Hank Hyena

Jakarta’s efforts to eradicate the gourd-garb as a “backward” accessory have failed, although a ban does exist that condemns their bobbing display inside government offices. Western clothing is required in the halls of bureaucracy, a burdensome decree that encumbers the near-naked Dani men who are sensibly undressed for the tropical climate.

Today, the wearing of a penis gourd is seen as an act of defiance against the Jakarta government. An elder, Sopaluma Elosak, clutched his erect gourd and exclaimed “Freedom to Papua,” when a reporter asked him how he felt about Indonesia.

Thousands of Irian Jayan locals have already been massacred by an Indonesian Army that is intent on exploiting the region’s gold, copper, oil
and forest resources. To prevent West Papua from becoming another East Timor, the government of Jakarta must give local tribesman reasons to belong to the nation and respect their customs.

Femprox, developed by NexMed of New Jersey, seems to be leading the pack of climax contenders in the current race for an FDA-approved vaginal jump-start jelly. The company’s manager of corporate affairs, Deborah Carty, says that testing of its product is in Phase 2 in China. She anticipates that the final leap over the Phase 3 hurdle will begin by the end of 2001, “and if the results are positive, it [Femprox] will go on the marketplace, pending FDA concurrence.” (Phase 1 is an initial test for safety to rule out side effects not caught in animal studies; Phase 2 is an efficacy trial, usually using a small number of people; Phase 3 is a larger test that usually lasts a year and is the final phase before seeking FDA marketing approval.)

NexMed’s aphrodisiac ointment garnered ecstatic acclaim in its Phase 1 tests (unveiled in August 1999), when eight women at the Robert Wood Johnson Medical School in New Brunswick, N.J., praised its pleasure potential after doses were dabbed on their genitalia. Clinical data gathered by machine — electrocardiography and photoplethysmography (a technique that monitors vaginal blood flow) — backed up their testimony with scientific statistics.

The eight invigorated volunteers were all sufferers of female sexual dysfunction and/or female sexual arousal disorder, maladies that were magnificently alleviated by the libidinous goo. Internal research by NexMed, says Carty, has “estimated that FSAD may affect 47 million American women.” This vast number of dissatisfied women includes 25 percent who were pre-menopausal and 75 percent who were post-menopausal, with symptoms that included absence of sexual desire, lack of lubrication, decreased blood flow to the vagina and inability to attain orgasm.

The erogenous ingredient in Femprox is alprostadil, described by Carty as “the chemical name for prostaglandin E1, a natural substance found in the human body.” Alprostadil operates as a potent vasodilator, enhancing blood flow to anatomical regions by widening the major arterial vessels.

Impotent male readers are probably wondering by now: Would this work on my wiener? The answer is yes, absolutely. Alprostadil is the same element that props up Upjohn’s Caverject injectable stiffener, and it’s the meat-toughening medicine in Muse (a virile intraurethral pill produced by Vivus). It’s also the hardening tool in NexMed’s male erectile dysfunction product, Alprox-TD, which is neck and neck with Femprox in the company’s testing contest.

Alprostadil cream got an additional boost in credibility at the 95th annual meeting of the American Urological Association in Atlanta (April 29-May 5), when Dr. Edgardo Becher of the University of Buenos Aires, Argentina, announced the results of his studies involving 18 women ages 18 to 61. After applying alprostadil to his subjects’ clitorises, he measured blood flow — in 15-minute intervals — with color duplex ultrasonography equipment. A “rapid vasculating effect” in the perked-up pink nub and surrounding tissue was recorded, and 13 of the subjects maintained that they felt “pleasant” warm sensations.

Why is a lotion being developed for lust in NexMed’s laboratories, instead of a pill that could be discreetly popped? The finger application of Femprox’s compound — alprostadil combined with additional skin penetration ingredients — is lauded as superior to tablets because it offers a “faster response … reduced side effects … [and] localized versus systemic reaction.” (These assertions can be found on NexMed’s product information Web site.)

In the arousing race for FDA approval, Femprox has zipped ahead of its rival Alista (created by Vivus). Alprostadil is also used in Alista, but that product’s clinical testing lags approximately two years behind NexMed’s solution. Numerous other, non-FDA-approved vaginal ointments are already available, however, and women seem to be in a lather to purchase them.

