YES I GET RED-ily WET

Studying in GEMS meant that we couldn’t attend our activities without our white skirts on. It was mathematics class when my friend experienced periods for the very first time.  I still remember how petrified and embarrassed she was when she came to know about it. She asked a friend close to her to walk her to the infirmary in such a way that no one would notice the blood spot. She went to the infirmary got a sanitary pad and had her skirt stapled in such a way that her stain wasn’t noticeable. She came to the class but as the staples couldn’t withstand the pressure of folds, it freed itself for all to see the blood spot very clearly. The guys started to ridicule her and the worst part the girls were trying to move farther rather than helping her out. Only when I reminded all the guys and girls that they had to pass through the very vagina of their mothers which bled every month to be born they kept their mouth shut. She couldn’t face the class for 3 consecutive days. How could I forget the ink spots? All the female students of GEMS can easily relate to me as a significant portion of their life went on spilling more ink on the blood spot so that it wouldn’t be visible.

Women have been bleeding since ages. Well the human civilization is a perfect evidence for it. But every time the topic MENSTRUATION CYCLE pops up people try to run away as if they were trying to plant bombs in front of Donald Trump. Every time the lesson 9 (As the book we read always had reproductive system and health as 9^th chapter from grade 7 to 10) in E.P.H comes; the teacher goes red and skips it. If by any chance the teacher is accountable, s/he reads through the entire process on one go and ends it and asks students to read themselves. Even that girl whose favorite color is pink and seems like walking candy floss would be casual for those four days and wear the darkest color available. The very first time I asked the shopkeeper of the pharmaceutical not to wrap the pad with sheets of newspapers he was struck in horror as if I had asked him a very intimate question. Not that he is comfortable with the concept already but things have slightly changed. But as I step out of the store suddenly eyes follow me as if sanitary pads were nightmares. What people really need to know is stigma and shame is taught. We have to break this cycle of learned embarrassment. The more we talk the less power will the stigma hold. Our hormones hits us pretty bad people should not make it tougher.

Suddenly the PMS monster possesses you and you go through the roller coaster of hormones. You smile and are all good and cheerful at a moment but the very other moment you get sad, frustrated, annoyed in things which doesn’t even demand slightest attention.  You get skin breakout, loose bowel, swelling feet, immensely painful back and thighs and hurting abdomen.  Pills and hot water bags suddenly becomes your sweetheart.

Whenever a pregnant woman walks by the road people congratulate her but never has she been congratulated for enduring the series of periods she has been through to get that baby. Would that be possible hadn’t she bled? Could people comment on Facebook pictures of their babies stating “awww” hadn’t she bled? How would the great grandparents get their panaati and panaatinis hadn’t the mother bled? Then why is such a cool thing getting so much of shame? Why is it still marked as “a tormenting thing” that sanitary advertisements claim that you will not feel like you are on periods if you wear their products? Why the message is pushed so bad that periods are gross? Why don’t people consider it to be a detox process? I don’t know how will the necessity to talk stop when no one talks about it. Why isn’t the pain ever talked about?  Talking about periods is a need of the hour and it’s no private women business. It should not be limited to be a parameter of not being pregnant for couples to be happy about. Yes I bleed and I bleed loads of it. The very first time I had one I believed I went through an infection. When my mom explained me everything properly then did I know about it. Ok I have not been through chaupadi, I am not left to die alone and my parents are cool enough to talk about it but still why do I talk about it?  I bleed every four days a month which makes it 48 days per year. I get that blood flood for 46,080 hours in my entire lifetime and I can’t endure those scornful eyes and hitler-ly dictatorship on what to do and what not to any more. I still have my well educated cousins who would ask me to stay in the corner and not even let me move. Not everyone I get surrounded with perceives it similarly so I need to talk about it.  If it’s that time of the month then there are people saying:

Don’t enter to temples?

I ask why?

They say Because it has been happening since ages.

I ask a why?

They have No answer.

If periods were so wrong why would their god invent it?

Well maybe they are right had it been many years back when people had little knowledge on menstrual hygiene or when sanitary pads weren’t readily available but now when people are already clean why intimidate the younger generations? Why not rather teach them about the better techniques?

