By William Benemann
New York: Harrington Park Press, 2006. 322 pp. ISBN: 1-56023-345-1
Reviewed by Edward J. Tejirian, Ph.D.
In Male-Male Intimacy in Early America William Benemann has woven a complex tapestry of male-male bonding in colonial America and the early days of the republic. The result is a book that is comprehensive without being pedantic. In fact, it ranges beyond the strict boundaries of its title to consider male to male sexuality in Enlightenment Europe, especially England, Prussia under Frederick the Great, and post-revolutionary France. Meanwhile, back on American soil, it encompasses such home-grown sexual eccentrics as the Shakers, the Mormons, and the Oneida community.
In his preface, Benemann cites several factors that have impeded understanding of the place of sexuality in American history. Among these are the reluctance to abandon restrictive labels such as “homosexuality” and “heterosexuality” and an inability to move beyond negative preconceptions about the “gay lifestyle.” Even while accepting that men formed passionate attachments (the “romantic friendships” of the sub-title of the book) he says that there has been a resistance among historians to drawing the not unreasonable conclusion that these might have included an erotic component, sometimes latent but not infrequently manifest.
Perhaps a contributing factor to this confusion are a number of paradoxes evident in colonial and Enlightenment America with regard to sex between men. So-called “sodomy,” which appeared to apply to anal intercourse was never referred to except in the most sanctimonious terms of horror—“detestable” almost invariably turns up, while the more genteel reference to “the Grecian vice” also occasionally makes an appearance. Nevertheless, while sodomy was illegal and thoroughly condemned, it seems that punishment for it was relatively rare. Not only was punishment for it rare, even naming it was so offensive to the delicate sensibilities of the general public that it seems the authorities much preferred to turn a blind eye to it.
This reader was interested to learn that Philadelphia was not only the premier American city of the 18th century but also a pretty wide-open town , with plenty of brothels and street walkers as well as one tavern per 140 residents. However, prosecution for sexual offenses of any kind was also rare. Meanwhile, among sailors whose tours aboard ship were usually three years in length, sex aboard ship was tacitly understood to be routinely prevalent. However, the form it usually seems to have taken was mutual masturbation, which was not considered sodomy. Furthermore, if anyone should have the poor judgment to complain about it, he would be far more likely to incur the wrath of the captain than would the person or persons he was complaining about. It seems the motto was, “We won’t ask, and you’d better not tell.”
But in contrast to present day conventions—and this fact has been well known—men in early America could express their feelings of affection for each other in the most explicit terms of love and even longing. Here is an excerpt of a letter by Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens—both had been aides-de-camp to Washington and at one point on the staff of Baron Friedrich von Steuben, a Prussian officer with the rank of general in the Continental Army. Hamilton wrote: “Cold in my professions, warm in [my] friendships, I wish, Dear Laurens, it [might] be in my power, by action, rather than words, [to] convince you that I love you” (p. 99). Two young officers, William North and Benjamin Walker, also on the staff of Von Steuben formed with him a tightly bonded group in which each felt deep ties of affection to the other two. The younger men married—as all men were expected to do (though the older Von Steuben was without a wife.) It was after they married but still young, when North wrote to Walker, “...I have known you, Ben for twelve years-—When I began to love you, I know not…but ‘tis no matter—I love you.”(p.116).
In contemporary America, such declarations of love between men would imply an overtly sexual relationship. But it appears that such an inference was not drawn in early America. Rather, there was a space between two men in a committed friendship that seemed to remain private and out of bounds for public speculation. Declaring one’s love for another man was not necessarily seen as a declaration of sexual intent and certainly not of sexual identity.
Consider the following excerpt from what Benneman describes as a “fictionalized” encounter with Indians of the West on the part of writer Theodore Winthrop, a descendent of Puritan governor John Winthrop: “The Adonis of the copper-skins!” I said to myself. “This is the ‘Young Eagle,’ or the ‘Sucking Dove,’ or the ‘Maiden’s Bane,’ or some other great chief of the cleanest Indian tribe on the continent. O Fenimore, why are you dead? ….What a poem the fellow is! I wish I was an Indian myself for such a companion; or better a squaw, to be made love to by him.” (pp.174-175).
