Kama Sutra & The Perfumed Garden
In orientalist thought, it is common to paint all of the ‘East’ as a singular exotic and foreign place. The irony of it is that every culture within the ‘East’ has its own dichotomies, nuances, and juxtapositions.
Texts about sex are no exception. I was first introduced to the Kama Sutra when I was in high school in Australia. Having little to no understanding of what it was, I heard passing comments about it and was even jokingly asked whether I had a copy. When in response I asked my white Australian friend whether he had any books on the causes and effects of the bubonic plague, since his ancestors most probably lived through it in the dark ages, he wasn’t too impressed.
After this interesting encounter, I picked it up and decided to see what the fuss was all about. It has been a celebrated piece of literature for 1700 years and was originally written in Sanskrit. Being from Pakistan, our national language is a derivative of Sanskrit but mixed in with multiple others. Even though much of it is spoken the same way, the script is entirely different. So much for diving deep into the original text.
When I picked up an English translation, though it must have lost some of its original shine, the content was fascinating. Contrary to popular belief, it was much more than illustrations of sexual positions. There were themes of politics, social customs, and cultural practices, which made me feel that even sexuality is inevitably influenced by culture.
Truth be told, being a teenager, the sexual positions fascinated me the most. Given some of the serious physical and mental discipline required to master some of these positions, it was no surprise that this was from a previous era. Before the onset of mass media, hyper-capitalism, and other modern phenomena, people could shut themselves off from the world, and pursue their passions without being a slave to the global order. Years later when I started practicing yoga and meditation, I was joking to some of my friends that even we may now have the physical and mental wherewithal to practice some of these positions.
One of the more interesting themes from the book was sexuality being a spiritual experience, one to be embraced and consumed with reckless abandon. The irony of it wasn’t lost on me that the prevailing culture in the Indian subcontinent today is the antithesis of this. Hyper-nationalism, creeping conservatism and religious and cultural orthodoxy paint sexuality as an act of procreation, rather than pleasure. It baffled me to think that 1700 years ago, this book got more traction than today, when we are more educated and aware about sexuality.
A few years after reading the Kama Sutra for the first time, I moved from Australia to Pakistan. Having lived the last 10 years of my life in Australia I had been influenced greatly by the notion of sexuality that were instilled in the social circles I frequented. Sexual liberty had been taught to me in terms of free love, woodstock, and the sexual revolution that had influenced Western Europe. I wondered what sexuality meant in my country of birth, and I went hunting. In multiple pieces of anthropological literature, I read about fertility shrines dotted across the Punjab province in Pakistan. The shrines had penises and other phallic imagery to which women and men would come and pay homage, in order to ask for fertility and greater sexual liberty. These were all practices indigenous to the Indian subcontinent before organised religion found its footing. I found these sexual practises to be complementary to the teachings of the Kama Sutra, which showed that centuries ago, sexuality was explored deeply and played a predominant role in people’s lives. In modern day Pakistan, when I spoke to my friends and colleagues about sexuality it seemed to be something almost exclusively for the private sphere, a far cry from the open and prominent shrines which sought sexual patronage from those who revered it.
This was a lot for me to take in. Half my life in Australia had taught me to see sexual liberty as a recent phenomenon, and gave eastern sexual literature no heed, apart from the odd joke here and there. Whereas the reality was that books such as the Kama Sutra, and fertility shrines like the ones I read about were indications of the rich history of sexuality that permeated my native Pakistan and the greater Indian subcontinent. Now as a Pakistani-Australian, not only did my Australian school curriculum have sexual education built into it, even my family roots across the Indian subcontinent were linked to cultures that were progressive and proud of their sexual identity.
More recently, I chanced upon another book which flipped the script on sexuality. The Perfumed Garden is a 15th-century Arabic sex manual, which apart from sex positions, provides sexual and medicinal advice. The modern-day Arab world is generally considered a highly conservative society, and it is therefore fascinating to see that such books have been translated and are available for purchase. There were some really fascinating verses in the book, least of which was the following:
‘Your religion resides in your vulva, and the manly member is your soul.’
The topics of ‘religion’ and ‘soul’ respectively have always played a prominent role in Arab society. In that culture, to correlate these topics with sexuality made it not only permissible, but liberating to discuss and indulge in one’s sexuality. As a TCK, it was fascinating to see how sexuality in both the Arab world and the Indian subcontinent had been legitimised through cultural standpoints. Today I read about the scientific and health related benefits of embracing one’s sexuality, whereas in the past the prevailing cultures advanced this cause through other means.
Another fascinating quote was as follows: ‘The man who deserves favours is, in the eyes of women, the one who is anxious to please them.’
To an outsider, the Arab world may seem like a culture where norms propagate misogyny and inequality, but this quote showed that sex is a two way street, and pleasure is bilateral. It was fitting to see that as a TCK, sexuality can help critique cultural myths, and stop us from boxing cultures into silos. I remember whilst dating in Australia, many girls firstly thinking I was Arab, and consequently asking me about my thoughts on gender equality and women’s rights. When I responded by asking them about their thoughts on colonisation and white privilege, any thoughts I entertained about taking things further were culled. After reading The Perfumed Garden, I did wish that some of those women would read it as well, so their demeaning questions didn’t have to be countered by mine.
Of late, whenever there is a discussion about sexuality with my Australian friends, I tell them with pride that books such as the Kama Sutra and The Perfumed Garden are evidence of an open and progressive approach to sexuality in the East, which far outdated the sexual revolution that came to the West in the 60s and 80s. The shrines found across the Indian subcontinent are further evidence of the deep embeddedness of sexuality into daily mores. Perhaps it is worth realising that our traditions and cultures are worth much more than a passing jibe or a cheap joke.
Coincidentally when speaking to my Pakistani friends, there is shock and dismay that these practices are an intrinsic part of the cultures indigenous to our region. It is my upbringing as a TCK which pushed me to juxtapose current and previous cultural practices, greatly influencing my own perspective on the topic.
The main takeaway for me as a TCK has been that sexuality is inevitably cultural. Each culture tries to influence society to subscribe to sexual norms. It is important for us to realise that if we reflect on all cultural practices, we will be able to more effectively shape our approach to sexuality.