SEX IS A BUILD-UP, NOT A NEED

INTRODUCTION

Sex is often called a “basic need.”

But in reality, what we understand as "sex" is not a natural, unchangeable instinct.

It is a manufactured build-up, fed to every individual by family, culture, religion, and media — over years.

This build-up creates friction, fantasy, and tension.

And what we call orgasm is simply a release from that tension — not fulfillment, not freedom, not peace.

Worse — this sexual tension is not even for your benefit.

It is created and maintained by society, which extracts energy, obedience, and productivity from the sexually preoccupied individual.

Let’s explore this step-by-step — clearly, seriously, and with examples.

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1. SEXUAL URGE VS SEXUAL BUILD-UP

There is a big difference between a biological mating instinct and a lifelong mental obsession with sex.

Most animals experience:

A short, seasonal mating drive

No rituals, no fantasies, no social reward or shame

No concern for virginity, performance, or identity

But human beings are trained to:

Think about sex constantly

Hide and suppress it while secretly seeking it

Attach morality, ego, and pride to it

This training begins in childhood:

Boys are teased for not having desires

Girls are warned to be “pure” or else lose value

Parents stay silent, teachers avoid the topic, and curiosity turns into fantasy

So by the time a child grows into adulthood, sex becomes a confused mix of curiosity, guilt, fear, desire, performance, and secrecy — all of which are artificial.

None of this is natural. It is build-up.

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2. WHY DOES SOCIETY NEED SEX-SEEKING INDIVIDUALS?

This is a crucial question.

If sex is truly natural, why is society so involved in controlling, advertising, regulating, and rewarding it?

Because a sexually preoccupied individual is easy to control.

Here’s how:

Families use sexual anxiety to force early marriages

Religions promise heaven or hell depending on sexual behaviour

Governments depend on population growth to sustain economies

Markets profit by selling sexual confidence — clothes, perfumes, fitness, fairness creams, aphrodisiacs

Schools and media glamorize romantic love as the highest human achievement

In other words — sex is used to:

Keep people busy chasing

Distract them from asking deeper questions

Make them feel constantly incomplete

Turn their energy into guilt, shame, consumption, and obedience

A young man burdened by sexual craving will study harder to get a job, thinking it will attract a partner.

A young woman filled with insecurity about her body will buy products to fit in.

A couple will marry, not because of deep compatibility, but because “society expects it.”

This serves society — not the individual.

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3. BUT WHAT DOES THE INDIVIDUAL GET IN RETURN?

Almost nothing.

After years of build-up, what do most people actually experience?

Anxiety during first-time sex

Performance pressure and comparison

Emotional confusion and heartbreak

Marriages without emotional intimacy

Guilt after watching pornography

Boredom after repeated encounters

Tiredness in old age — with no spiritual clarity or sexual peace

The orgasm, glorified as a magical moment, is just a burst of tension.

It does not heal, enlighten, or transform.

Most people return to the same craving within hours or days.

Many even feel emptier after.

This proves that the promises were false.

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4. HOW DO TRIBAL COMMUNITIES EXPERIENCE SEXUALITY?

In almost all tribal societies across the world, sexuality is not a central obsession.

There is physical closeness, occasional mating, and reproduction — but not a culture of buildup, shame, or glorification.

Examples:

Muria tribe (Chhattisgarh, India):

Young boys and girls live in a ghotul — a mixed-gender dormitory where they interact freely.

Sex is not taboo. It is not ritualized. It is not dramatized.

No one is obsessed with “losing virginity” or “finding the one.”

Toda tribe (Nilgiris, India):

Marriage is flexible, not ownership.

Children are raised collectively.

Sex is seen as a phase of life, not a lifelong burden.

Yanomami (Amazon):

No pornography, no sexualized clothing, no romantic obsession.

Physical closeness is common, but there's no idea of “sexual identity” or pride.

Tribes in Northeast India:

Children see parents bathe, breastfeed, and live openly.

Nothing is hidden, nothing is exaggerated.

As a result — no buildup occurs.

In such communities, peace is natural, not forced.

The mind is not shaped by craving or suppression.

Sex happens quietly or not at all — and no one feels broken either way.

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5. THE CYCLE OF BUILD-UP NEVER ENDS

In modern society, if one build-up fails, another is introduced.

> First, sex is promised as happiness.

Then, marriage is sold as stability.

When both fail, parenthood is sold as purpose.

If frustration grows, spirituality and moksha are sold as the final prize.

This is the trap of conformity.

