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Gardiner Harris’s recent piece in The New York Times made me do a double take, not just because of the attachment of the word “bombshell” before Katrina Kaif, which to me is somewhat like using “razor sharp” as the defining adjective for President George W. Bush, but because of the cultural “Rubicon crossing” significance attributed to a scene in “Jab Tak Hai Jaan”:

A pivotal screen kiss reflected the changing romantic landscape here. Kissing scenes were banned by Indian film censors until the 1990s, and Shah Rukh Khan, a Bollywood heartthrob who is one of the world’s biggest movie stars, has been teasing Indian audiences in dozens of films since then by bringing his lips achingly close to those of his beautiful co-stars. But his lips never touched any of theirs until he kissed the Bollywood bombshell Katrina Kaif in “Jab Tak Hai Jaan,” which was released in December 2012.

Mr. Khan tried to soften the impact by saying in a published interview that his director made him do it. But the cultural Rubicon had been crossed.

As a longtime pop culture buff and dispassionate observer of screen kisses, while I may agree with the author’s observation of Shah Rukh Khan’s lips historically tending toward those of his heroine’s but never quite getting there, like the limit of a function, I firmly dispute the notion that Mr. Khan’s tepid liplock has given the kiss the acceptability it did not have before. That’s because kisses have been in mainstream Indian movies since the late 1920s, with the reigning screen diva, Devika Rani, kiss kissing her off-screen husband, Himanshu Rai, for a full four minutes in “Karma” (1933), a kiss that was the veritable stuff of legends.

It is true, of course, that Indian movies have had far more people chasing each other around the trees than kissing, and that is primarily because of the dictates of the dreaded censor board, the cheerless cinematic embodiment of the Nehruvian ideal of big government intruding into every aspect of national life, which made directors move the camera away at strategic moments to two flowers touching each other.

But around the time when I started watching movies, which was the mid-1980s, kisses and intimacy were very much part of big-banner Bollywood, be it in “Ram Teri Ganga Maili” (1985) or “Janbaaz” (1986) or “Qayamat Se Qayamat Se Tak” (1986) and the truly shuddering scene in “Dayavan” (1988) between the venerable Vinod Khanna and an upcoming actress by the name of Madhuri Dixit, a sequence responsible for many VCRs getting jammed due to excessive pausing and replaying (or so my unscientific survey tells me).

Then of course, there was Aamir Khan establishing his reputation for commitment to detail and the embracing of variety by kissing Juhi Chawla in “Qayamat Se Qayamat” (1986) and “Love Love Love” (1986), Pooja Bhatt in “Dil Hai Ki Manta Naheen” (1991), Pooja Bedi in “Jo Jeeta Hai Sikander” (1992) and then Karishma Kapoor in “Raja Hindustani” (1997) for a full 40 seconds, if experts are to be believed.

In the 2000s, there were movies that had 17 kissing scenes in them, and an actor by the name of Emran Hashmi had made kissing a calling card in each of his movies, earning the sobriquet “serial kisser.”

I don’t want to keep on inserting citations to prior art — after all, this is not a journal paper — but my point is that by 2012, when “Jab Tak Hai Jaan” came to pass, Indian audiences had been quite desensitized to on-screen kissing.

In other words, it is no big whoop. Or should I say, no big “mwah.”

So if it’s not the influence of movies, why then do we see more public displays of affection (of which kissing is but one manifestation) in Indian cities today than say 10 or 20 years ago?

Here is my explanation: The last decade or so has seen a social revolution in urban India. More men and women are working together. There are more coeducational institutions than ever before. Social media have allowed people to find others with similar interests and points of view, subverting traditional social walls that prevent free interaction, and then they can keep in touch discreetly, through cellphones and instant messaging. (In my day, we had to use the single rotary phone kept in the living room, making it impossible to have a secret conversation.)

As a result, there are more opportunities for meeting people and maintaining relationships. This naturally leads to more unmarried couples or couples that are not married to each other.

Getting a room every time one wants to kiss one’s partner or hold hands is neither financially viable nor practically feasible. Budget hotels are loath to rent rooms to couples without proof of “marriage” because of the fear of police raids. Some even collude with crooked cops to do a bit of extortion, since couples are willing to pay to avoid being hauled to the police station. Being outside, in parks and deserted spaces, does not totally protect couples from the police, but at least it is better than being busted at a hotel.

Hence what one sees as increased public displays of affection is merely the inevitable effect of an increasing number of young couples in urban India, who, because of an antiquated legal system with ill-defined notions of “public decency,” unfortunately find themselves unable to have safe spaces of their own.

The biggest threat to their safety is not the police but young men described in Mr. Harris’s piece, those who “often sit and stare hungrily at kissing couples,” India’s increasingly angry and volatile class of getting-it-nots, those who desperately wish to have but do not, who see these displays of affection as arrogant flaunting of privilege. Many of these frustrated young men coalesce to form mobs of moral police, who then attack couples, especially women, in public places under the comforting banner of protecting Indian tradition.

And so an important cultural battle rages on, in the parks and in pubs and in other common spaces, one that reflects one of modern India’s defining conflicts, that between ordinary people in pursuit of individual happiness and a legal and social system that insists on imposing, interfering and getting in their way — where a kiss is no longer just a kiss but a small symbol of unintentional rebellion.

By the light of day, Arnab Ray is a research scientist at the Fraunhofer Center for Experimental Software Engineering and an adjunct assistant professor in the computer science department of the University of Maryland at College Park. Come night, he metamorphoses into a blogger, novelist (“May I Hebb Your Attention Pliss” and “The Mine”) and columnist. He is on Twitter at @greatbong.