I like to believe that all of us are creative in some way or another; we just need to gauge on that inspiration. Now inspiration, is a bitch. It strikes you at the most odd times. If you are an artistic adolescent boy who's just hit puberty, inspiration may come while you are struggling with a measly amount of poop on the seat of a dank commode. Don't believe me? Well, vivid imagery behind toilet doors is routine. It usually is a (dis)tasteful reproduction of the creator's innermost carnal fantasies. Of which you already know, though.
One may trace classic representation of human genitalia to the WC doors of various institutions of education. However, they are no competition to their single-gendered and limited-technology-access segment that is, all boys boarding schools. And do you know why they rule in this little-known-but-widely-seen art? Because imagination, mate, pure imagination. There is no muse from real life or from the screen of a device, to take inspiration from. (I know because I spent almost a decade in an all boys boarding school. Trivia!)
With the recent obituary of pornographic content over the internet, we could really thrive on imagination. The obscenity scene is at an all time low, and perhaps a more modern and progressive cultural revolution will provide for the needful. Maybe subconsciously it is already in the works. Maybe artists, writers, illustrators, intellectuals, pseudo-intellectuals, photographers, musicians and other eclectics have a seed of Ode to Erotica already planted. It is going to be aesthetic enough to grow on the masses, and safe enough to elude the conservatives; so much prudishness for the land of Kama Sutra. Trust the creatives to make a big deal about anything that gets wiped off from the face of earth? (Country, so to speak.)
This cultural renaissance which will take off as a passive rebellion, might serve as flavour and expression and identity for our otherwise redundant themes. Having said that, I must also confess that I am no expert on culture or heritage or society for that matter. My greatest tryst with art was a smug Instagram selfie with the Mona Lisa, where I had concealed my disappointment on discovering 'how small the portrait is in real life!'
So, a shoutout to all you closet creeps and perverts and peeping Toms! Here's a chance to make good on your souls. Be dirty but also unleash that creativity. And be remembered as a pioneer of the great Indian cultural awakening. As a bonus, you will have enough abstract pictures to go along with your corny captions on Instagram!
However, don't forget that ours is still a land of naysayers. Don't hurt a lot of people or get exiled, or both. Exile sucks.