New York urologist Dr. Jed Kaminetsky offers his walk-in patients a sensual choice: a Viagra-based cream or Dream Cream. Both are available by prescription only, subsequent to an exam. The first concoction incorporates the same sildenafil chemistry as the famous male booster, while Dream Cream enlists L-arginine, an amino acid that is widely used by professional athletes to build muscle mass. (A nonprescription version of Dream Cream is also available through Kaminetsky’s Web site.) Kaminetsky advises his customers to apply the topical therapy “20 to 30 minutes before sexual relations … around the opening of the vagina and the clitoris. You will experience a warm tingling sensation. The effect … lasts several hours.”

Viagra for women in its oral form has been lauded by several researchers (who praise its success with post-menopausal and post-hysterectomy women and those cursed with sexual dissatisfaction related to antidepressant therapy), but Kaminetsky considers the swallowing cure far less effective than his hands-on ointment. He also claims that painful side effects caused by orally taken Viagra — such as nasal congestion and severe headaches — are nonexistent with his tubal remedy.

Two topical remedies that Illinois reproductive endocrinologist Dr. Chance Fisher recommends are “a combination of estrogen and male androgen” and “a 2 percent testosterone cream.” His hormonal therapy is unlike Viagra, which he says works “directly on contraction and dilation ability of the blood vessels”; rather, its impact is upstairs “in the pituitary gland and brain.” The great groin sensation of a heated vagina will be identical, he expects, but with hormones a sweaty crotch can be achieved only after a “complex chain of chemical reactions.”

Fisher also asserts that peppermint oil increases sensation. And, according to the doctor, a simple remedy for sexual dysfunction is: “More sex,” he suggests. “The more stimulation you get, the more developed and responsive the nerves become.” This remedy might seem obtuse and frustrating at first, but anyone who has experienced his or her nipples or anus methodically spring into life after consistent attention can vouch for the integrity of this theory.

On the other side of the issue are many therapists, who see the psychological aspects of this problem as most significant. Sex therapists use counseling skills when they solve sexual problems, and see products like Femprox as shortcuts that threaten both their wallets and their talk-it-out sensibilities. Lilly Tanner, Ph.D., of Miami Beach, Fla., grumbles that “women do better when they’re involved in a good relationship than they do when they’re putting creams on themselves. It [Femprox] is just a nonsense thing that the pharmaceuticals have come up with.”

Steven Braveman (M.A., MFT) of Monterey, Calif., is apparently even more allergic to vaginal ointments. “Ninety-eight percent of pre-orgasmic women can easily have an orgasm after they work through their issues in a behavioral, therapeutic format,” he fumes. “Maybe it’s trauma at an early age, or a strong religious message that sexuality is evil, or they might be married to a man who is ignorant of female genitalia.”

“What I fear,” he continues, “what we [sex therapists] are concerned about, is that our society is medicalizing, pathologizing, an emotional or relationship problem. If women buy into the idea that they can just be pharmaceutically treated to enjoy sex, we are essentially turning them into prostitutes so that they will perform on demand. The development of these creams represents a very poor turn of events in the history of our sexuality.”

Certainly an eloquent plea by the Californian, but absolutely erroneous, snorts New Yorker Kaminetsky. “That’s not true!” he rails when informed of Braveman’s statistic that medical intervention is 98 percent unnecessary. “What about post-menopausal women, when their bodies go through hormonal and vascular changes?” Additional physiological causes of FSAD and FSD that the urologist lists on his Web site are “nerve damage, smoking, elevated cholesterol [and] long-distance bicycle riding.”

“Some people don’t see the big picture,” Kaminetsky says, defending his potions. “Even if the problem is psychological, if we can provide a cream that is quickly effective, why should anyone be opposed to that? I’m in the business of helping people.”

After Viagra’s success, it’s clear that any amorous medicine is destined to become a top seller, whether patients decide to use it in conjunction with therapy or as an enhancement they can apply themselves.

“Smegma,” Abigail spat out the word, “is gross. Future girlfriends are going to gag if we don’t snip him.”

“Really?” Kent petitioned the room for support. “Is that true?”

Two women wrinkled their noses and nodded. The remainder said “probably.” They hadn’t actually licked any floppy fellas, but the elephantine trunks seemed potentially rank.

“Leave his weenie alone,” I spoke up. “You’re just culturally biased.”

“I’ve been there!” trilled Abigail. “I have tasted uncut men and I’ve had them wiggle inside me and I’m telling you: It’s rude and inferior.”