Tell people

Just because the word “menstruation” has a “MEN” in it doesn’t help them to know everything. Remember women are the only reference for men to know how it feels. There’s no point on enduring the pain and not letting people know. If you are nauseatic and dizzy and you feel weak then BLURT IT OUT. Things get greater attention when hidden. None of my male friends have ever made fun of it when I have told that I am going through periods. But hiding it definitely provides a space for hush hush.

Don’t tell people

Opposite to the upper point? Well that’s what my mom has taught me. If you are not feeling unwell, you are perfectly fine and can work well you don’t have to let everyone know. Just make sure you have your pads on and you are ready to go.

What do I get out of it? I envision a period friendly society where my daughter would be heartily welcomed and not named impure if she were on her periods. Where she would always find her parents, teachers, friends and basically everyone if she feels low or curious about it .I envision a society where periods are taken naturally. See it's that simple!

Why romantic novels are my cup of coffee!

Why romantic novels are my cup of coffee

and can be yours too ;)

I step inside. The smell of freshly printed books waft around the book store and the book covers make it all colorful. It’s a place I visit almost every month. The salesperson hands me a bestseller by so and so writer but I silently keep it in a corner and end up right in front of romantic novels. He explains how important it is to try other genre too and asks me why I am stuck in books with similar theme and similar plot which never seems to change. Why because it has always been my layered cup of coffee which when blended together makes a heavenly combination and doesn’t let me sleep.

It’s like the Cream with chocolate syrup on the top which melts in my mouth as soon as I scoop it with spoon. It transcends me to a different world and helps me in escapism. It captivates me. I step in the characters shoes and take a roller coaster ride. I anticipate turns, I silently wish the guy to make the first move, I wish  turmoil to end as soon as it begins and eagerly wait for the girl or the guy to call to fix their break-up. My whole day ends up being gloomy if the characters don’t conquer the battles or somehow die. I know that “Prince charming” doesn’t exist but I still read about one as I secretly yearn for the guys that the writers define. Why? Simply because it doesn’t exist but by reading them I can run out of reality. The things which I feel wouldn’t ever take place does take place and it’s the only platform where my guilt’s, fantasies and desires live peacefully with each other. Why should I read things which I see and feel every day and which is absolutely fact? Every time a couple triumphantly passes through a troublesome phase the inner me dances with childlike glee. It comes into my life like a Chocolate wafer which comes along with Mocha. Plus point it also presents a rough guideline how my guy should be like (Rough as in expecting the prince charming with all qualities would be impossible and too much of pressure on the guy).

“Old wine served in a new bottle”

Well in today’s context romantic novels are not all about fairy taili-ish love with stinking rich guys who know how to sweep any women off her feet, take her to rides in freaking expensive cars, gifts her Swarovski diamonds and saves a white complexioned girl riding on a horse any more. It’s not about women who have 36-24-36 body, whose eyes are deep as oceans, whose eyebrows seem perfectly carved, whose voice seems like melody and who is a perfect marriage material. It’s about the bookworm girl with disheveled hair, fats clearly visible wiggling in every touch and who looks at the world through her Harry Potter glasses and smiles with her braces. It’s about that girl who is a rebel and would prefer to bash evil people around rather than going to the salon and walking with shiny stilettos. It’s about the not so tall guy with pimples, who would easily get lost among crowd and who would stealthily wear cakes of makeup and sari and endures the ragging silently. It’s about the guy who cries every time something pinches him and has high inferiority complex but still gets to have a beautiful girl beside him because of the beautiful soul he possesses. It’s about that student from engineering, about the banker of Wall Street, a ballet dancer, a pilot and about very common person . It’s about the pesky relatives and the nosy neighbors who don’t and won’t allow love stories to be a merry ride. It’s about waiting for people to know your value, it’s about the emotional taunts from parents, and it’s about storms and hurricanes. It’s about love which isn’t leveled, where guys fall for guys, where women find their soul mate in women and that’s no sin for aunties to make comment on. It’s something like bitter Espresso which shows the reality of today and brings you back to the ground.

That’s how romantic novels bring both worlds into one. It smoothly unveils our fantasies but keeps reality all along. It contours fears but presents the palette of difficulties too. It presents fact but doesn’t forget to wrap it with intricate designs of desires too.  It triggers your inner demons  and pacifies you too. If that doesn’t make you happy,I don’t know what will!