Tread gently. This article contains descriptions and visuals of BDSM activities.

I remember that conversation, where I was asked to attend India’s first-ever KinkCon, a national convention about all things to do with kink, queerness, and consent. Specifically, we needed people to document this event, to have a record for posterity. I was reminded that I have a knack for observing things around me, something I had demonstrated through my past attendance at events of the Kinky Collective, where I would often note down the minutes. So, I agreed. But I thought I could volunteer for more than that. We needed visual documentation too, and wanting to be a bit more useful, I also offered to take photographs.

Fast forward to a couple of months later, and I found myself at the venue of the KinkCon, with my laptop and camera gear. I saw several familiar faces, and gradually, more and more kinksters from all over the country arrived. I already knew that this was going to be something very special.

While as much a participant as anyone else there, it did not take me long to slide into the role I had chosen for myself − that of the (mostly) silent observer. I find a certain sort of peace there. I treat it as a practice, to train my attention, to learn to notice the little things, to try to do so with an objective gaze, and in the process, notice myself too, my feelings and reactions, my own biases, assumptions, and ignorance. This time, I was going to direct my gaze through the lens of my camera. Equipped with that tool, I was going to carry out an experiment, which was to pay special attention to the multitude of physical forms around me. To notice the people, yes, but especially notice them as their bodies.

Something interesting happens to me when I hold the camera. One would imagine that it makes one more conspicuous, but to me, it feels like a cloak of invisibility, blending me into my surroundings. That is not what one always desires, but in certain situations, it comes in very handy. One way it helps is that it provides me access. Of course, that access was predicated on consent, one of the cardinal principles that governed everyone’s interactions there. I could experience a proximity that would otherwise feel to me intrusive of someone’s personal space. But not there, where I frequently found myself sharing space with my photographic subjects.

I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly the attendees warmed up to each other’s presence. Many, perhaps even most, were meeting other community members for the first time. The vast majority of us identify ourselves with nicknames and monikers, rather than our real names. The latter don’t seem to matter, because the point of having a kink community is to allow us to live out the identities we actually identify with deep down and thus, have the freedom to choose our own names to go along with them. Now, we also had faces to match those names. Someone remarked that in many cases, before they got to see someone’s face, they already recognised them from their appearance, their body.

This got me wondering − the multiple identities we may establish in our lives, be they kink or non-kink, at least in the physical, non-virtual spaces, all reside within the same body. That body itself is not a static entity, as with time, it undergoes changes both internal and external. Neither are our various identities static, and they, too, are intimately tied to the corporeal form that they inhabit. Our bodies become the form and medium through which we present ourselves to the outside world, engage with it, interact with it, perceive it and are perceived by it. Be that as it may, there are some identities of ours that we long to express, which we feel are a more authentic representation of our true selves, but are not always able to. Here, over three days, I witnessed people who through kink, felt entirely comfortable and uninhibited in their own bodies, and that too so publicly that it might have come as a revelation even to themselves.

I saw during the ropes demo the sheer artistry on display. Bodies willing to be literally bound, akin to sculptures being moulded. Hands and fingers deftly weaving strands of rope around them, forming knots and ties, some basic but functional, some intricate and aesthetically delightful. If you asked the rigger (the one who ties) what they had in mind, they would tell you that the design arose spontaneously. The ropes are a tactile language; what we see is a dialogue between two bodies. Once finished, it was worth noticing the change in the bound subjects. A sense of stillness and calm came over them. No hurry to escape their bound state. Like the swaddling cloths of a baby, the ropes hugged and soothed them.

Quite different to the above was the impact play. A body overcoming the natural impulse to avoid pain. Repeated strikes of the whip landing on bare skin, each leaving a visible mark. The cries elicited were audible. Just the sound of the whip made the others gathered around flinch. Yet the recipient asked for more, willing to have their threshold of pain be tested. There was implicit trust, and explicit communication to reinforce that trust, that no real harm will come to them. The pain felt, the marks left, would be transient. When it stopped, you saw them laugh.

I saw carefully placed needles piercing the surface of the skin. Another instance of overriding the call of self-preservation, enabled by the presence of a safe, trusting environment. Looking closely, I noticed the nervous anticipation, the barely concealed quiver of the lips. Once again, the body as a canvas for art. The body as a medium, concentrating one’s attention, and channelling one’s focus to a single point. In that moment, you see a connection forming. On their faces, lips gently parted in an expression of ecstasy.

Witnessing all this and more, it also becomes plain that there’s only a fuzzy distinction between pleasure and pain. A dichotomy to be escaped; mere sensations, both. But one common element is the element of play. Playfulness, that oft-neglected aspect of our being that defines social creatures like us; our formative gateway to joy, creativity, and discovery. Through the medium of kink, I saw people happy within their bodies, exploring their desires, even as they rediscovered the joy of playing. In that space, they felt free. Kinksters might just have independently discovered that, in spite of their inherent limitations, there is a certain freedom and liberation meant to be experienced through our bodies.

I also kept reminding myself of my experiment. What was I noticing? How was I noticing it? Can the attempt to capture an aesthetic image merely be about noticing physical shapes and forms and composition within the confines of a rectangular frame, and the interplay of light and shadow with various textured surfaces? What about the elements in the frame that were present underneath those surfaces of skin and flesh, that I could not see, yet felt? Turning my gaze inwards, I noticed that while one part of my mind was observing the scene visually, another was identifying with the minds of the subjects it was observing, so much so that I could feel the sensations being registered in their minds, albeit attenuated, mirrored within me. I noticed how I would breathe differently, as if automatically syncing to the tempo of the activity in front of me. And then there would be that split second where my breath would pause, and I would freeze that moment in time, distilling it into a photograph. Capturing an image is also the capturing of one’s emotions. A truly objective gaze is something of an illusion.

The journeys into and relationships with kink are unique to each person who was present, and so were their experiences, which they got a chance to later share. For some dealing with years of trauma or internalised shame, it was cathartic and healing. For some, it was an occasion of pure joy and celebration. Many were overwhelmed, at finally being seen, and being able to express themselves, the way they always wanted to. But the fact of their being physically present together, sharing a space as a community in a literal sense, was not lost on anybody. And this was my final observation. A healthy kink community is a community of care. Care communicated, more effectively and powerfully than words possibly could, through our bodies. Through every reassuring touch of a hand, every warm and comforting embrace, every gentle and empathetic look of recognition, I saw this embodiment of a community being nurtured.

Cover Image: iwonderwhy