Her slice-happy statements terrified and conflicted me. I’m a hacked-and-bitter hetero who believes “male genital mutilation” should be abolished, but now I was wondering: Are “roundheads” actually yummier? Is my trimmed prick a superior love machine? Multiple reasons are posted in both the pro-circ and anti-circ columns (penile cancer, bloody baby trauma, zipper fodder, infant hygiene, AIDS resistance) but I had never before heard circumcision proposed as a sexual convenience for women.

Returning home, I telephoned Anne O’Leary, my San Francisco singer/dancer pal who has a promiscuous résumé with Teutons and Slavs. (Most Europeans, non-Muslim Asians and Africans, Latin Americans and Pacific Islanders are left unsevered.) She was eager to discuss her encounters with dick hoods: “Foreskin guys are more sensitive,” she revealed. “I can’t hump on them as hard and my pubic hairs chafe them. Foreskins are also like big tube socks with no elastic and sometimes it gets smelly in the tube-sock wrinkles. Especially with Germans, because they don’t consider body odor a turnoff.”

Her testimony was not an uncut recommendation. Sheaths are odoriferous, she implied, plus they’re whimpering sissies when the pumping gets passionate. What’s going on here? Two entirely different copulatory styles? Are Americans, Jews and Muslims pounding away with our antiseptic staffs while the remainder of the planet gingerly strokes a rancid, oily worm?

Cosi Fabian received my next call. She’s been a “sacred whore” for 15 years, plying her erotic trade like an ancient Babylonian temple prostitute. (Recently she was featured on a “20/20″ episode called “Women of the Night.”) “It sounds silly,” she admitted, “but I have to ask uncut men what a good touch is because I’m not sure what to do with the long, pointy, hanging thing. Esthetically, I also prefer cut to look at, but that’s a shame, really. Nature doesn’t make mistakes; my resistance is just fear of the unknown.”

Ah, the immigrant foreskin. Animalistic interloper in American bedsheets. Does the untampered organ cause queasy horror in American women, like viewing a phallus for the first time, but more of it? Are flayed penises the preference of cautious, lazy Ms. Americans, because they’re familiar? Hm …

“Tracy Traylor” — a British comedienne who insisted on using a pseudonym — sassily fielded my next assault of dirty dick questions. “Hand jobs and blow jobs and titty fucks are all easier with hooded chaps because you don’t need as much spit or lube,” she explained. “The foreskin simply glides up and down the shaft, and the taste doesn’t daunt me. Plus it’s fun to play peek-a-boo with the helmet and foreskin.”

What about intercourse? “Same thing,” she reiterated. “Foreskins create less friction, which is handy when I’m high on pot and therefore a little dry in the undercarriage. I don’t have to put up with a hard cock rubbing directly against the delicate pink tissues of my vagina or my rectum, depending what side of the fence my bloke’s on.”

Which penis is cuter? “Mind you,” Tracy frowned, “when you’re as sexy as I am you don’t often see a flaccid penis. But generally, the foreskin is not nice to look at — gobble gobble — it resembles a turkey’s neck. Very bestial. Or should I say fowl? But Yankee doodles look lonely without a jacket on. Ready for action, but sad.”

So far, my hypothesis was proving correct: Ladies prefer the meat they grew up around. This disappointed me — why isn’t imported sausage erotic? Is smegmatic flavor just too gamy for hyper-sanitary female American nostrils? I decided to dial the male queer studs I know; surely their olfactory organs weren’t as anal. Actually, “picky” is a better word.

Playwright Greg Nott (scribe of “Too Many Balls In The Air” and “Slam Bam Thank You Ma’am”) backed up my theory that gay men like it mustier. “Just thinking about that smell is enough to stir me,” he sighed. “And the gooeyness? Not distasteful. Quite the opposite. Love it love it love it.”

Poet Trebor Healy (author of “Big Cock Candy Mountain” and “The Star Spangled Boner”) agreed with Nott’s assessment. “I’m a big foreskin fan,” he raved. “It’s slimier, so you’re not dependent on lube. And the musky scent is a male pheromone hit!”

Performance artist Keith Hennessy completed the trio of homo pro-cap adherents, with some reservations. “I like a musty crotch,” he admitted. “But I’ve had moments when I’ve thought, whoa, that’s nasty! I have one (I’m Canadian) and several of my lovers have preferred me after a shower, so they can focus on the texture of my loose skin in their mouth, instead of the odor.” I couldn’t find any statistics that graphed gay infatuation with foreskins, but I did track down four wildly diverse studies that examined women’s cock choices.

