The Big O

A village in northeastern Brazil recently celebrated its second annual "Orgasm Day" with an avowed objective to boost the satisfaction level of local women. An AFP report said that “officials in Esperantina, a burg of 34,000 in Piaui state, had determined that precisely 73 percent of local women were less than satisfied by their partners, which was leading to cheating, separations and divorce.”
At last there is hope for the world. The big O is getting rescued from the vice like grip of prudery
and ‘comeuppance’ of pretentious moralists. Honestly, what’s there to be apologetic about this quintessential quality-of-life matter. Imagine if there were no orgasm. Sex would have been reduced to assembly line production with robotic men and women performing desultorily, mechanically--a pipedream of reproductionists. And if there were no incentive to perform at the end of a tiresome day, performance would have trickled to a naught. Artificial insemination would have ruled the roost with a deadpan Controller of Reproductive Performance belting the hell out of shirkers in an Orwellian mould. The human race, if not endangered, would have been a joyless collage of cardboard creatures with toothy plastic smiles spray painted.
So, in a way, we do owe our survival in the present form less to Darwin but to all powering, all encompassing, the merciful and the bountiful, much maligned and misunderstood, the big O. More than a momentary splutter of many nirvanas, the progenitor of civilisation.
Coming on the heels of the Brazilian adventure, on the Web (oh, the Internet is such a wondrous thing), there is a talk of celebrating the many splendoured O. A website has already given a clarion call to all and sundry--solo or couple, mono or bi, hetero or homo--to celebrate G.O.D. Yes, you got it- the Global Orgasm Day. Its manifesto: ‘human biological ecstasy is a higher level…those who seek to squash or control it are working contrary to the flow of nature’. No problem with that. And from the land of hot-water bottles comes an invigorating news: Ann Summers, a major British sex store chain, has announced a National Orgasm Day for women ‘to stake their claim to a full and satisfying sex life’. Its slogan is pithy and pertinent: ‘Make it not fake it’. Remember Woody Allen’s Sleeper had an orgasmitron to monitor the intensity of the big O.
Seriously, beyond white-light, eye-rolling, heaven-on-earth feeling, making love is a joining experience--a consummation of two separate egos and their union into one, the atman transcending into Brahman. And am wondering if, in these days of strife and gore, it’s possible to unite a disparate progeny through a collective burst of creative energy that may sweep away the tides of darkness. I leave this thought for you to mull over.


(16 June 2002)