I dare not suggest that we too go in for nude bathing to attract foreigners, but let us not be too prudish when they wish to expose themselves to our sun, sea, sands and our gazes.
It was more than forty years ago that I was first exposed to people exposing themselves. This was in Sweden. Literally miles of beach with almost everyone from toddlers to octogenarians with not a stitch of clothing on them. I could not oogle at all the nubile nineteen-year-olds as I would have liked to. I was almost drooling in the mouth when my hosts suggested that we all strip and refresh ourselves in the sea. The drooling stopped; my throat went dry. My Indian inhibitions against self-exposure were too strong to overcome. I couldn’t even raise my eyes to take a good look at my hostess and her three college-going daughters. I tried to analyze my nudo-phobia and came to the conclusion that I was more scared of taking off my turban and exposing my long hair than I was of taking off my pants and exposing … you know what. I was even more scared of my natural reactions: of showing obvious pleasure at seeing what I was seeing without having to say so. The visions of that sunny Sunday afternoon near Stockholm has troubled many of my midnights and my noons’ repose.
Since then I have seen a lot of nudity on the beaches of Hawaii, Cote d’Azur and Sydney. I am an unashamed voyeur and liked it all. In the late seventies I was delighted to learn that stodgy old England was about to legalize stripping. As one might expect of a nation of shopkeepers, it was not for the sake of health or for the aesthetic pleasure of seeing beautiful people as God made them, but to make money. The issue had then come up before the Brighton City Council dominated by conservatives. While the lady members were in favour of shedding clothes, the men had certain reservations. A lady member who also ran a lodging house proved her bona fides by circulating her own photograph in a topless bikini. The reactions of the other members to this form of canvassing is not known. But a male member opposed to ‘flagrant exhibition of mammary glands’ was warned by his wife that if he continued to be obdurate she would release his photograph taking a sauna bath in mixed company. She clearly had her eye on the cash register. She said: ‘I am not a woman of immoral character, I’m one of the most old-fashioned girls. I do not take the pill or go to bed with men, but I believe in this beach. Let’s face the facts – we want European tourists, and we want their money. So let’s give the sort of facilities they’re used to.’
The lady perhaps got far more than she bargained for. But even the stodgiest of the councillors conceded that she had a point. He admitted that sometime ago when he chanced upon a couple taking off their clothes, he was struck by the beauty of the well-endowed woman and suddenly thought ‘that all those years of tedious committees had been worthwhile.’ To wit:
There was a brave damsel of Brighton
Whom nothing could possibly frighten.
She plunged into the sea
And, with infinite glee,
Was taken for a ride by a Triton.
That brings me to the subject of incentives to tourism in India. I dare not suggest that we too go in for nude bathing to attract foreigners, but let us not be too prudish when they wish to expose themselves to our sun, sea, sands and our gazes. Take it from me that nothing will add to the beauty of Calangute or Kovalam more than a shapely teenager streaking across the palm fronds against the setting sun.