Abstract
How have three generations of women from the same family coped with menstruation? These narratives illustrate how perceptions, rituals and practices around menstruation have changed over the years, the triggers that initiated these changes and how women have negotiated these changes in their lives.
From Kanchana 1 to Sujata, a time span of 50 odd years, there has been a sea change in the perceptions of menstruation and menstrual practices.
When Kanchana was an adolescent girl, 50 years ago, there were strict codes of purity and pollution that were practised in her family. A girl who had attained menarche was seen as a potential mother. Menarche was celebrated as the onset of fertility and womanhood. Seclusion was practised as a way of protecting the young girl so she does not fall ill and give birth to an unhealthy child. However, she was still permitted to go to school during her period, even though the infrastructure was not conducive to the needs of menstruating girls. There were few options with regard to menstrual absorbents and women had little choice other than to use cloth. Toilets were a rarity and even though Kanchana’s family had a makeshift toilet behind the house, family members preferred going outside to defecate when they could.
Kanchana’s daughter, Manju also practised seclusion during her menstruation but because she was growing up in an Engineer’s colony in Hirakud, the rules were a bit more relaxed and menarche was not celebrated as in the case of her mother. The changes occurred when she started going to college in Sambalpur and later when she moved to Delhi and began to work for an NGO. She discovered pads and through her work on sexual and reproductive health and rights, she began to understand menstruation as a normal physiological occurrence, rather than a stigma.
Twenty years later, it appears that the Mishra family has broken the silence on menstruation. Manju’s daughter, Sujata has no inhibitions talking about menstruation, even with her father. She has learnt about it in school and discusses periods openly with friends, male and female. She also has access to a variety of menstrual absorbents and sanitation facilities that her mother and grandmother did not have and which enable her to take care of herself during her period.
Modernity forces society to change. However, each generation has had to negotiate this change and find spaces for it. This tends to create tension and conflicts within the family and in society. Although Kanchana has followed social restrictions throughout her life, they have been more rigid in the village and less so when she travels to other locations to visit her daughters or even in Puri where she moved after her marriage. In Delhi, Manju pretends that she is not menstruating so she can cook for her mother. Her mother may also know intuitively that Manju has her period but prefers to turn a blind eye. It is an unspoken fact that is accepted because it is convenient for everyone. Change creeps up gradually with each generation making some allowances so they can continue unhampered with their lives, while still holding on to some social taboos. Manju’s sister, Rimi, for example, will cook for her mother even when she has her period, but she will not allow her menstruating daughter to go to the temple. Sujata, the cleverest, has learnt to use the social taboos around menstruation to her own advantage. She tells her grandma she is on her period so she can avoid doing the housework!
Kanchana Mishra, 71 Years
I was born in 1947 into a Brahmin family and grew up in Chilika village, Puri district. The first time I got my period, I must have been 16 years old. All my classmates had already started their periods and I was worried that mine was so late. For six days, I had to stay in a separate room. Luckily, we lived in a large house with extra rooms. I was not allowed to go to school or interact with any male members or do any work. We spent our time trying to entertain ourselves by playing traditional games such as cowries and kancha. During these six days, we were not allowed to bathe and could only eat fruits such as guava, mango, jackfruit, banana and coconut. Sometimes an elder sister or a cousin would sneak in a little rice and vegetable curry. But otherwise, we were on a straight diet of fruit and occasionally mandua (ragi) ka kheer (rice pudding).
Menarche was a sign that a girl is ready to conceive a baby and I was married the year after I got my first period when I turned 17. Child marriage was common and the onset of menstruation was seen as an auspicious occasion and celebrated. The celebration took place on the seventh day of the menstrual cycle when we were no longer menstruating. On this day around 4
After the seven days, I was allowed to go to school and regular life would resume. But whenever I got my period after menarche, there were strict rules we had to observe. For example, I was not allowed to use or touch anything in the house and had to sit on the ground or a charpoy or mooda (made of wood or cane). I was only allowed to do ‘dry’ work—such as sweep the room and courtyard, weed the garden and other such tasks that did not require touching water. I was forbidden to cook, go to the temple or touch trees. I had to sleep in a cot in a separate room and could study, read and play with my girlfriends. There were also some food restrictions. Menstruating women could not eat non-vegetarian or roasted foods.
Since we were not allowed to touch a source of water, someone would have to fetch water in a bucket from a well or a gadiya (a small pond in the compound) and we would use that water to wash ourselves and our menstrual cloth. After the menstrual cycle, the cloth and all our clothes, including the bed sheets, would be given to the dhobi. Everything was cleaned and purified, including the chattai (straw mat).
If a family did not have space, they would make a shed outside to accommodate menstruating women in the family. This rule applied to postpartum bleeding as well. My sister in law who lived in the village delivered her first child in a shed outside the house. She had to stay there for 12 days. Luckily, I was in Puri when I was expecting my first child and was spared this ordeal.
