Did you touch anyone today?

In a world where human contact is a message sent via apps, here are some lessons about our profound need to touch and be touched

Three deaf adolescent girls were role-playing a discussion about how well they’d slept the previous night. None of them knew Indian Sign Language, which exists but is not taught anywhere, but they were managing quite well using gestures, expressions and body language. A speaking interpreter who understood them was translating their discussion to me. These were the early days of a project to teach deaf Indian youth about sexual health, risk and abuse.

“I slept well,” said one girl. “Though sometime in the night, my uncle disturbed me.”

“What did he do?” asked another girl.

“He lay down beside me and began touching my chest. And other parts of my body.”

“Oh, really?” said the third girl. “My father does that sometimes too. I don’t really like it but I don’t say anything.”

“How weird,” said the second girl. “My cousin, who stays over sometimes, does exactly the same thing.”

There was a silence. “So—I guess it’s normal then,” said the first girl.

“Must be,” the other two agreed. “If everyone is doing it, it must be okay then. Nothing to worry about.”

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In my years of working with the deaf and hearing impaired, I learned how vulnerable they are to abusive touches, often of those they trust the most. The final curriculum included a strong section called Who may touch you where?, dealing with the differences between good touches and bad ones. 

I also noticed that the deaf and hearing impaired touch each other a lot. They inhabit a world of hugs, affectionate gestures and many smiles. There is a lesson here for us, living in a world of Zoom calls, growing loneliness and ‘safe distance’ directives. It is about the stunning healing and restorative power unleashed by a touch or a hug delivered without predatory intent. In a twisted world where the preferred mode of human contact is a WhatsApp or an Instagram message, here are some lessons I’ve learned about our profound need to touch and be touched.

Even a fleeting touch triggers the release of oxytocin, the so-called ‘love hormone’, into your body. This is the magic molecule that buffers you against stress and makes you feel bonded and connected to others, calms babies, and makes you more optimistic. The touch may last no more than a few seconds and may be as light as a hand placed lightly on your sleeve, but the result is the same.

A simple touch instantly predisposes its recipient towards you. Waiters have long known that touching a customer, respectfully and subtly, increases the tip amount. Even lightly touching a forearm of a person you are petitioning for a raise increases the chances of success. At a party, you will not forget the one stranger who touched you while talking.

Technically, a hug is a brief embrace not longer than five seconds where two people wrap their arms around each other. In its aftermath, there is a rush of positive emotions and a feeling of relaxation. Cuddling, equally therapeutic, is reserved for intimate partners and can last longer. Both have impressive physical benefits.

A hug can kill an argument dead in its tracks. I remember the day my sister-in-law, fed up and angry about living in the same house with the rest of my brother’s family, stormed out one day with him in tow. Standing at the door, she vented about the issues she faced, the things that were wrong with everyone, how her life was going to hell, and how everything was very stressful. Ten minutes or so into her diatribe, I did something spontaneous: rising from my chair, I walked up to her and gave her a warm hug.

The complaint that had been assembling itself on her tongue petered out in a stutter. She looked gobsmacked and dumbstruck. Her anger fizzled out as she turned and meekly left.

My cloud-covered brother, whom we called Ramu the Bamu in affectionate moments, was not a toucher. His hugs, few and far between, were clumsy and stiff. He lived his life in absent-minded kindness, in a cerebral space filled with music and books. He successfully avoided touching or being touched all his life.

During his last week, he lay in a hospital bed in Juhu, his body ravaged by a multi-pronged assault of diseases, his life dwindling. On his last day, he said to me, between difficult breaths, “Please don’t think this is—corny—probably sounds—corny—but—can you please—hug me?”

I reached around him and hugged him as best I could. He was lying on the bed, I was standing, and there was no easy way to hug him. I stroked his forehead, hoping that would feel good to him.

After two minutes, he said, “That’s enough hugging now. You can stop.” A few minutes later he was gone.

A baby grows within the snug oxytocin cloister of its mother’s hug. We pass through life yearning for hugs. My brother, so wary of touch all his life, knew that a loving hug was what he needed in his last moments. 

And he asked for it.

You can reach C Y Gopinath at cygopi@gmail.com
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper.

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