Two University of Iowa professors, Marvel and Paul Williamson, claimed in the fall/winter 1988 issue of the Journal of Sex Education and Therapy that 71 to 83 percent of new mothers of sons “preferred circumcised penises for sexual activity … visual appeal and … hygiene.” Eighty-nine percent of these women had their sons’ organs abbreviated despite the American Academy of Pediatrics confession that circumcision is medically unnecessary. Obviously, Midwestern mommies are molding their boys’ genitalia into a shape they view as sexually pleasurable.

Another American survey posted on Circlist.org by James Badger, states that 57 percent of women find circumcised penises more visually attractive (33 percent disagree, 10 undecided) and a 2-1 ratio prefers sucking sliced meat.

Hand jobs, however, are more fun with a foreskin, by an identical 2-1 margin. Penis-in-vagina preference was evenly split in the U.S., but a similar survey that Badger e-mailed around Australia concluded that 83 percent of Down Under dames reach orgasm with circumcised men, while only 53 percent climax with natural dongs. That’s a whopping 30 percent better change of getting off with a baldy.

Internet surveys are scandalously sloppy. Perhaps that explains why two British doctors, K. and J. O’Hara, arrived at an opposite summary in their meticulous “The Effect of Male Circumcision on the Sexual Enjoyment of the Female Partner” study that was published in BJU International (a urology journal) in 1999. Females answering the O’Hara questionnaire were more likely to have vaginal orgasms, multiple orgasms, increased lubrication and eagerness “to really get into it” with an unaltered partner. The doc duo concluded that the sheath-within-a-sheath of intact penises leads to gentler strokes, increased contact with the clitoris and better sexual relationships.

What happened to the reek dilemma? Why aren’t UK women whining about stench? (Smegma is defined by sexologist William F. Fitzgerald as “the stuff that accumulates in the pouch, composed of oils, traces of urine and sloughed-off skin. It smells awful and tastes acrid.” He advises women to combat the crud with handi-wipes.) Apparently, Brits familiar with Stilton cheese don’t find anything offensive or even noticeable about uncut odors.

The majority of women worldwide — 60 to 80 percent of all males are uncirced — have also adapted their noses and tongues to accommodate foreskin cultures.

Are women ethical when they annihilate flesh that harbors dick-slime? “Of course not!” gasps Marilyn Milos, a registered nurse and the founder/director of NOCIRC. “I tell mothers, ‘Ask yourself what you’d smell like if you didn’t wash your crotch for three days.’” Intact males who are urged by girlfriends to chop off their hoods often call Milos for support. “I say to those guys, ‘Tell ‘em: You first, honey, I don’t like your clitoral hood.’” The feisty Marin County, Calif., nurse sees America’s foreskin-phobia as primarily psychological. “If you’ve been told your whole life ‘Ick, that’s dirty,’ how would you enjoy sex with it? We’ve got to stop that and start praising the sexual sensitivity of the foreskin and the enclosed mucus membrane of the protected glans.”

Abigail and Kent eventually decided to leave their son’s genitalia intact, persuaded partially by my crotch information. Will Zachary’s organ be loathed in his homeland? Traveling abroad, his happy cap would be foreplayed and glided inside and sensually sniffed by lovers who regarded him as sexy and tasty. But many American females will continue to view him as disgusting and stinky, unless we all learn to stop butchering the small, wrinkled controversial cap.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please just spit it out anywhere, on me or the blankets; I’ll clean it up and I’ll bring you a big glass of cold water.” Blow jobs bestowed on my happy organ invariably end with me mumbling ashamedly, as if I had just splattered eggnog all over the Christmas table. I view my gobs as disgusting dollops.

“You try it!” Samantha challenges her bewildered beau (Adam) when he bellows that she’s acting like a squeamish princess. “If you’re fine with it, I’ll be fine with it.” Adam initially resists sampling his spooge (“It’s gay!” he whines), but eventually he chokes down his rancid cum, with an anguished expression on his defeated visage. Although he reports that he’s “fine with it,” we know that he’s lying.

I lied too, 25 years ago, when I gobbled through the same horrible gastronomic gantlet. My lover Robyn perceived my bluff; she forced me to admit that I loathed the salty, viscous wad. Ever since then, my glee at getting my lollipop licked has been tainted with advance remorse: My receiver is about to be nauseous.

