Private Trysts,Public Places

About a dozen couples scattered across an adjoining field turn a blissfully blind eye to a raucous cricket game. Some lean back against rocks and intertwine limbs; others find large weeds to camouflage them. Three pairs,ranged around a cement umbrella like acrobatic apsaras on pillar brackets in Khajuraho,get equally inventive with shawls strategically draped over their wandering hands,which pause occasionally to chronicle their love on the cement pillar on which they lean: “Amit loves Khushbu.” “Sweetu loves Sweety.”

And Rajesh loves Swetha. Her hands clasped in his,he recounts how they met in Rohini,north-west Delhi,where they both live,five years ago. “Like karke propose kiya,” he says matter-of-factly,as a loud smacking noise resounds from the other side of the pillar. “Yahan privacy milti hai,ghar se door.” This privacy is vital to the survival of their relationship. “Allowed nahi honge,” he explains. “Other caste hai.”

Secret love,first love,desperate love,sated love,all of it unfolds boldly,in broad daylight,in the Buddha Garden Park,off a remote,forgotten corner of Ridge Road in south Delhi. The only lowered gaze you’ll see here belongs to the painted Buddha. But does anyone come to see him? “Nahi aate hain!” chorus a group of gardeners and parking attendants warming themselves around a fire in the parking lot. “This place is like a bazaar,with about 500 to 700 couples landing up daily,” says a gardener. “But about two in a 100 are here to see the statue,though it’s world famous!”

These islands of permissiveness and abandon are found all across India,and are freely accessible to those who may not have the comfort or privacy of cars or independent apartments,or are too sentimental for the sordid perfunctoriness of hotel encounters: the sprawling gardens in Delhi,Bangalore and Pune,the beaches of Mumbai and Chennai,Lucknow’s romantic ruins,and Kolkata’s Rabindra Sarobar.

Or “the lake” as middle-class Bengali mothers call it with a barely restrained shudder. A verdant spot,Rabindra Sarobar is famed for its fresh chanachur and even fresher couples. Unmindful of the joggers,muri-wallahs,and college students nonchalantly sucking on cigarettes,they go about their furtive business behind uncomfortable-looking foliage. Which,unfortunately for them,is not uncomfortable enough to deter the overzealous policeman. In 2003,a group of amorously-inclined activists launched L.O.V.E (Lovers Organisation for Voluntary Exhibition),which advocated anxiety-free,police intervention-less public displays of affection,and even organised a Kiss Protest to press for its cause.

The movement has since lost steam,but the lovers aren’t short of allies. Shibu,a dimunitive seller of lebu cha (lemon tea),certainly counts himself as one. “Police bekar jhamela kore (The police needlessly trouble these lovers),” he says. “They threaten them and extract hefty bribes.” So,for a modest Rs 20-50 fee,he keeps watch,ensuring the police don’t get dangerously close to the lovers. “Especially those,” he says,pointing at the uncomfortable-looking foliage. “I take a little money to protect them. Erao ba kothai jabe bolun? (Where else will these people go,tell me?)”

To the sprawling greens around Victoria Memorial,maybe. Policemen make themselves scarce due to the “family-oriented” nature of the place,with children darting about playing ball or badminton. This doesn’t necessarily make things easier for couples,as Priyanka and Ashish,college students,will attest — particularly when they get a discomfiting taste of what they thought they were leaving behind at home. “We can dodge the balls,and toss back the badminton corks,it’s even fun,” says Ashish,“but parents are a headache. They have to come and sit where we are and give us disapproving stares. Sometimes,when we’re lying on the grass,you can actually hear them saying mean things about us.” The friskier ones on the fringes face the additional intrusion of passersby-turned-peeping toms. “People hover on the boundary,leering at couples and taking pictures of them,” Priyanka says.

