There are only two eternal truths in the world. Dogs sniff other dog’s asses, and men watch porn. Even Karan Johar.
While access to high quality pornography was limited to the rich and connected back in the day (Khushwant Singh having famously subscribed to a German magazine called Screw which got customs clearance under the pretext of it being an engineering guide) it is now a mere spill proof anti-microbial keyboard away for any Indian who wants it. It lies innocuously in the hidden folder of people’s phone memory cards, in the appropriately titled ‘Documentaries’ folder in their External Hard Disks, under the Mills and Boon stack at local magazine stand – heck, even in that paying guest in your neighbourhood where girls from the North East are being secretly filmed taking a shower as I type.
It teaches Indian men the few things they know how to execute in bed, gives them the confidence to jerk off looking at a white woman’s shoulder in a train, prevents atleast 69 rapes from happening in
Delhi per day and sustains the livelihood of millions of cyber-café owners across the country. Clearly, pornography is an essential part of
India’s socio-cultural fabric; a piece of latex if you will, that keeps everything together.
That said the quality of Indian pornography, much like Bollywood, has always left a lot to be desired. Gone are the days when people would go to desibaba and accupressure themselves knowing full well that the berries on display were not, in fact, Mamta Kulkarni’s. Gone are the days when people would be willing to buy that the woman wearing the bindi was a horny Hyderabadi instead of a luscious
Latina (Shouting Ay Papi does not equal haaye paapi). Globalisation, access to information and the Nokia 7650 with Vibrate mode left people with higher expectations – a move that eventually led to the current ejaculation of Lucknowi laundiyas, Bum-visphot Bengalis and Gujju gashtis taking over the Indian porn landscape.
Needless to say, the current situation is sticky at best. Therefore, to help you hit the right spots, I have decided to do a comparison between the major sub-groups of Indian pornography i.e. North and South Indian
The Lexicon: First, let me say that there is no way to ensure the authenticity of all that websites claim the footage to be. Till I manage to personally interview them or find these people on Facebook, there is no way to confirm if the woman is actually a schoolgirl, an aunty, a model from Lahore, a stewardess, a college student with her boyfriend etc. That said; let’s take a look at the words associated with videos from either part of the country:
North Indian women are normally associated with “Petite, schoolgirl, horny, NRI or cheating on her love interest”. I’m not sure if this is pandering to existing perceptions or actually true, but I can vouch for the first three atleast. On the other hand, South Indian women are normally associated with “Aunty, Booby, Busty, curvaceous, Bhabhi etc”. This is not surprising given Mallu-wood (no relation to the man in the videos) is still the largest cause of men with Herpes.
The Setting: Location is key to creating a successful product. While a majority of South Indian porn still features largely descript, run down bedrooms, hostels or parks as the setting for where Shiva gets angry, North Indians mostly prefer doing it in hotel rooms, malls, basement car parks and other more eccentric premises. The idea is to integrate the location with your act of boom-chika-chika wow instead of the run of the mill Blue/Pink walls that are a staple of their South Indian counterparts. Perhaps it is a sign of a rising income inequities or just a case of high-end South Indian stuff being restricted for the Malaysian market. Either way, North Indian porn is I pills ahead when it comes to creative settings.
Camera-work: Even though North Indians (think DPS MMS) invented gritty, realistic camera work (ala Blair Witch) in Indian pornography, the South Indians have run away with the technique. Every third video now features a young man self-shooting himself and his female accomplice (who tries to hide her face but nothing else for some reason) before demonstrating diagrams drawn in
India’s most famous book. This requires a certain level of flair as balancing the phone and keeping it steady while shoving your tongue down another person’s throat can be hard. North Indians have moved on to other gadgets such as webcams and camcorders that provide a higher resolution and a wide-angle shot once mounted on a tripod. Still, there are some Dibakar Banerjee types who use the phone camera to stellar effect when women get over their inhibitions.
The Music: While North Indians mostly stick to tried and tested background music such as Enigma, South Indians prefer to re-live their American fantasies by romping to Michael Jackson and the likes. The lower-end of the South Indian industry still focuses on Hindi/Malayalam/Telugu music sometimes (A.R. Rahman’s Saathiya being an old favourite) i.e. unless they want to hear natural sounds as a means of turning themselves on.
