Pallavi Barnwal - Sex Is...

SEX IS

SEX IS

Memoir of a Womans Sexuality

Pallavi Barnwal

BLOOMSBURY INDIA

Bloomsbury Publishing India Pvt. Ltd

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This edition published in 2021

Copyright Pallavi Barnwal 2021

Pallavi Barnwal has asserted her right under the Indian Copyright Act to be identified as the Author of this work

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ISBN: PB: 978-9-3891-6545-6; eBook: 978-9-3891-6546-3

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CONTENTS

This memoir is an intensely personal and brutal account of people and incidents that have shaped my life. Maya Angelou once said, Most people simply age, they dont grow. And I have known both ageing and growing in my three and a half decades of life. I realised that no growth happens without pain. There is a lot of disruption as the sapling erupts from the seed and rises above the ground to become a bough-laden tree. For years, I lay dormant, buried under the spell of indoctrination, obeying traditions and customs. Then one day an opportunity presented itself and I opened my wrought-iron windows wide and smelled the air of freedom. The autumn of my life had passed and I was entering my spring. This spring tasted sweeter because I had braved through storms in the past.

It took a Herculean effort to claim what I truly was destined for and desired. Often our destinies and desires diverge and that results in a deep discontentment. I have seen many people and their families; some families decide the destinies of people, telling them what they can do and what they cannot. I took charge of my destiny from the hands of people whom I had entrusted to safeguard it. I had a string of affairs: simultaneous, sexual, asexual, with younger men, with older men. I underwent a divorce and decided to not ask for alimony: a decision I quickly regretted after I saw a swish, heavily tattooed woman being handed over a 15-lakhs cheque by her terrified husband and father-in-law. I almost contracted an STD twice when the promiscous man I was with insisted on having intercourse without a condom. I have supported two unemployed male partners, consequently going broke myself. I have self-harmed my body as I tried to cope with lifes horrible troubles. These scars on my skin are remnants of my pain and suffering, but they also show my will to survive. I turned my attention away from my childs life just so I could focus on my personal and spiritual growth.

Despite all of this, Im terribly terrified; terrified of men who may molest or rape, terrified of the feelings I develop for men who are nothing but one-night flings, terrified of the innocence of my child who does not know of the evil that exists in the world, terrified of my Baba who always thought I was an illegitimate child, terrified of my brain which has only learnt to mistrust. These fears are difficult to overlook. I both hate and love men; love them with all the intense emotions of my heart, and I hate them for their penises that, unlike vaginas, cannot be penetrated.

But then again, my spirit is indomitable like the mighty Himalayas. I will survive every snowstorm. Im happy that I have not outlived all my passions, which gives me things to look forward to. Im happy to have discovered myself, my wants, my agonies and my loathing. Ive reinvented my aspirations: from being a nine-to-five worker to becoming an independent sexuality educator.

This is me. Ready for you to read me, uncover me and discover me.

L ooking back, I think I have had the most enriching childhood among my friends. There was a perfect balance of desolation and hope; just the way a cook balances spices and salt in their cooking, not too high, not too low. Too much desolation could have made me a loner and too much hope would make me an impractical daydreamer. Im a bit of both. I sometimes resort to an intense emotional responseinward anger, dejection and pessimismas a coping mechanism in my interpersonal relationships, but I am also an empathetic, intelligent person. Ones childhood is the blueprint for ones future. I wont say that one needs a lot of wealth to build a happy future, but a lot of decisions one makes as an adult are based on values, beliefs and attitudes that are founded very early in ones childhood. If I could sum up my childhood in one word, I would say unrest.

As a seven-year-old, I would wake up from my sleep listening to Mas muffled whimpers. She would sit on the floor near the mat on which Baba slept, rubbing his feet and requesting him to come to bed. He would gently decline her pleas and her wails would turn louder and louder. This happened every night. Our mother would wait for Nishu and me to fall asleep before going to Baba and asking him to come to bed. I pretended to sleep but sneakily watched my mothers tribulations, day in and day out. This memory lodged itself deep in my subconscious mind and kept reappearing for years. Like my mother, I believed that one had to surrender to ones husband completely to save ones relationship and marriage. I emulated my mother by becoming dependent on my male companions, giving in to their demands even when I didnt have to.

Baba always had an elusive presence in my childhood. He would take us out sometimes: during festivals, when he received promotions or on our birthdays. He was mostly inconspicuous otherwise. He would return late at night, park his car near the garage gate and honk. Inside the house, Ma would wake me up and ask me to go and open the gate. It was usually past midnight when he returned home. I sleepily tottered to the gate and opened it. Like a programmed robot, I used to come back to my room and go back to sleep.

Its weird how memories get imprinted in our minds. What do these memories serve to do? What is their purpose? Sometimes I resent them and sometimes I want to go back in time and live through those times again. The days of our lives are not just days; they are stations on the journey of our lives. Stations where we sit and chart our routes, decide where we want to go. Looking back, it seems like I charted a somewhat haphazard route to contentment and happiness. I had the tools, there was a lot of information, but there is a difference between the information that helps people in their jobs and the information that helps them live their lives. Throughout my life, I strived to earn well because that is what I was taught to aspire for, as a child. I strived to be unconditionally giving because that is what I saw women around me do. No one taught me how to dream or how to find happiness. I came to terms with the word suicide quite early in my life. It happened near my old house when I was seven. A woman in my neighbourhood, who was in her early 30s, hanged herself. She left behind two small children. I will not name her husband because men always have it easier when such adversities strike. Their parents find them a second partner but the children rarely find another mother who holds them with the same affection as their deceased parent. I remember asking Ma about what happened to her, why she had taken such an extreme step. Ma did not have any answers. She said,