Bangalore’s Cubbon Park and Lalbagh afford tree-shaded romantic interludes,away from the city’s noise. Increasingly,though,aside from vividly coloured birds,the common rowdy is also spotted here. Last year,they harassed couples so much in these parks that some local dailies reported that the Karnataka government was considering providing protection to them. But Asif,here with his girlfriend,who wears an abaya,thinks this hasn’t helped. “A bunch of rowdies is sure to come and poke fun at you or tease your girlfriend,” he says. “But we still come to meet here thrice a week and sit on the same bench,and watch the same birds and flowers. We’re part of the scene.”

For his girlfriend,this is not a matter of choice,but bitter necessity. Her parents have been keeping a close watch on her after her sister,a software engineer who now lives in Australia,eloped with a man 15 years her senior. “I have to be very careful to erase phone records,not dress too fashionably,and do well at college. My parents get suspicious even if a classmate drops me home,so I cover my face if I’m on the bike with Asif,” she says.

In front of Mumbai’s sweeping seascapes,from Marine Drive and Chowpatty Beach to the Bandra Bandstand promenade,similar stories unfold. Couples kiss,hold hands and rapturously photograph each other in front of the sea. Some bolder pairs retreat to the rocks and sometimes get swept out to sea by giant waves which appear without warning. A spate of deaths in 2008 led to the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation installing a warning bell to caution lovers during high tide. But according to recent media reports,nobody’s been deputed to ring it.

In Pune’s Empress Garden,Imran and Namita — both sales executives at a clothing store on upmarket MG Road — say they “exploited all alleys and dark corners” before settling on this park as their regular haunt. The police,however,does remain a threat. “I’ve been rounded up many a time even when I was a safe distance from her. Needless to say,my name doesn’t help matters,” says Imran.

Neither does the sting-happy media,and the censorious environment it enforces,says filmmaker Paromita Vohra. In 2003,news photographers and cameramen were promised an “exclusive” sting operation by local police in Meerut. The ensuing footage of “Operation Majnu” showed women,dupattas pulled over their faces,screaming: “Please,photo mat khichiyega,” while getting slapped about by lady officers for their “indecent behaviour in public”. Vohra’s 2008 film Morality TV aur Loving Jehad: Ek Manohar Kahani revisits Meerut to see whether couples manage to find meaningful personal relationships in the face of this heavily moralistic “accepted language of TV news”,which “justifies violence in the name of righteous indignation”. This language always existed,she says,in pulp fiction,which served as titillating cautionary tales about what happens to “bad girls” who stray off the conventional course.

Besides,Vohra explains,“In India,private life is extremely communal,in the sense of things being done together. Young people are searching for freedom,individuality and intimacy,which are not allowed at home,by their families.” So they’re driven to “ambiguously public” places like beaches,parks,and now,even cyber cafés.

As incidents like “Operation Majnu” demonstrate,though,these are contested spaces,which can leave them feeling vulnerable and exposed — and consequently,changes their idea of romantic love. “Basically,this highly censorious media space intensifies the hesitation and guilt around romantic desire,” says Vohra. “Young people are often unable to progress from a more teenage cliché of romance to a grown-up choice in how their relationship should play out. Most are very careful to keep sex or physical intimacy out of the pictures they draw of their idea of romance. Many also reiterate that you can ‘only fall in love once’ and that you must marry the person you get involved with or it is somehow shameful,a sign of social and moral failure.”

Which is why,if you disturb a couple out of pretzel formation in any garden or seafront,whether they met in tuition or coaching centres,typing classes,their local Ramlila,or malls,they’ll hasten to assure you that they’re “thinking of” getting married. Like Sweety and Sonu,both 20-something computer operators from Shahdara in East Delhi,who are spending their day off,limbs entangled,against a tree,behind a big pile of leaves in Lodi Gardens. This is only the 45th day of their romance,but already,Sonu declares,“Hum ghar mein batanewale hain. Sab kuch jaldi hua.”

(With Piyasree Dasgupta and inputs from V Shoba,Shruti Nambiar,Nupur Chaudhuri and Somya Lakhani)