This excerpt is from a book published in 1862, somewhat beyond the boundaries of “early America” as loosely defined by author Benemann. But it seems noteworthy that the open envy of the woman to whom the copper-skinned Adonis might make love appeared to carry with it no stigma of sodomy or, of course, no implication of “identity.”
Were early American men more comfortable with the erotic component in their feelings about each other than are contemporary men? It would seem so. However, my guess is that, the awareness of such an erotic component is nevertheless just as prevalent among contemporary American men. My own research (Tejirian, 2000) with men in their early twenties to early thirties has led me to infer that some degree of conscious erotic feeling toward their own sex probably characterizes a substantial percentage of American men (42% in my sample.) But the men who disclosed their feelings to me almost never discussed them openly with others because, as men who did not consider themselves to be gay, they had powerful social incentives to present a “pure” heterosexual persona to the external world. Nevertheless, when these feelings were directed towards a particular man, he was almost always a very good or best friend. This fact harks back to the romantic friendships or “passionate attachments” of which Bennemann speaks, while the continuity of these feelings across a span of two hundred years points to it as a fundamental aspect of male psychology.
Brokeback Mountain,” is a wonderful and accurate portrayal of a contemporary “passionate attachment” between men . Its tragic denouement, however, reflects contemporary sensibilities. In contrast, in early America as Benneman describes it, a romantic friendship between two young sheepherders that included an erotic component would have been neither the cause for personal anguish nor the object of social scrutiny.
Benneman says that he chose the phrase “male intimacy” for the title of his book because, not only can it imply both a psychological and physical closeness, but also an intense affectional bonding that includes sexual attraction, whether acknowledged or not. I think, in fact, that his choice of title is a good one. Yet, one wonders if it is really possible for us today to grasp how the relation between the erotic and the affectionate was experienced by the men of early America. Martin Duberman (1989) cites, in an essay on the youthful friendship between James H. Hammond and Thomas J. Withers—described by him as two “great men” of the antebellum South—a letter dated 1826 attesting to a playful sexual intimacy between them. The twenty year-old Withers wrote to Hammond, “I feel some inclination to learn whether you yet sleep in your Shirt-tail, and whether you yet have the extravagant delight of poking and punching a writhing Bedfellow with your long fleshen pole—the exquisite touches of which I have often had the honor of feeling?” (p. 155). I think the ease with which their nocturnal frolics are referred to and the apparent lack of conflict about them would be harder to come by in a contemporary setting.
Benneman points out that, although terminology such as “homosexual”—not to mention “gay”—were not in use in early America, there were unquestionably men whose erotic orientation was primarily or exclusively toward their own sex. But my reading of his excellent book indicates that in early America, as in Europe, Enlightenment attitudes toward sexuality had for a time shouldered aside the strictures of medieval and Puritan religious doctrines with respect to sexuality. In America, vestiges of those strictures remained in the law, but were rarely enforced. The late 18th century in Europe was a time that saw the publication of racy novels such as “Tom Jones” in England, and the rollicking infidelities in Mozart’s operas. The late 19th century, on the other hand, saw the persecution of Oscar Wilde in England and the early 20th century saw the official criminalization of homosexuality in a recently unified Germany. After two world wars that fell just short of destroying its civilization, a united Europe is trying to re-incorporate the Enlightement values that the “isms” of the 20th century had trampled on. Contemporary America, where religious zealots and cynical politicians have entered into an unholy pact, might do well to look back to its own early past and find there a basis on which to build a more realistic and enlightened sexual future.
References
Duberman, Martin A. (1989) “Writhing Bedfellows in Antebellum South Carolina: Historical Interpretation and the Politics of Evidence. In: Duberman, M., Vicinus, Martha & Chauncey, G., Jr., Eds. Hidden from History: Reclaiming the Gay and Lesbian Past. New York, Meridan,
Tejirian, Edward J. (2000) Male to Male: Sexual Feelings Across the Boundaries of Identity. New York: Harrington Park Press.
