Sex. How we all obsess about it. No one seems to be getting enough. At least, not of the right kind. We’ve dressed it up in so many flavours. Given it national characteristics like culinary curiosities. In India, it’s not done, we’re told. 
At puberty,  I developed a problem of nocturnal emissions which led to a trip to the doctor in CP. Following an acutely embarrassing examination of my penis, all was declared normal and I was packed off with a set of relieved parents. Little did we suspect what lay ahead.
The subject of my sexuality was officially closed in the family. I experimented by storing the results of my consciously induced daytime emissions in a Pond’s cold cream jar. An appeasement to the Gods. However, not a good idea at the height of a Delhi summer.
Moving on to the oral stage, still uninformed about consequences, it came as a huge surprise that someone would use me as a cold cream jar..
Two years ago, I fell in love with the most beautiful Delhi man I had ever met. Within a year it was over, unconsummated. He had found his Meera, he didn’t need sex, meaning me any more. 
Last Saturday night I decided, enough was enough, I head out on the town. No luck, club shuts and we’re back out on the road. I see a man on a motorbike. He’ll do. I never chose celibacy. My friends hang out encouragingly. Back home, he just lays there. No one’s taught him anything. I minister my oral skills. He blows in minutes. Doesn’t make a move towards me. The night is over.
Will someone decriminalise the act? Spread basic information and bring spontaneity and fun back into our Indian sex lives.