“Sex and the City” provided me with a glimmer of hope, though, a key to decontaminating the puddles of my prick. When Samantha presents her pungent dilemma at lunch to her female friends, they advise her that “it has something to do with nutrition … there’s something he could eat to make it sweeter.” Her subsequent attempt to detox his dribblings with wheat grass juice and a ginger-melon smoothie proves unsuccessful, but I still wondered wistfully: Is a herbal remedy available? Is there a semen-sweetening savior?

I began my research by telephoning the busiest cocksucker I know: Trebor Healy, a gay poet who has praised slurping in paeans such as “Dick Prayer,” “The Big Cock Candy Mountain” and “The Star-Spangled Boner.” Trebor informed me that “organic vegetarians taste the best, and those who drink plenty of liquids put out a better consistency; the dehydrated lad can get a bit thick. Also, a man whose mouth tastes good will always have delicious cum, while a foul kiss leads to less-than-fabulous sperm.”

Trebor’s report depressed me, because I’m neither vegetarian nor an avid imbiber of beverages. My next call was even less reassuring. Al Lujan, a head-bobbing writer, performer and filmmaker, said that the first sperm he swallowed tasted the best because “it was dispensed from a 15-year-old kid who lived off candy. My following experiences left me with the impression that the older you get, the nastier your sperm tastes. Ah, sweet spurt of youth.”

I’m 48 and I never eat sweets, so my phallus phlegm is getting fouler every day? I decided to stop querying gay guys immediately; my survey swiveled instead to wide-jawed women.

Ex-porn star Annie Sprinkle established her expertise on the topic when she modestly mentioned to me that she had “swallowed the cum of probably over 1,000 men.” Her wholesome opinion — “vegetarians have sweeter sperm than meat eaters” — echoed Trebor’s frightening analysis. Sprinkle also suggested that “smoking, drinking, drugs and asparagus negatively affect the flavor.”

Sex surrogate Tara Livingston of Los Angeles received my next panicked call. Shrewdly, she stalled my self-disgust by conveying only the sperm taste enhancers: “plums, nectarines, oranges, lemons, limes, parsley, cilantro, spearmint, peppermint, grapefruit and green tea.” Unfortunately, I don’t nibble on any of that sissy stuff.

Sex writer Katy Bell — who says she has “slurped the milky way from California to New York to Mexico” — ticked off three nutritional tips for a mellow ejaculate: hard candies, gallons of apple juice and fruit. But her must-be-avoided list was far lengthier, and it included all of my favorite foodstuffs: asparagus, chicken, garlic, onions and dairy products. Egads! My dream menu is an abomination.

A quick Yahoo search of “taste of semen” info sank me further into self-revulsion. Asparagus popped up incessantly on my screen like a sprouting forest of the slender green shafts; it’s unanimously the worst culprit in causing stinky semen. This plagued me because I eat entire phalanxes of the delicious spears every week — big, fat battering rams and skinny arrows; I slather them all with mayonnaise and cram them into my maw, even the stems.

Milk products also make cum chunks notoriously nasty because of the “high bacterial putrefaction level,” asserts Sexuality.org. Other edibles that sexperts consistently label as bitter wad wreckers (and that I haven’t already mentioned) are red meat, broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, greasy food, spices, coffee and chocolate. Chemically processed liquor creates an extremely acidic taste, but naturally fermented beverages like sake and Rolling Rock or Honey Brown beer give spunk a sugary taste. Tobacco is also guaranteed to gross out one’s goo.

What makes a man’s emission yummy? Pineapple, claims Lexx.com. Kiwi fruit and celery, says a chat man who grabbed this advice from “Nina Hartley’s Guide to Fellatio” video. Mangoes are admired, plus every other sweet fruit and tangy sprig that Livingston and Bell mentioned. I clicked through numerous Web sites, desperately cataloging the rumored do’s and don’ts, until I suddenly thought: Where’s the scientific process? Are there only silly urban myths to rely on? Who has done the clinical research that can establish irrefutable facts?

Urologists, I decided. I dialed some dick doctors. Dr. Lawrence Ross of the University of Illinois in Chicago shocked me by totally dismissing the entire notion that disparity in taste even exists! “In all healthy men,” he contended, “seminal fluids are constant and similar because they all include precise components — potassium, calcium, sodium, magnesium, phosphorus, etc. — that maintain the very stable pH acidity that is needed to support the spermatozoa.” In other words, a foul stench is exactly what the polliwogs want.

