On Breasts, Bhakti, and the Male Gaze

Puberty is a big thing in this part of the culture. The first period indicates that the young girl's reproductive organs are now fully grown and functional. That roughly coincides with the stage when a woman's breasts also begin to grow noticeably.

And when I hit that stage, the elders around me were particular about one thing: never expose your breasts. It needed to be flat. I didn't understand. But that's precisely the stage when one rebels.

The younger me thought it was an unfair curb on women. I would disobey. After a certain period, there were no expectations or do's and don'ts about dressing norms. I was free to wear whatever I liked.

It's when I noticed one thing: men threw second looks at the torso when it was exposed. The look was gross. There were times I would pull my dupatta down haphazardly, thankful for the fact that I wore a salwar.

I started following the norms which were imposed on me when I was a girl.

I now don't wear salwars as much as I used to when I was younger. My college allowed only salwars, though. I had to do a lot of research on buying inner garments that keep the upper part of the body flat. I usually find it tough shopping for kurtas that are loose on the sides, and then come the alterations that follow.

Men have no such restrictions. Sigh.

I am fond of Tamil devotional poetry. In Abhirami Anthathi, Subramania Bhattar, who allegedly gets to see the Ambal's darshan in real time, describes her breasts.

Mind you, this is not like the other amorous pieces of literature that are rampant in many cultures and languages. He's intoxicated by bhakti. There's hardly a hint of sexual desire. He vows that now that he has got her darshan, his need for physical intimacy with the opposite sex doesn't exist anymore:

“இனி எண்ணுதற்குச் சமயங்களும் இல்லை,
ஈன்றெடுப்பாள் ஒரு தாயும் இல்லை,
அமையும் அமையுறு தோழியர்மேல் வைத்த ஆசையுமே.” 

“கருத்தன எந்தைதன் கண்ணன, வண்ணக் கனக வெற்பின்
பெருத்தன, பால் அழும் பிள்ளைக்கு நல்கின, பேர் அருள்கூர்
திருத்தன பாரமும், ஆரமும், செங்கைச் சிலையும், அம்பும்,
முருத்தன மூரலும், நீயும், அம்மே, வந்து என்முன் நிற்கவே.”

Translation:

“The one who carries Siva in Your thoughts all the time, the one whose breasts resemble Mount Meru, the mother who fed Thirugnana Sambandar with those breasts — Mother, please let me see You along with the pearl string, the sugarcane bow, and the flower arrows that You carry in each of Your hands.”

There are a few other poems that talk about the Devi's breasts too, but I will shortly be doing a series on Abhirami Anthathi and its translations.

But what I wanted to convey is this: women's breasts weren't considered something glamorous until people began covering them, quite recently.

The debate goes on about how women need to cover themselves, but men need to learn how to behave too.