Each stage uses the same formula:

Give the person a desire

Tell them they are incomplete

Create a distant reward

Keep them running

Keep them producing

Keep them comparing

Never let them pause and ask, “Was this even real?”

That’s why no one finds peace through sex, or marriage, or even religious devotion — because these are all build-ups.

And no system built on tension can ever deliver freedom.

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6. SO WHAT IS REAL, THEN?

When a person:

Stops consuming sexual stimulation

Lives close to land, nature, and food

Works with hands and feet

Shares honest companionship

Sleeps well and eats simply

Observes their own body and mind without shame

…something profound happens.

The build-up disappears.

The tension dissolves.

And sex may appear once in a while — but it never dominates life.

Peace returns.

Relationships become honest.

The body stops begging for release.

This is not suppression.

This is freedom from friction.

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CONCLUSION

Sex is not evil. But it is not what we were told.

It is not a need. It is not a solution.

It is a manufactured tension, passed from generation to generation — to keep individuals occupied and societies running.

If you want to escape the trap, ask yourself:

> Who benefits from my craving?

Why am I chasing something that never satisfies?

What happens if I stop building it up?

You’ll find that real life — the one with meaning, calm, and clarity — begins after the tension ends.

And that’s something no system wants you to discover.

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Characters

Madhukar (43) – Former scientist, now a naturalist and lifestyle guide living off-grid with his wife Savitri and daughters Adhya and Anju. Calm, observant, asks piercing questions without attacking.

Dr. Satyadev Rao (76) – A retired sexologist. Wrote books, ran clinics, and spent decades campaigning for open sexual health awareness. Feels hollow and disconnected in old age.

Urmila Banerjee (72) – A bestselling romance novelist. Made her career scripting passion, heartbreak, desire. Her stories were loved, but her own life feels empty.

Rajinder Pal Singh (74) – A lifelong socialist and activist. Campaigned for personal freedom, sexual liberation, against moral policing. But his personal relationships broke down, and he now feels confused.

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PART ONE: ARRIVAL

[Scene: A warm late afternoon. The trio walks slowly up the mud path toward Madhukar’s home. Savitri welcomes them with mild herbal tea made from lemon basil and tulsi. They sit under a banyan tree nearby.]

Madhukar:

So, three travelers from very different paths… sitting in the same doubt now. That’s rare. Or maybe not.

Dr. Satyadev:

I never doubted my work, Madhukar. I helped thousands speak openly about sex. I fought against hypocrisy. I made sex a subject worth studying, not hiding.

Madhukar:

And yet you're here.

Satyadev (pauses):

Yes. Because I don't feel peace. Not in body. Not in mind. Not in my relationships. Even my old patients — many of them live with regrets. As if we chased something that never gave what it promised.

Urmila:

He’s right. I wrote 24 novels. Each one celebrated desire, passion, heartbreak, longing. But I never experienced what I described. I tried. I believed in it. But now I don’t.

Rajinder:

I come from the struggle. The workers’ movements. The fights against censorship. I believed sexual freedom was political freedom. But I saw people freed from rules only to become addicted to urges. My own son barely talks to me. He says I gave him too much freedom — no direction.

Madhukar (sips his tea):

So now the desire is drying up. And you’re wondering — what was all this about?

Satyadev:

Yes. I can’t tell if I helped or harmed. There’s no joy in what I taught.

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PART TWO: WHERE DID THE BUILD-UP BEGIN?

Madhukar:

Let’s sit with that. Tell me — when did you first feel that sex was not just an act… but something bigger? A cause, a mission, a fire?

Urmila:

College. I was 17. My first heartbreak. I wrote poems full of pain and desire. Everyone praised me. A publisher picked it up. The world told me I had “felt deeply.”

Madhukar:

Did you feel healed after writing?

Urmila (quietly):

No. Just more lonely.

Rajinder:

For me it was anger. I saw how women were treated. I saw how caste and religion controlled bodies. I thought — break the rules, and we will all be free. But what I broke was structure, not suffering.

Satyadev:

My story was clinical. I studied medicine. I saw people suffer in silence. I thought — give them language, give them permission. And I did. But most people didn’t find peace. They just shifted from shame to indulgence.

Madhukar:

So sex was never the root. It was the outlet. The excuse. The drama. Not the seed of suffering, but the stage where suffering played out.

Satyadev (nods slowly):

Yes.

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PART THREE: THE COST OF A LIFE BUILT ON DESIRE

Madhukar:

You all built careers around desire. But what did it cost you?

