I’ve learned more about sex from Netflix’s Sex Education than I ever have at school
Sex Education is a periphery that’s theoretically unexplored by many. From what we see in pop culture, to what we experience, the difference can be staggering. I, as a woman living in India feel the urge to share a rather unpopular opinion you may agree with — I have learned more about sex ed from Sex Education, the netflix series, than I have in my years of school.
To lay it down straight, I feel I’ve witnessed an era of the idea of sex being adapted in the Indian pop culture. Well, for Indian films in the 50s and 60s, sex just didn’t exist. The child arrived by the grace of God. It progressively got rather strange as a couple decades flew by — this time flowers ‘kissing’ followed by an immediate jump cut.
The globalisation and liberalization brought with it new technology and trends, but significantly a contrasting culture as well. The Indian television diversified from educational and informative to a more info-tainment category. This was an era of exploration rather for most of the Indian audience. The dramatification transformed to western ideals being compelled — from dressing, showing love or even reading and watching eroticas. The problem still remained the same. As more television sets arrived in Indian homes, for some even computers, and international fashion magazines, the notion of sex diversified from reproduction to a one-way pleasure. For most, this pleasure was restricted to men. In the 90s and 2000s, India transformed its journey into satellite and cable television and an uptake in FDI. This only reckoned a way into this subconscious loophole — where the idea of sex was pleasurable, but it still was taboo.
Indian cinema transformed with the trends of liberalisation. Intimacy was perhaps more realistic on screen. The problem was still unstirred. The uncanny yet unavoidable question of ‘how do babies arrive?’ still lacked a logical understanding. It also may shed light on a deeper issue — how we behave towards children, especially with our vocabulary, keeping in mind that they might understand the issue or come up with questions or even worse — grow older before they should.
I watched all three seasons of Sex Education. The last one premiered yesterday. I’m still startled how our censor board didn’t yet ban its OTT streaming. Censorship is an issue in India. It aims at protecting the cultural rights of an interested audience, mind you an audience that is the notoriously second population-wise worldwide. Censorship in mass-centric movies can be an issue. Being blatant, premiering a show or a film on an OTT that is accessible to a niche percentage of a humongous population may not even be a breather. For yes, sex ed starts at school. What are our schools doing? Why are our kids ashamed of saying ‘SEX’ instead of the eighth biology chapter in Grade 9? Doesn’t this indicate that they are aware and aware of what? Sex existing? Yes. Sex being socially disgusting? Absolutely. Children, mostly adolescents and teenagers are as capable of figuring things out as what we quote as an ‘adult’, and ofcourse just turning 18 makes you an adult overnight. These adults are scared of sex, too eager of sex, sexually discouraged, sexually demeaned, have little to no understanding of their sexual organs and even lack a basic understanding of sexually transmitted diseases and sexual pleasure. The problem nevertheless lies in a deep social setting — a home where a girl is raised where she is celebrated for turning into a woman but also belittled because she now has women’s problems. Problems that are natural human occurring. Problems that are and should be openly discussed.
The problem with an intercourse is not that it is sexual but that the thought of it under circumstances that are socially and culturally unappealing havocking for your mental sanity. Sex Education was where I first came across certain sexual concepts — Vaginismus, pubic lice, expressing asexuality, etc. When you visualise something, it becomes more realistic. Your vagina isn’t the way it looks on a porn actress, nor is your penis circumcised or even 8-inches long when erect. You are not the problem. Perhaps, a part of the affected. How does this add up? Studies say that sex lasts on an average of 5.4 minutes. The act of sex however, in this regard solely heterosexual completely excluding the act of pleasure for both parties. Women fake and so do men. Sex is not necessarily just a penis in a vagina. On the recent season of Sex Education, Maeve questioned “What kind?”, it boggled my mind. It just throws the idea of ‘penis-vagina’ sex out of the window — not just asserting queer sex but also non-penetrative heterosexual sex.
The show is open — in terms of expressing oneself, their kinks, their desires, their problems and sexual character. The show also significantly points out sexual hygiene, period hygiene and more necessarily the openness to consult a sex therapist or therapy in general. Most importantly, Sex Education didn’t shun a foot away from showing the struggles of figuring things out or coming to terms with confrontation about one’s sexual behaviour or partner of choice. The first season starts with Otis having issues with understanding and having an erection, to figuring the basics out. Adam, in the beginning of the show, was stuck with the question of identity — initially just of his name and standing, and progressively of his sexuality and coming to terms with ‘coming out’. Aimee’s character building is rather impressive — being absolutely unaware of the pleasure, realising her abuse and living and understanding her trauma to eventually ask for help.
The show is refreshing, especially to an audience that is bewildered within the idea of virginity, and the taboo-stricken nature of sex. Especially in a country like India, where taboos engage around sex, porn, victims of sexual abuse, unethical abortion or even treatment of sexual trauma. Yet nobody corrects the underlying issue — Access to Sex Education at all levels of human development and for all in a stratified society. The problems of sexual hygiene and sexual health exist across a spectrum. First, from the ones underprivileged, where sex equals reproduction and reproduction equals a family’s stability. The birth of a male child equals a hope for acquiring wealth or sustenance and often paves trends of maternal mortality, female foeticide and infanticide. Second, abortions happen even if they are regulated. Third, contraception is utopian, and disgraced. Fourth, the realms of virginity and sacredness around virginity are complex to uncover. White bed sheets to prove a woman’s worth and how a man treats her afterwards — a prize or a whore. There are millions more to add. Otis’ mum being pregnant at 48 and loving sex at 48 is not problematic. Because she’s on a screen, fictional and cool? Why do we then look questionably into this sphere where the desire for sex may not fade out with age. Take the movie ‘Badhai Ho (2018)’ for example. Recently, I came across a scene from the movie ‘Paramitar Ek din (2000)’, where Paramita elaborates how her mother-in-law is approaching and dealing with menopause. Her husband soon shuts her up, questioning why she didn’t think twice before uttering something as disgraceful as his mother’s menopause.
We as a society have for years discriminated and defined the boundaries of sexual pleasure. Media may state it as discriminatory between men and women. The most pleasurable sex is one where there is understanding of the other’s body. This is exactly what Sex Education preaches, alongside talking about it, discussing and learning. I’m sorry for some spoilers in this piece, but I hope you take away, or rather break away from the caged spirit to an open mind, that is rational and unafraid to question the odds. Sex Education is a must watch for how brilliantly it embodies questions, gives answers surrounded in a plot that is deeply engaging and each character that is defined, impactful and a story in itself.