There was a makeshift toilet behind the house which was mostly used my father’s friends, or during emergencies, at night or when it was raining. Most of the time we would go out to defecate and bathe. There was a small pond where we could bathe and wash our clothes. In any case, we did not bathe during our period, except on the first and last day. We had a shed on the premises for storing firewood and cow dung. It was in this shed that we would dry our menstrual cloth after washing them. We would hang them out on a rope or a bamboo stick and also store them here until we needed them again the following month.
People say that women rest during this time, but for me, it was very irritating not being able to cook for my daughters and seeing them struggle to feed everyone in the family. Once my daughters got married and left, my husband and son replaced them in the kitchen whenever I had my period. But I would use my time to stitch, knit and hem. Those days we would stitch all our clothes at home instead of buying them from the market.
Although today people are sceptical about social taboos and traditional menstrual practices, there was a rationale behind them. We were supposed to avoid the cold, including cold foods and drinks to prevent menstrual cramps, disease, infection and infertility. It was a way of staying protected. Segregating menstruating women was a way of creating a barrier (bhadaka) against disease and keeping yourself healthy for procreation. It was important so that a woman could give birth to a healthy child (susanthana jamna karibe). Another belief was that sexual intercourse during your period could lead to the birth of a weak or disabled child.
There is a festival in Odisha that is celebrated every year during harvest time called Raja Parba. It is a celebration of menstruation and the onset of womanhood when we worship Mother Earth. We believe that during these three days, Vasudha or Mother Earth is menstruating. I remember that all heavy work, such ploughing the fields, sowing seeds and irrigation would come to a stop as a mark of respect to Mother Earth. Unmarried, pre-puberty and adolescent girls (kumari kanya) are not allowed to cook and given a break from all household work. Instead, we would play inside the house or swing outside, sing, dance and wear new clothes and ornaments. I still recall singing:
Banaste dakili gaja (call the elephant in the jungle) Barasake thare aasichhi Raja (Raja is here once again) Asichi raja lo gheni nua sajabaja (Let’s dress up … Raja has come again)
After the first day, we were not allowed to bathe for the next two days. On the last and final day, there was a ceremonial bath for Mother Earth and everyone would bathe. During the festival, boys and men cook for everyone. Even if the women cook, they are not allowed to do any heavy work such as cut vegetables, grate coconut or grind masalas because these actions could hurt the earth. We also walked barefoot so that we would not hurt Mother Earth. We would prepare many kinds of special foods and traditional cakes, such as poda pitha and chakuli pitha, and grind the masalas before the festival so that it is ready.
When we went to school during our period, it was difficult to manage due to the absence of facilities. But this did not prevent us from going to school. We would take an extra piece of cloth and change if required. There were no toilets and we would hide behind a bush and throw away the used cloth. Sometimes we would even wash the cloth in a pond.
I was 52 years when I stopped getting my period. It was a liberating moment. While I was still menstruating, I had to follow too many restrictions. I was unable to go to the temple and worship. Not being allowed to go to the temple was especially hard as I am a religious person.
My father, who ran a printing press in Burrabazar, Kolkata, was a well-read man and his progressive views on women impacted me as well. We followed several social norms but always questioned them and tried to find the rationale behind them.
Today things have changed a lot in my village. Menstruating women still do not cook or go to the temple. But they are not as secluded as before. They have adapted according to the demands of a modern society.
I understand that the times are changing and this is only natural but I still feel menstruating women and girls should not go to the temple or cook food. In Puri, we do not cook when we have our period, because the same food is served to the Gods.
I am not very comfortable seeing these changes in the new generation since I have practised these rituals for so long. When I visit my daughter, and she has her period, she wants to cook for me but I do not allow it and that leads to tensions between us. But for me, it is an old habit. I have internalised these practices. How can I change at this age? It is difficult.
Manju Mishra, 46 Years
My father is from Ganjam, Odisha—a very orthodox region. I was 15 years when I got my first period. Although I did not know the facts about menstruation, I did know about the rules of purity (choot) and pollution (achoot) because in Odisha we practised segregation during menstruation. I have three older sisters and whenever they had their periods, they were not allowed to step into the kitchen, touch water, cook or even pluck flowers! I had to take over and do the household chores. That is how I learnt to cook.
One day I noticed red stains on my underwear. We lived in Hirakud in a big house with a courtyard and a small room outside the main house. I was given a charpoy and a bedsheet and instructed to stay in this room for seven days. I remember feeling terribly embarrassed and awkward that everyone knew and thinking how will I face my friends? I was not allowed to go to school and they must have wondered where I was. I was a very active child and missing school was unheard of for me until then. I was scared that I would not be allowed to go out and play.
My mother also gave me cloth to absorb the blood. Sanitary pads came into my life only when I went to college and lived in a hostel as they were so expensive. Until then, I used plain cloth from old cotton saris. After use, we would wash them in hot water with Dettol and dry them in the sun. There were strict rules of hygiene. We were not allowed to touch the tap. My mother would fill up buckets of water and we would use this water. Afterwards, we would invert the bucket so no one else would use it. Fortunately, we had a big house and a separate room that gave us some privacy.
