And for those doubting Thomases who are still wondering what I will do with this knowledge, here’s my strategy, and you will believe me now: “he who can does, he who can’t writes a blog post”.