Oct 30, 2008
Oct 19, 2008
Men Holding Hands, and Other Macho Sightings in South India
Men holding hands, and other macho sightings in Southern India
The first time, you are shocked. Eventually, you get used to it. In between, you go through various stages of reaction—puzzlement, wonder, curiosity, disgust, grudging acceptance, repulsion, etc. The sight is a common enough one in these parts--- grown men and teenaged boys holding hands in public like lovers that cannot bear physical separation from each other. This, in the same society where even incidental contact between the opposite sexes is still taboo. But men cannot stop pawing each other. The way they carry on is enough to unleash the latent homophobe in most of us. Do they kiss when we are not watching?
Yet, I suppose I grew up in the same society, and even perhaps held hands with a male cousin or two when crossing a street. I suppose I never gave it a second thought until my overseas sojourn gave me a different perspective on such matters (although I know it shouldn’t, given that some of my adoring public believe that any new perspective gained during nor-residency renders me a traitor to my place of birth). Now, if I were to see a boyfriend grasp my son’s hand, I’m likely to rush out there and break it up before it got too intimate. On the other hand, I find the sight of boys holding girls’ hands, and vice versa, very wholesome, very non-threatening to a traditional way of life. On college campuses, you see these “macchans”, clearly the leaders of the pack, holding their dearest lieutenant in an arm-lock that would not be out of place on a Lovers’ Lane. On the streets, you see these “goondas” engaging in passionate arm-holding and palm-squeezing, even as they prepare to launch a major offensive against the neighborhood tea-shop that refuses to serve them free chai. You see auto rickshaw drivers walking hand-in-hand, comparing notes on 10 best ways to fleece customers. You see professional colleagues clasping hands with a fervor that borders on the obsessive. Once, I saw a guest speaker at a conventions held in a death-grip by the organizer for nearly thirty minutes; he escaped by severing his hand at the elbow. On the beach, it appears as if every male stroller is linked to another by the arm. Why is this male physical intimacy considered natural in a society where pre-marital male/female contact is still stigmatized? It is amazing what men can get away with in India without having their masculinity questioned. And yet, you accompany your wife to one Bharatanatyam recital, and it’s open season on your manhood.
Females, of course, are touchy-feely in all societies, Western or Eastern. I recall reading somewhere that all women are lesbians at heart. I believe that is true at least to some extent. Women are constantly obsessing over other women’s physical attributes. I asked a few female acquaintances of mine the following question: “If a naked man and a naked woman were to appear in front of you, whom would you look at first?” The unanimous answer was that they would examine the woman first, from head to toe, with a few lingering stops in-between. They may spare the man a glance or two, but almost as an after-thought. This may explain why a naked woman, in any form of art, is sexy, whereas a naked man is… comic. Women can spend hours comparing their looks with those of, say, supermodels. You cannot do that unless the interest spills over from the cosmetic to the prurient regime.
Friendship in India takes other strange forms, such as eating off one plate. Heart-warming display of closeness & togetherness, but has anyone considered the hygienic aspects? Friends drink from the same glass of juice, or same bottle of a soft-drink, sipping away with their straws. They take bites off the same fruit. They borrow each other’s hankies. They play kabaddi. They go to movies. For all I know, they probably hold hands there also. I’m not saying that males should not engage in any activities where females are excluded. My point is, why is male bonding appropriate, whereas male/female bonding is not? Because the latter would lead to premarital sex? If that’s the sole reason, why do people gawk at a wife and husband smooching or holding hands? In India, we actively suppress all outward signs of hetero-sexuality, thereby limiting displays of camaraderie to same-sex encounters only. I guess this is less evil than the Western suppression of homo-sexual acts in public, but not by much. Many newly-weds experience needless anxiety and angst because they are not used to being friendly with the opposite sex. They seek out their own sex for friendship and company, to the extent that the holy institution of marriage is reduced to a seal of approval on sex and reproduction. No wonder that in India, after work and on weekends, the hubby goes to play with his male buddies , and the wifey goes shopping with her female cronies. And the children are left to torment Grandma and Grandpa….
The first time, you are shocked. Eventually, you get used to it. In between, you go through various stages of reaction—puzzlement, wonder, curiosity, disgust, grudging acceptance, repulsion, etc. The sight is a common enough one in these parts--- grown men and teenaged boys holding hands in public like lovers that cannot bear physical separation from each other. This, in the same society where even incidental contact between the opposite sexes is still taboo. But men cannot stop pawing each other. The way they carry on is enough to unleash the latent homophobe in most of us. Do they kiss when we are not watching?