Urmila:

Peace. I was always chasing inspiration — which meant chasing sadness, loneliness, memory. I never had a quiet life. Just performance.

Satyadev:

My wife left me. She said I saw her as a subject. Not a person. My children don’t discuss anything emotional with me. I have journals, not relationships.

Rajinder:

I never built a home. Only movements. I encouraged people to break free. But never taught them how to live after that. I thought freedom was enough.

Madhukar:

You all preached sex as freedom. But did you ever consider what would happen when the desire fades — or doesn’t satisfy?

Urmila:

I thought the heart would always crave. I didn’t think it would turn numb.

Rajinder:

We told people — chase what you want. But we didn’t ask — who planted the want?

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PART FOUR: THE LIE OF NEED

Madhukar (gently):

You believed sex was a need. But what if that was never true?

Satyadev:

But it feels like a need. The body reacts. The mind responds.

Madhukar:

Yes. So does the body to spice. To sugar. To gossip. To revenge. The body doesn’t always know peace — it knows patterns. And society feeds those patterns. Repeatedly.

Rajinder:

So you’re saying what we called “need”… was actually conditioning?

Madhukar:

Yes. Repeated exposure. Repeated tension. Repeated reward. You tell a child 1,000 times he is hungry for sex, he will believe it. Even when he’s just confused, lonely, or bored.

Urmila:

So what is left when we remove the build-up?

Madhukar (smiling softly):

Peace. Clarity. Sometimes affection. Sometimes touch. Sometimes silence. But never tension. Never addiction.

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PART FIVE: WHERE TO NOW?

Satyadev:

But what do we do with our past? The books? The patients? The speeches?

Madhukar:

Thank them. Without the fire, you would not have seen the smoke. Without the chase, you would not know stillness.

Rajinder:

And now?

Madhukar:

Now, stop feeding the fire. Stop looking for what was never missing. Go back to your body, not your mind. Return to soil, silence, walking, resting.

Urmila:

What about love?

Madhukar:

Love is not built on craving. It's built on presence. And it cannot exist where the self is still performing.

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CLOSING: A RETURN TO NATURAL QUIET

[The evening light deepens. The cicadas hum softly. The old trio sit still, more grounded than they have been in decades.]

Satyadev:

All these years, I thought I was liberating people. Maybe I was only giving their cage a different shape.

Urmila (whispers):

I don’t want to write anymore. I just want to feel my breath. My skin in the wind.

Rajinder:

Maybe freedom is not in what we fight for — but in what we no longer need to defend.

Madhukar (looking at them, and then beyond):

Sex was never the need. The tension was. You don’t have to carry it anymore. You never did.

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PART TWO: THREE MONTHS LATER — A RETURN TO REALITY

[Scene: Morning. The monsoon has softened the soil. Madhukar is in the garden with Anju, his younger daughter, harvesting greens. A slow crunch of footsteps signals the arrival of the three elders again. This time, they walk slower, but lighter. They carry no books, no bags, no expectations.]

Madhukar (looks up):

No files, no theories, no talking points today?

Urmila (smiles faintly):

Not today. My hands have been in the soil. That’s enough theory.

Satyadev:

I’ve spent more time alone in the past three months than in the last three decades. The silence is more honest than my old lectures.

Rajinder:

I tried activism again. It felt empty. But talking to my grandson while feeding the hens — that gave me more clarity than years of protest.

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1. SIGNS OF SHIFTING

Madhukar:

Tell me, each of you — what changed since we last sat here?

Satyadev:

I stopped advising anyone about sex. Completely. I just listened. And I heard — really heard — people’s tiredness. Most didn’t want sex. They wanted sleep. Rest. Relief from tension. From body shame. From proving themselves.

Madhukar:

And what did you tell them?

Satyadev:

Nothing. I just nodded. I watched one old couple — married 40 years — finally sit quietly in the sun without pretending to be in love or desiring each other. That was more healing than anything I ever prescribed.

Urmila:

I returned all my royalty money to a local library. I’m working with young girls now. Teaching them not how to write better love stories — but how to write what’s real. Some are writing about dogs. Some about wind. No heartbreak. Just truth.

Rajinder:

I tried to start another campaign on freedom of expression. But halfway in, I stopped. I realized — we’ve all expressed enough. But nobody has listened. Including me. So I just visited homes. Helped cook. Carried water. People looked confused. They expected slogans. I gave them silence.

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2. WHAT FADES WHEN BUILD-UP ENDS

Madhukar:

Have any of you felt lost without the craving? Or do you feel more… you?