Dr. Robert Oates of the Boston Medical Center offered only a grudging acceptance of the flavor theories. “I wouldn’t be surprised if substances like garlic and asparagus that come out in urine and sweat were also secreted in semen,” he admitted. “But there’s no definitive data on this. Medical research is done for crucial health reasons and this doesn’t qualify.” What!? He’s obviously wrong: Our planet would be infinitely more peaceful if semen tasted like Snapple.

My final inquiry was to William Fitzgerald, Ph.D., of the Silicon Valley Relationship and Sexuality Center. “Bill” warmly and promptly delivered a huge load of info. Semen’s metallic taste, he explained, is due to its zinc ingredient, and “diabetics tend to have a honey or cantaloupe taste, most likely due to the spilling over of excess sugars in the body.” When amino acids in certain foods are broken down, he continued, it’s possible that the resulting products end up in the semen. Asparagus’ curse, for example, could be that “methionine is broken down and methyl mercaptan is produced … with its awful odor.” Nicotine and certain drugs can also “be deposited in genital organs like the epididymis and seminal vesicles.”

OK. All right. I memorized all my notes. If anyone knows how to make his spunk scrumptious, it’s me. All I have to do to get the tastiest tube on earth is to subsist eternally on the sap of 12 stupid items that bore me to death. I’d do it, I decided. But then, I felt a sudden pang of evil hunger, a repulsive yearning inside my gut for asparagus and mayonnaise with slabs of greasy, spicy beef and a giant glass of chocolate milk.

My cum will stink forever, I sighed. But so what? I have options. I can yank it out and spew on the sheets. I can continue my mortified apologizing. I can offer my lover a strawberry Life Saver to suck on to combat the upcoming stench. I can try to discharge on the back of her throat: no taste buds there. I can tell her I love her: Romance sweetens reality’s putridness.

But give up my favorite foods? No way. Ain’t gonna happen. I’ll never stop swallowing asparagus, even if it means I’ll never get swallowed.

Halperin and Bailey say the startling statistics support the widely held theory that the foreskin “provides a vulnerable portal of entry to HIV and other pathogens … such as chancroid, syphilis and herpes, that are known cofactors for HIV infection.” One possible explanation: The tender foreskin is easily torn and scratched during intercourse, enabling the virus to enter.

Circumcision could provide a huge barrier to the AIDS plague in developing countries that have no tradition of circumcision, claim Halperin and Bailey. In Zambia, for example, where 80 percent of the men are uncircumcised, “an estimated 55 percent of HIV-1 infections … are attributable to lack of circumcision,” contend the authors. Their editorial asserts that millions of lives could be spared in populous nations such as India if the foreskin was simply snipped off.

The authors, while cautioning that circumcision could be counterproductive if men believe that the procedure will protect them from HIV transmission, lament that the international health community has disregarded information about the probable link between circumcision and HIV/AIDS transmission. For example, the Johns Hopkins Media/Materials Clearinghouse collection of 30,000 AIDS materials contain no mention of this link.

Although the information is stonewalled in the United States, it is recognized and acted upon in east and south Africa. Traditional healers are recommending circumcision, and private clinics in Tanzania, Kenya, Rwanda and Uganda are advertising foreskin removal as “a way to alleviate chronic STD infection and AIDS.”

The Lancet editorial ends with a plea to the international health community to assist the public with education, training and circumcision services, and they urge their colleagues to assist them in this mission.

In Calcutta, West Bengal, militant Hindus growled that
they would burn Mehta and her lead actress, Shabana Azmi, in effigy if they dared to film in that city. Other states are friendlier: Maharashtra welcomed the project and Madhya Pradesh invited the crew despite “possible law and order problems.”

Mehta’s film in progress highlights the plight of an estimated 35 million Indian widows who are cruelly dismissed as undesirable because they have
neither a husband nor child. In West Bengal in-laws who don’t want to share the dead husband’s wealth with his widow frequently abandon the girl. A
widow’s blood relatives are also often equally heartless for similar financial reasons. Unwanted by their kin, many become homeless and turn to prostitution or drug dealing for their survival.

Some widows, with their heads shaved, wander up the Ganges River to seek refuge in temples and ashrams where they’re paid a pitiful penny per hour to chant all day.

The New Delhi government offers widows a minuscule pension, but many are unable to cash in on this meager amount because of the 64-percent illiteracy rate that plagues Indian women.

Without reading skills, many lack the ability to wade through bureaucracy necessary to get their money. Still others find themselves duped by thieving bank clerks and postal workers.

Mehta’s pointed criticism in the film may prick India’s conscience enough to at least improve education among women and alleviate the suffering of the outcast widows.