Yet, I suppose I grew up in the same society, and even perhaps held hands with a male cousin or two when crossing a street. I suppose I never gave it a second thought until my overseas sojourn gave me a different perspective on such matters (although I know it shouldn’t, given that some of my adoring public believe that any new perspective gained during nor-residency renders me a traitor to my place of birth). Now, if I were to see a boyfriend grasp my son’s hand, I’m likely to rush out there and break it up before it got too intimate. On the other hand, I find the sight of boys holding girls’ hands, and vice versa, very wholesome, very non-threatening to a traditional way of life. On college campuses, you see these “macchans”, clearly the leaders of the pack, holding their dearest lieutenant in an arm-lock that would not be out of place on a Lovers’ Lane. On the streets, you see these “goondas” engaging in passionate arm-holding and palm-squeezing, even as they prepare to launch a major offensive against the neighborhood tea-shop that refuses to serve them free chai. You see auto rickshaw drivers walking hand-in-hand, comparing notes on 10 best ways to fleece customers. You see professional colleagues clasping hands with a fervor that borders on the obsessive. Once, I saw a guest speaker at a conventions held in a death-grip by the organizer for nearly thirty minutes; he escaped by severing his hand at the elbow. On the beach, it appears as if every male stroller is linked to another by the arm. Why is this male physical intimacy considered natural in a society where pre-marital male/female contact is still stigmatized? It is amazing what men can get away with in India without having their masculinity questioned. And yet, you accompany your wife to one Bharatanatyam recital, and it’s open season on your manhood.
Females, of course, are touchy-feely in all societies, Western or Eastern. I recall reading somewhere that all women are lesbians at heart. I believe that is true at least to some extent. Women are constantly obsessing over other women’s physical attributes. I asked a few female acquaintances of mine the following question: “If a naked man and a naked woman were to appear in front of you, whom would you look at first?” The unanimous answer was that they would examine the woman first, from head to toe, with a few lingering stops in-between. They may spare the man a glance or two, but almost as an after-thought. This may explain why a naked woman, in any form of art, is sexy, whereas a naked man is… comic. Women can spend hours comparing their looks with those of, say, supermodels. You cannot do that unless the interest spills over from the cosmetic to the prurient regime.
Friendship in India takes other strange forms, such as eating off one plate. Heart-warming display of closeness & togetherness, but has anyone considered the hygienic aspects? Friends drink from the same glass of juice, or same bottle of a soft-drink, sipping away with their straws. They take bites off the same fruit. They borrow each other’s hankies. They play kabaddi. They go to movies. For all I know, they probably hold hands there also. I’m not saying that males should not engage in any activities where females are excluded. My point is, why is male bonding appropriate, whereas male/female bonding is not? Because the latter would lead to premarital sex? If that’s the sole reason, why do people gawk at a wife and husband smooching or holding hands? In India, we actively suppress all outward signs of hetero-sexuality, thereby limiting displays of camaraderie to same-sex encounters only. I guess this is less evil than the Western suppression of homo-sexual acts in public, but not by much. Many newly-weds experience needless anxiety and angst because they are not used to being friendly with the opposite sex. They seek out their own sex for friendship and company, to the extent that the holy institution of marriage is reduced to a seal of approval on sex and reproduction. No wonder that in India, after work and on weekends, the hubby goes to play with his male buddies , and the wifey goes shopping with her female cronies. And the children are left to torment Grandma and Grandpa….
Oct 6, 2008
Confessions of an American - My Life in a New Delhi Gym
Cultural confusions of a desi gym having non-desi aspirations.
“What’s different about living in Delhi compared to America?” friends back home keep on asking me. It’s one of those questions that leave one unsure where to begin, and even after a year of living here, I’m still not certain how best to respond. The main reason is that a list of differences can quickly devolve into a catalog of gripes and frustrations, as the mention of the USA reminds me of the ways in which, by comparison, Delhi is still very much the capital of a developing country. Yet I find myself increasingly reluctant to reduce my India experience to a list of complaints, because my initial culture shock has given way to a more relaxed curiosity about what is different here. As much as possible, I try to feel amusement rather than annoyance when things don’t go quite as I might wish or expect.