Body-hair: The probability of encountering a dense forest is a lot more in South Indian pornography thanks to what is known as the “Veerappan effect”. This makes it harder for the male to zone into the target, thus making him value the acquisition a lot more as compared to North Indian pornography where foliage is as menacing as the Amazon basin. Needless to say, it is like going fishing to an aquarium and the value goes down considerably.
Foreplay: North Indians don’t even seem to try, so I am going to head straight to the South Indian section on this one. Foreplay can be divided into 4 sections:
- The kiss: For some reason, the second most romantic thing after holding hands i.e. kissing does not find much favour in videos coming from either side of the country. Maybe it’s because Indians are horrible kissers in general. Maybe it’s because the guy has rasam breath. Either way, the same scene gets played out over and over especially in South Indian videos. The woman lies down. The guy gets on top. The woman is completely stiff and her arms are completely straight. The guy tries to take stuff off her body with his mouth but fails. The woman lies expressionless. The guy wonders why she isn’t groaning like she is supposed to and decides to kiss her. His paunch comes in the way and no matter how hard he tries his face remains as far from hers as Musharraf’s chances of becoming the Indian PM. He slides off and ties again from the side. He moves in with his 4-inch wide moustache but the woman turns her face away. He tries the other cheek but the woman is quicker. Forget ice-cubes or body rubs or Nutella, I’ve seen people getting asphyxiated having more fun. Repeat process till phase two.
- The kneading: Phase two is when the guy says screw the kissing let me get to the breasts. Now let me just say, for someone who has been a rice eater all his life, the South Indian male is excellent at kneading breasts as if it were the dough for tandoori roti. The woman winces; the guy doesn’t know what the hell is going on because he has seen this work perfectly in movies. Then he decides to pull a Peter North, digs his face in the cleavage, and shakes his head about. That ofcourse, is as erotic as watching Manisha Koirala lick chicken curry off her elbows. The woman stays stiff and wonders WTF the guy is thinking.
- The Tantric attempt: The guy, happy that he got to touch a pair is now ecstatic and doesn’t really care if the woman is actually enjoying it or not as long as he can boast about it to his friends. He then gets into a trance and does some shit which I still haven’t been able to figure out. It involves a lot of licking up and down the torso, moving the hands about an inch above the body as a way of cleansing an aura. The woman, keen on hiding her disappointment continues to play along and fakes expressions that would put Irfan Khan to shame. She still won’t let him kiss her though.
- The WHO-ORS: All I’ll say is that it is a pity a majority of our population is vegetarian because till you have experience eating Chicken Lollipops, this aspect shall never improve.
Positions: Again a disappointment on both fronts. It seems no one knows anything but the missionary. I blame Mother Teresa. For a cow and stray dog-loving country, we don’t nearly seem to buck and doggy often enough.
The Talking: After carefully straining my ear to hear any communication between people in videos from either part of the country, I have concluded that Indians suck at dirty talk. To be honest, it doesn’t even need to be dirty talk. Isn’t the whole point to communicate and give occasional instructions as to what is working and what isn’t?
The North Indian seems to like giving orders like his
Hollywood counterpart and expect the girl to follow but fails miserably. I would like to shove as much as a pencil up these guys asses to see how well they respond to my commands. On the southern front, a lot of time gets spent merely coaxing the woman into taking the flowers out of her hair (no pun intended. And if you thought of one, shame on you) Then, as stated already, she prefers lying expressionless wondering what the hell is going on till the end of the show. I did hear a few “No” and “Make me your chettinad” though. I think.
The Money Shot: Given how long this piece is you might be thinking the process of fornication has already exceeded an hour and forty-five minutes. Incorrect. By now, we have reached about 2 minutes and 18 seconds. The money shot has been hit and woman is wondering if she was part of a T20 match. And again, this seems to be an issue that plagues my brethren from either side. The ONE thing in which they should be like the Indian elephant, they decide to emulate their Chinese counterparts. Not even Doctor Sachdeva whose ads you saw on the city walls will be able to help on this one. Damned shame.
In conclusion, if higher resolution, raw and uninhabited footage is what you are looking for, stick to the North. However, if you want action, drama, suspense and comedy rolled into one, look no further than the stuff from down south. The women might be a bit heavy for your liking sometimes, but that’s what you get for being a “khaate peete ghar ki ladki”.
P.S. No bed sheets were stained during the process of writing this article.