Satyadev:

The first few days felt like withdrawal. No stimulation. No image. No urge. But slowly, my body started to sleep better. My food tasted real. My breath became steady. And now… I don’t even remember what that craving felt like. It’s like a guest who has moved away.

Urmila:

The hardest part wasn’t giving up desire. It was giving up the identity of being desired. That was my fuel. Admiration. Seduction. Fame. When I stopped dressing up for approval… I met myself in the mirror for the first time.

Rajinder:

You know what I noticed? My hands stopped shaking. I thought it was old age. It wasn’t. It was years of rage and drive and friction. Once I stopped burning with cause… my body cooled down.

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3. NEW BEGINNINGS

Madhukar:

So what now? What shape is your life taking?

Satyadev:

I’m tending to a small community garden in my lane. Mostly composting. My grandchildren say I smell like soil. I take it as a compliment.

Urmila:

I write nothing now. But I tell stories to two orphan girls I’ve adopted. They laugh, interrupt, and ask me to skip the kissing parts. I listen. And I obey.

Rajinder:

I’ve started making rotis for my neighbors. Nothing socialist about it. Just warm food for tired people. It feels enough.

Madhukar (gently):

Do you miss your old roles?

All three (in soft unison):

No.

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4. CLOSURE WITHOUT REGRET

Madhukar:

If you could go back, what would you say to your younger self?

Satyadev:

"Don’t rush to solve what you haven’t sat with."

Urmila:

"Feel everything. But don’t turn it into performance. Let it pass."

Rajinder:

"Don’t confuse noise with change. Real change is when you stop needing to fight."

Madhukar:

And now?

Satyadev:

Now, I live like digestion. Quiet, slow, and grateful.

Urmila:

Now, I exist without needing to be read.

Rajinder:

Now, I am useful without being visible.

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CLOSING SCENE

[A light drizzle begins. Madhukar’s daughters come out with a cloth to cover the log bench. No one moves. They let the drizzle soak their hands and hair.]

Madhukar:

There’s no such thing as too late. The only tragedy is never realizing the lie was a lie. You have seen it now. So breathe. And let life reintroduce itself — without buildup.

[No words are spoken after that. Only the sound of water on leaves. And three elders sitting without any agenda, roles, or urge — just presence.]

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FINAL FOLLOW-UP: ONE YEAR LATER — THE DISMANTLING IS COMPLETE

[Scene: A crisp winter morning. Smoke rises from a slow fire near Madhukar’s mud kitchen. The forest is silent except for the rustle of dry leaves. The three visitors return again — no longer visitors, no longer seekers. Just people. The transformation is almost invisible — no slogans, no symbols — but it’s there in the walk, the posture, the stillness.]

Madhukar (smiling as he stirs a clay pot):

Still walking. That’s enough proof.

Satyadev:

I wanted to walk slower. But my legs didn’t agree.

Urmila (holding a small copper water bottle):

I came because I didn’t want to miss the sunrise. That used to be true for orgasms, now it’s true for light.

Rajinder:

I didn’t think I’d say this. But I feel like a real human for the first time. Not a preacher. Not a builder. Just alive.

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1. LIFE WITHOUT THE LIE

Madhukar:

So… a full year. What’s your conclusion?

Satyadev:

There is no need to explain what is absent. And the craving is absent. Entirely. I don't even feel like I “gave up” anything. The appetite has gone. I don’t miss it.

Urmila:

All that talk of passion, chemistry, lifelong romance… it was cultural theatre. None of it holds when you live simply, listen to your body, walk under trees, or wash a plate with full presence.

Rajinder:

I thought I was radical. I thought I was liberating people. But I was offering new chains to replace the old ones. Now, I don’t offer anything. I just plant spinach and share it with whoever walks by.

Madhukar:

No one teaches that cravings are created. But once you see it… it’s irreversible.

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2. HOW THE WORLD RESPONDED

Madhukar:

Did people around you notice the shift?

Satyadev:

Yes. Some thought I was sick. They asked if I was depressed. I said no. I’m no longer excited — that’s all. Excitement is not peace.

Urmila:

Readers begged for a comeback novel. I told them I was busy watching crows. They didn’t understand. But the orphans I adopted — they did.

Rajinder:

My comrades accused me of becoming detached. I didn’t argue. I just invited them for lunch. Most came. None complained after eating.

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3. NO LONGER NEEDING TO BE REMEMBERED

Madhukar:

Do you still want to be remembered for your work?

