Silent Watchers

Statue!

How long can you hold a pose?

Past week, I have been gazing at men, women and beasts in all kinds of contorted positions, climbing over each other, and up the temple walls. Sculpted in stone, and frozen in time.

Khajuraho.

Blocks of sandstone cut, carved and polished over a thousand years ago are filled with rich imagery. Soldiers marching, elephants wrestling, beautiful apsaras wistfully looking into mirrors, musicians beating the mridangam, and parrots singing while yakshas guard the door. Every panel has context, history and mythology intertwined on stone. And then of course, are men and women, in their splendid poses - fighting, playing, copulating and ignoring each other.

Khajuraho is known for its erotic art. The ancient sculptors were not afraid of desire. They did not look away from intimacy or the naked body. The walls are covered with full bodied women dangling over men, men who are upside down, tongues out, feet up, head down, rocking, rolling, biting and fighting. But those that really caught my attention were the quieter ones on the side, watching.

While lovers consume each other greedily, fingers digging into flesh, there are those who do nothing, except look. They lean against pillars with one leg resting, crouch on the floor with tilted heads, sit cross legged with hands under their chin, some craning their necks to see better, and others leaning in, transfixed by what unfolds before them. Who knows what the ancient sculptors intended. They could be voyeurs, or just plain curious. Perhaps they look at the writhing bodies with longing and desire. Sometimes their gaze carries the weight of judgement, or maybe it is indifference. They are not affected or surprised. I'd like to think that they are merely observers. Like us.

The lovers hold their pose forever. The curves, the hands on her breast and their legs wrapped in one another are caught in an endless moment. I couldn’t take my eyes away. But after a while, I also didn’t know what I was trying to see.

Sex is obvious. Tantra hides in symbolism. And the meaning of life is still painfully elusive. Us and them, we just keep looking, looking.