Mastram brings out the Indian thinking process in its most unadulterated form, by introducing a character who would rather be a flop writer telling domesticated stories over being a successful writer writing erotica. It is not his dual life, stuck between divine and profane that forms the focus but the story’s inherent ability to convey so simply India’s most lamentable and gruesome mentality of turning a deaf ear towards: Sex. This is not for the prurient. Others must not miss it.