Saying that India is irreducible to a series of neat observations is as obvious to those of us who live here as it is unsatisfying to my American questioners, but another way in might be to give them one snapshot, describing an activity here that they are familiar with at home. And what could be easier for many of my friends to grasp than that favorite Californian urban-suburban pursuit - going to the gym?
Yes, there are gyms in Delhi, I tell them, even though the work-out culture here isn’t as widespread as it is on the coasts of the U.S. I’ve no doubt that Delhi gyms, like their LA counterparts, range from the grungy to the glitzy. LA’s gym culture is well enough developed that there is a healthy competition for members, and while you can pay a lot there to join a more exclusive joint, a membership at a mid-range gym needn’t cost more than the equivalent of about Rs. 20,000 a year. Or you can join a gym in Delhi that is one-eighth the size of my old LA club, and often much more crowded – and for nearly two and a half times the price. I could probably have found somewhere cheaper than my current gym, but I chose it simply because it’s close to where I live. Ease of access is half the battle for those whose motivation is as underdeveloped as their stamina. But more interesting than the painful price differential are the cultural differences that I noticed – some immediately, some gradually – when I started my thrice-weekly regimen.
First, it has to be said that the clientele at my gym does not represent a cross-section of Delhi society. Gym-goers in Los Angeles by definition must have some disposable income, but the steep membership fees at my Delhi club mean that it caters basically to well-off locals, with a smattering of ex-pats like myself. So the people I chat with briefly on the floor or in the locker room are kids whose parents have money, or young professionals, and very occasionally someone (like me) almost old enough to be one of their parents. Everyone seems to be studying finance, aiming for an MBA, or working in the family business. The crowd is not just young but often conspicuously well dressed, whether in their work-out clothes or in the street clothes they change into afterwards. No old shorts, ratty t-shirts and beat up tennis shoes here. This is also the only gym where I’ve ever seen someone working out in cargo pants and a designer tee-shirt and shoes: even the most stylish work-out clothes seem too infra dig for some people.
The class difference extends to locker room etiquette, in a way that was initially rather disconcerting. Many a gym member hands his clothes wordlessly to the locker room attendant, who hangs them up or folds and puts them away in their bag; or the member just casts his clothes onto the bench with the assumption that they will be dealt with. Pleases and thank-yous are clearly not required. Some people do chat cordially with the attendant, but it’s the frequent master-servant attitude that is striking, all the more so because it seems to be accepted by both parties as a given. On my way out of the locker room I usually say “Thank you” to the attendant, regardless of whether or not he’s helped me directly that day. In return, I get a smile that’s hard to interpret: is it friendliness, appreciation – or just a certain amusement that I should cluelessly waste my time and his on a superfluous pleasantry?
Of course, the gym should ultimately not be about what you wear or how you behave, but about what you do, and there’s no disputing that everyone seems pretty intent on having a proper work-out. They’re not there just to show off, and from my position at the upper end of the client age scale, I can’t criticize their energy levels. Perhaps they are inspired by the music, which is usually so loud as to make idle conversation impossible. Or maybe it’s the lyrics being pounded into their brains that energize them: the compilations chosen by my gym include a considerable number of rap and other songs with graphic and vulgar descriptions of sex. I haven’t yet figured out whether multiply-repeated lines like “You already know I wanna fuck you” have the advantageous aerobic effect of making the heart beat faster, or whether to those gym members who are also dance club denizens they’re simply too familiar to be noticed.
The impression I have is that elements like those songs are part of a blasé-seeming attitude towards sex cultivated by the gym to appeal to the majority of its clients: we’re hip, westernized and contemporary, it tries to say. Unfortunately, the façade begins to crack when exposed to a native western pair of eyes. Look at the buff trainers, their biceps and pecs nicely outlined by their tight t-shirts. In their masculinity they’re identical to their American counterparts – until you notice that they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. The easy physical contact which many Indian males have with their friends reaches its apogee at the gym, whose raison d’être is after all the body beautiful. As they pass each other, the trainers touch each other’s hands or chests, or they walk through the workout area together with their arms slung round each other’s shoulders. By contrast, in the men’s locker room there reigns an almost universal painful modesty about nudity, which leads to much contorted divesting and vesting of underwear from beneath towels wrapped tightly around the waist.