Satyadev:

No. I want to be forgotten. And for someone to stumble upon a peaceful garden I planted — and sit.

Urmila:

I hope nobody quotes me anymore. I’d rather they remember a feeling — not a line.

Rajinder:

If I’m remembered, let it be by the old woman in my village who said my rotis were always hot.

Madhukar (gently):

Then your work is done.

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4. NOTHING LEFT TO UNLEARN

Satyadev:

The body is lighter. Not because I lost weight. But because I lost tension. And I no longer fight for pleasure. I wait for stillness.

Urmila:

Desire used to feel like fire. Now it feels like noise. I don’t turn it off — it just doesn’t play anymore.

Rajinder:

For decades I yelled, wrote, marched. But I never fed the birds. Now I do. That feels like real contribution.

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5. CLOSURE

[Madhukar walks with them to the edge of the clearing. His daughters, Adhya and Anju, are collecting tamarind pods. The elders pause to help, crouching slowly, smiling.]

Madhukar:

You didn’t come to heal sex. You came to see through the lie of tension. And you did. That’s rare. Most die in the drama.

Satyadev:

Thank you, Madhukar. Not for teaching — but for un-teaching.

Urmila:

Thank you for not praising our past. That helped us step out of it.

Rajinder:

Thank you for silence. It repaired what decades of noise broke.

Madhukar (looking into the trees):

The forest thanks you. Not for returning — but for arriving.

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[FADE OUT — FINAL IMAGE]

Three elders slowly walking away — no tension in their backs, no masks on their faces. They do not speak. They are not in a hurry. There is no destination now — just the absence of build-up.

And that is enough.

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SEX IS A BUILD-UP. NOT NEED.

(a poem for the ones who still believe the lie)

they told you

you need sex like you need water.

like you need food.

like you’ll die if you don’t get it.

but you didn’t die.

you just sat alone with your tension

and called it hunger.

they sold you romance like it was salvation.

love like it was air.

and your poor, poor teenage heart —

already broken by your father’s silence

and your mother’s rules —

you called your first crush healing.

but it was all a build-up.

one long con

disguised as instinct.

sex isn’t instinct.

it’s repetition.

repetition of whispers,

movies,

marriage sermons,

awkward science classes,

devotional songs twisted into seduction,

and aunties asking why you’re not married yet.

they didn’t let you sit in your skin

without telling you what to do with it.

they made you believe

that a warm body beside you

meant you were finally enough.

they were lying.

you weren’t horny.

you were confused.

you weren’t hungry.

you were unloved.

you didn’t want sex.

you wanted relief —

from being you

in a society that never let you just be.

so you obeyed.

you oiled your hair,

learned the lines,

got married,

got naked,

got tired.

you chased orgasms

like they were firecrackers

but all you ever got

was smoke and a ringing ear.

meanwhile, the machine —

that big fat society machine —

kept running.

your craving paid salaries.

your fantasy sold products.

your shame built temples.

your night-time habits fueled algorithms.

you weren’t living.

you were producing.

reproducing.

repeating.

and the irony?

you thought you were free.

you joined sex-positive movements,

wrote poetry about desire,

posted thirst traps in the name of empowerment,

even told your kids that they’re free to “explore”

as long as they kept performing.

but performance is not freedom.

it's servitude with better lighting.

what you called liberation

was just another build-up —

painted red

instead of white.

look at tribal people.

not your exotic Instagram version —

real ones.

in mud homes.

in forests.

they walk naked without erotic tension.

they touch without ownership.

they raise children without making it a punishment.

they don’t dream of sex.

they dream of rain.

they don’t fight over love.

they share food.

they don’t write breakup songs.

they listen to birds.

you call that primitive.

they call that life.

because when sex is not marketed,

it’s just biology.

brief.

quiet.

done.

but you made it your purpose.

your pride.

your proof.

your prison.

now you’re older.

your body doesn’t burn like it used to.

your mind doesn’t believe the ads anymore.

you see through the sparkle.

and all that’s left is silence.

and a question:

was it ever real?

the answer is:

no.

sex was not your need.

your tension was.

and you built it,

brick by brick,

because they told you it was holy.

but you can stop now.

let the craving die.

let the tension go.

you’re not missing anything.

you never were.

go plant something.

watch a tree grow.

sleep without guilt.

talk to someone without needing to be desired.

take a shit without shame.

that’s more freedom

than any orgasm you ever chased.

the only real climax

is the day you stop

needing one.

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