“You do it,” the lady often instructed her man, absolving herself of an impending sin. On most occasions, the couple would even argue over who would close the door. Naturally, couples were coy about this for it was an uneasy, unspoken declaration to the entire family that the couple was “at it”. But closed doors came with strings attached it was a double-edged sword, for the act of closing the door ended up being a public spectacle. Picture a peppy – but prurient – Juhi Chawla in Darr, enthusiastically shimmying around requesting her fiance Sunny Deol to “Darwaza band kar lo”.īack in my time, closed doors were a luxury: Only married couples could relish the privacy of closed doors, solely for purposes of procreation. Think about the clever innuendos they have evoked, like the suggestive “Hum tum ek kamre mein band ho’n” from Bobby, which might just be one of the greatest thirst songs in Hindi cinema.
Closed doors is where sinful acts take place. In Indian homes, doors – especially closed doors – hold dark secrets, considering they play such an integral role in a couple ’s ecology. The best symbol of this narrative of interference is the culture of the closed door. For example, a girl may have a personal mobile phone, however it is her family or even the community that decides how she can use it.” Community practices and diktats take over personal choices and ownership. Whenever I read this quote, I can’t help but wonder that the great author had obviously not had a brush with Indians for whom “privacy” barely exists.Īs this Mint Lounge piece on “Privacy and Indian culture ” argues, interfering Indians have no idea about what constitutes a breach of privacy: “There is also little understanding of private life in India where almost every part of one’s life is open to family, community, village, or society. “All human beings have three lives: public, private, and secret,” said Gabriel García Márquez.