All of these goings-on are gazed upon by ultra-defined muscular males in photos that grace the walls of the establishment, including in the locker room a large poster of a male nude, who is presumably meant to rouse us to greater heights of disciplined exercise. All perfectly normal, one might think, and impeccably heterosexual – except that the pictures are predominantly by Herb Ritts, one of the most prominent gay American photographers. Ritts is known for works that slyly subvert heterosexual conventions by depicting hyper-masculine men in a way that is particularly appealing to gay viewers. In other words, his photos are homoerotic, and several of the ones at my gym are prime examples. It’s probably the case that a lot of Americans don’t quite cotton on to this – Ritts shoots models for the Abercrombie and Fitch clothing catalogs, after all – but I’m pretty sure that an American gym would steer nervously clear of displaying his photographs on their walls.
It seems to me that my gym has adapted some of the trappings of American gym culture without completely understanding the subtle, often blurred lines that define heterosexual and homosexual male identities in the west. Transposed to India, these western traits and affectations mix haphazardly with the very different ways in which Indian men relate to one another in terms of physical appearance and contact. The result is that notwithstanding the pounding macho music, the muscular trainers and the atmosphere of serious intent to exercise, through my western eyes my gym seems very gay!
Male sexual anxiety in the USA still often revolves around wanting to have a good-looking body while simultaneously not being mistaken for being gay. In Delhi, it seems to me that appearing gay is literally inconceivable to most men, who focus on a good physique because it is a component of the social, professional and romantic success that, to judge by their behavior, they feel they’re entitled to. “You already know I wanna fuck you,” they may be singing along in their heads – but only to the woman of their dreams. To my western eyes, however, it doesn’t always look that way. It’s just one small example of how life in Delhi is often confusing – but equally amusing.
“What’s different about living in Delhi compared to America?” friends back home keep on asking me. It’s one of those questions that leave one unsure where to begin, and even after a year of living here, I’m still not certain how best to respond. The main reason is that a list of differences can quickly devolve into a catalog of gripes and frustrations, as the mention of the USA reminds me of the ways in which, by comparison, Delhi is still very much the capital of a developing country. Yet I find myself increasingly reluctant to reduce my India experience to a list of complaints, because my initial culture shock has given way to a more relaxed curiosity about what is different here. As much as possible, I try to feel amusement rather than annoyance when things don’t go quite as I might wish or expect.
Saying that India is irreducible to a series of neat observations is as obvious to those of us who live here as it is unsatisfying to my American questioners, but another way in might be to give them one snapshot, describing an activity here that they are familiar with at home. And what could be easier for many of my friends to grasp than that favorite Californian urban-suburban pursuit - going to the gym?
Yes, there are gyms in Delhi, I tell them, even though the work-out culture here isn’t as widespread as it is on the coasts of the U.S. I’ve no doubt that Delhi gyms, like their LA counterparts, range from the grungy to the glitzy. LA’s gym culture is well enough developed that there is a healthy competition for members, and while you can pay a lot there to join a more exclusive joint, a membership at a mid-range gym needn’t cost more than the equivalent of about Rs. 20,000 a year. Or you can join a gym in Delhi that is one-eighth the size of my old LA club, and often much more crowded – and for nearly two and a half times the price. I could probably have found somewhere cheaper than my current gym, but I chose it simply because it’s close to where I live. Ease of access is half the battle for those whose motivation is as underdeveloped as their stamina. But more interesting than the painful price differential are the cultural differences that I noticed – some immediately, some gradually – when I started my thrice-weekly regimen.
First, it has to be said that the clientele at my gym does not represent a cross-section of Delhi society. Gym-goers in Los Angeles by definition must have some disposable income, but the steep membership fees at my Delhi club mean that it caters basically to well-off locals, with a smattering of ex-pats like myself. So the people I chat with briefly on the floor or in the locker room are kids whose parents have money, or young professionals, and very occasionally someone (like me) almost old enough to be one of their parents. Everyone seems to be studying finance, aiming for an MBA, or working in the family business. The crowd is not just young but often conspicuously well dressed, whether in their work-out clothes or in the street clothes they change into afterwards. No old shorts, ratty t-shirts and beat up tennis shoes here. This is also the only gym where I’ve ever seen someone working out in cargo pants and a designer tee-shirt and shoes: even the most stylish work-out clothes seem too infra dig for some people.
