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Journalism of Courage
“For a boy growing up on a diet of Hindi films, the navel becomes a sexual organ,” filmmaker Dibakar Banerjee revealed on The Durex Podcast, alongside actors Konkona Sen Sharma and Abhay Deol.
He continued, “One of my scriptwriter friends, a very funny guy, has even written a treatise on how to educate the Indian masses that that’s not where it goes.” The remark drew laughter, as he recalled how his friend Deepak Venkateshan once created a sketch “on how we’ve thrown everything — from coconuts to garlic, flower petals, water droplets, even ice — at the female navel.”
Konkona interjected, “And not the male navel at all,” to which Abhay replied, “I don’t think that’s attractive.” Dibakar then referenced Payal Kapadia’s All We Imagine As Light, praising its portrayal of female desire: “The way the male navel and a woman’s hand caressing it are portrayed is just beautiful.”
Like Dibakar, many Indians trace their first ideas of love and intimacy to cinema. Anish M, 32, told indianexpress.com, “The concept of romance was introduced to me via films like Titanic, Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, Spider-Man, and Salaam Namaste. As a kid, the conversations felt natural, but now some seem rather artificial.”
Anish’s experience mirrors that of countless Indians who grew up with cinema as their primary, and often only, source of information about sex and intimacy. In a country where comprehensive sex education remains largely taboo, Bollywood’s silver screen has inadvertently become the classroom where millions learn about desire, relationships, and physical intimacy.
Dr Prashant Jain, associate director of Urology at PSRI Hospital, sees the impact in his practice: “Movies are a very important source of sexual knowledge and information. Unfortunately, that knowledge is often misinformed, exaggerated, or presented in a very raw way. It cannot be called education.”
The problem, Dr Jain noted, lies in cinema’s commercial imperatives. He said that sex is often presented like something to sell. “Not all, but most of the movies are made for profit, so they project concepts that make money… Since it is not discussed openly in society, people end up learning about it from movies.”
For communication consultant Tanuj Jakhmola, this rings true. “The first intimate film I remember watching was Emraan Hashmi’s Aashiq Banaya Aapne. At that time, I wasn’t mature enough to understand it. Looking back now, it feels more like a foreplay tutorial.”
This cinematic “education” often leads to disappointment. “I have grown up watching SRK movies which set up a lot of expectations,” said Avirup Nag, 26. “But later I realised things don’t work out like that. It only happens in Bollywood.”
Dr Jain linked this to cinema’s compressed storytelling: “The entire life story of a couple is compressed into two or three hours. So everything is fast-forwarded — the age, the emotions, and their implications. The youth take it to extremes. They feel, ‘If the hero can do it, why not me?’ But when they actually go and perform in real life, they feel, ‘Oh, I am not normal.’ That leads to suppressed self-esteem.”
Dr Jain points out another major flaw: “If you look at cinema, the idea of consent is almost absent. It is implied that if two young people are together, romance will happen, and then sex will automatically follow.”
Anish recalled rare exceptions: “Satyaprem Ki Katha in 2023 and Pink in 2016. Amitabh Bachchan’s line ‘No Means No’ does leave an impact.”
Cinema’s male-centric lens has long erased women’s experiences. “In films, the male is projected as the protector. The female’s consent, her pleasure, and her overall experience are ignored,” Dr Jain notes. He hears this in his clinic: “Husbands complain their wives are not interested. But when I speak to the wives separately, they say, ‘My understanding of sex is different from this. I am not given space to express myself’.”
Intimacy coordinator Ronisha Nenshad Karbhari agreed: “Hindi cinema portrays intimacy mostly through the male gaze. That’s why we are misinformed about how intimacy works.” By shaping what audiences see on screen, films directly influence how intimacy is understood, and misunderstood, in everyday life.
This is where intimacy coordinators step in, not just to ensure actors feel safe on set, but also to guide filmmakers in portraying sex and romance with greater authenticity. Their presence signals a shift toward more responsible storytelling. As psychologist and intimacy coordinator Pallavi Srivastav explains her role to actors with a simple analogy: “I’ve got you. Think of me as your psychological harness.”
Ronisha said, “It’s not just choreography. An intimacy professional maximises efficiency on set by conducting actor workshops, consent and boundary exercises, and choreography referencing so that performers feel safe while the director’s vision is executed with ease and in the minimum possible floor time.”
“Intimacy coordination is ultimately about responsibility,” Srivastav elaborated, “about thinking ahead to situations that could cause psychological harm, and addressing them before they arise.”
Kanak Garg, another intimacy coordinator and actor, confirmed this approach, mentioning, “As an intimacy professional, I specialise in designing scenes of intimacy and vulnerability with precision and authenticity, keeping in mind the vision of the creators while adhering to the actors’ boundaries and ensuring emotional care — much like how fight sequences are planned with physical safety in mind.”
The industry is slowly recognising its responsibility. Filmmaker Aditi Bhande reflects, “As a documentary filmmaker, I’m acutely aware of cinema’s responsibility with regards to representation. The images we create don’t just entertain, they quietly teach, normalise, or stigmatise.”
If given the freedom to rewrite Bollywood’s approach to intimacy, Bhande admits she would focus on authenticity. She notes, “I would normalise conversation during intimacy — showing partners checking in, laughing at awkwardness, or expressing pleasure without shame… Desire is tender, funny, sometimes awkward and imperfect, and cinema rarely shows that.”
Garg sees broader cultural implications. “In a way, I look at my role of an intimacy coordinator as a cultural movement — one not just for the film industry but also at large for the society… we have initiated a systematic cultural change, both within the industry and the viewers.”
For viewers like Avirup, the solution lies in more realistic portrayals, “If movies had to really show what an ideal relationship looks like, I wish they showed that it’s not just about romance or fun moments. A real relationship needs a lot of responsibility, understanding each other, and sometimes compromise.”
Dr Jain believes the industry’s evolution could benefit the next generation. “The role of intimacy coordinators and filmmakers is very significant,” he said, adding, “The intimacy shown on screen can strengthen relationships when movies reflect real-life situations rather than fantasy-filled ones. Filmmakers and intimacy coordinators need to remove the taboo around sex, give women a voice, and present intimacy in a healthier way that encourages awareness and responsibility,” Dr Jain concludes.