The class difference extends to locker room etiquette, in a way that was initially rather disconcerting. Many a gym member hands his clothes wordlessly to the locker room attendant, who hangs them up or folds and puts them away in their bag; or the member just casts his clothes onto the bench with the assumption that they will be dealt with. Pleases and thank-yous are clearly not required. Some people do chat cordially with the attendant, but it’s the frequent master-servant attitude that is striking, all the more so because it seems to be accepted by both parties as a given. On my way out of the locker room I usually say “Thank you” to the attendant, regardless of whether or not he’s helped me directly that day. In return, I get a smile that’s hard to interpret: is it friendliness, appreciation – or just a certain amusement that I should cluelessly waste my time and his on a superfluous pleasantry?
Of course, the gym should ultimately not be about what you wear or how you behave, but about what you do, and there’s no disputing that everyone seems pretty intent on having a proper work-out. They’re not there just to show off, and from my position at the upper end of the client age scale, I can’t criticize their energy levels. Perhaps they are inspired by the music, which is usually so loud as to make idle conversation impossible. Or maybe it’s the lyrics being pounded into their brains that energize them: the compilations chosen by my gym include a considerable number of rap and other songs with graphic and vulgar descriptions of sex. I haven’t yet figured out whether multiply-repeated lines like “You already know I wanna fuck you” have the advantageous aerobic effect of making the heart beat faster, or whether to those gym members who are also dance club denizens they’re simply too familiar to be noticed.
The impression I have is that elements like those songs are part of a blasé-seeming attitude towards sex cultivated by the gym to appeal to the majority of its clients: we’re hip, westernized and contemporary, it tries to say. Unfortunately, the façade begins to crack when exposed to a native western pair of eyes. Look at the buff trainers, their biceps and pecs nicely outlined by their tight t-shirts. In their masculinity they’re identical to their American counterparts – until you notice that they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. The easy physical contact which many Indian males have with their friends reaches its apogee at the gym, whose raison d’être is after all the body beautiful. As they pass each other, the trainers touch each other’s hands or chests, or they walk through the workout area together with their arms slung round each other’s shoulders. By contrast, in the men’s locker room there reigns an almost universal painful modesty about nudity, which leads to much contorted divesting and vesting of underwear from beneath towels wrapped tightly around the waist.
All of these goings-on are gazed upon by ultra-defined muscular males in photos that grace the walls of the establishment, including in the locker room a large poster of a male nude, who is presumably meant to rouse us to greater heights of disciplined exercise. All perfectly normal, one might think, and impeccably heterosexual – except that the pictures are predominantly by Herb Ritts, one of the most prominent gay American photographers. Ritts is known for works that slyly subvert heterosexual conventions by depicting hyper-masculine men in a way that is particularly appealing to gay viewers. In other words, his photos are homoerotic, and several of the ones at my gym are prime examples. It’s probably the case that a lot of Americans don’t quite cotton on to this – Ritts shoots models for the Abercrombie and Fitch clothing catalogs, after all – but I’m pretty sure that an American gym would steer nervously clear of displaying his photographs on their walls.
It seems to me that my gym has adapted some of the trappings of American gym culture without completely understanding the subtle, often blurred lines that define heterosexual and homosexual male identities in the west. Transposed to India, these western traits and affectations mix haphazardly with the very different ways in which Indian men relate to one another in terms of physical appearance and contact. The result is that notwithstanding the pounding macho music, the muscular trainers and the atmosphere of serious intent to exercise, through my western eyes my gym seems very gay!
Male sexual anxiety in the USA still often revolves around wanting to have a good-looking body while simultaneously not being mistaken for being gay. In Delhi, it seems to me that appearing gay is literally inconceivable to most men, who focus on a good physique because it is a component of the social, professional and romantic success that, to judge by their behavior, they feel they’re entitled to. “You already know I wanna fuck you,” they may be singing along in their heads – but only to the woman of their dreams. To my western eyes, however, it doesn’t always look that way. It’s just one small example of how life in Delhi is often confusing – but equally amusing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)