Due to the strict rules of purity and pollution, we were totally dependent on others for food and water. We were given a separate plate, bowl and glass for meals which we washed ourselves after we had eaten. Even the shadow of menfolk was not allowed to fall on a menstruating girl. So I did not see my father for seven days. Only girls were allowed into this room. The charpoy was kept in a corner. When I used to go to the toilet, the menfolk had to move away. Even Kirtan, who took care of the cows, had to be sent away.
Menstruation was an open secret. Everyone knew but they all had to pretend they did not know you were menstruating. If anyone asked where is Manju, they were told she is not well, she has a stomach ache. We had to pretend that everything was normal. As if menstruation is not normal!
Sitting in a separate room without being allowed to go out and play was my biggest fear. All I could do was study or sleep. I was told now you are a grown up, you cannot play with the boys, you have to be careful, but I never gave a damn. Having elder sisters made life much easier. My sisters empathised with me and came to my rescue. They would lie and cover up for me so that I could go out and play.
We had to follow strict bathing rules during our period. On the first day of your period, you had to oil and wash your hair with turmeric—regardless of the time of day. Even if it was in the middle of the night! Your clothes were put aside and given to the dhobi to clean. Water was heated on a gas cylinder (a luxury compared to the wooden chulha (stove) that my elder sisters used). On the second day, you could bathe. On the third day, you were allowed to touch a few things after bathing. On the fifth day, you had to repeat the oil and turmeric ritual and could enter the kitchen.
For my mother, menstruation was a time of rest. Due to strict social taboos, men would have to manage the domestic chores normally done by the women. Since menstruating women were not allowed to go to the water body or enter the kitchen, the men—my father and brother—learnt to fill up the tanks and ensure there was water, make tea and cook.
The school toilets were very dirty. So I would come home during the lunch break to change my cloth. Luckily, my home was close by. Other girls would use the teacher’s toilet in the staff quarters or go to a friend’s home.
When I started studying in GM College in Sambalpur for my 11th and 12th grades, it became more difficult for me to manage my period. I used to commute a distance of 18 km and often had to walk 7 km when the bus broke down. It would take me an hour to commute one way. I often skipped classes due to the poor sanitation facilities in the college and the long distances. I switched to wearing pads sometimes or I would use a double cloth but that used to chafe and cut my skin if I wore it for too long. It was also not absorbent enough and I would often come back early to avoid staining my clothes.
Buying sanitary pads was a big problem since most of the vendors were male and they would always wrap the package in a newspaper bag so that no one would know. In many other families, the son of the house would be sent out to buy sanitary pads. He would normally not know what he was buying. He just had to hand over the slip of paper to the shopkeeper and it was understood. Many boys wondered what this secret package was that they were carrying home. In my family, even though I had a brother, I would take my scooter and go to the market on my own. I would tell the shopkeeper what I needed by pointing out to the package of sanitary pads and avoided making eye contact with him.
The stigma and secrecy associated with menstruation bred dishonesty and made us liars. I used to lie often to avoid the social taboos that limited my mobility and freedom. It is these taboos that made monthly periods such a nuisance.
Cleaning stained clothes was another challenge in Hirakud. We had open drains and when we washed our clothes, we had to ensure that no one saw the bloody water flow through the drain. Drying used cloth could be very difficult during the rainy season. Sometimes it would rain continuously for seven days. Nothing would dry. And there were five of us in addition to my mother!
We would dry and keep our menstrual cloth in a shed behind the house which was used to store firewood. They remained hidden from sight and the rays of the sun. I do not know how we identified our own cloth and would not be surprised if we even used each other’s cloth accidently.
When we started using pads, disposal became a huge issue. There was no bin or collection system in Hirakud. We used to collect the used pads in a pile and get someone to remove and bury it.
In 1996, I started working with Parivar Seva Sanstha (PSS), an NGO in Delhi that works on family life education. It was only then that I learnt about menstruation and my own attitude towards it changed. I realised that women have a different body and menstruation should not be viewed as a burden. It is this message that I passed on to my daughter, Sujata, as she approached puberty. I explained what menstruation is and introduced her to pads so that she would not be caught unaware. More importantly, I oriented my husband, Satya, since I travel on work and needed to ensure that he could handle the situation if Sujata started her first period while I was away.
Satya is from Western Odisha which is less orthodox and they do not practise segregation there. We talk quite openly about menstruation at home. In fact, as a family, we even joke about it. Once we sent Satya to buy us sanitary pads and he tried to order nappies instead! Sujata and I could not stop laughing and we have never stopped teasing Satya about it. Sujata does not have to follow any restrictions during her period. She can even go to the temple if she wishes. So long as she does not hurt anyone’s sentiments.
Of course, when my parents visit me in Delhi, things get a bit complicated. When they arrive, I pretend that I just finished my period. Even if my mother suspects this is untrue (especially if she comes for a long spell), she turns a blind eye and does not ask any leading questions. She will not eat food cooked by the maid. So I have to cook whether I have my period or not!
Sujata, 17 Years
I got my first period on Christmas Eve, 2014. I was in the 8th grade. It was not a traumatic event because I already knew about it. I had learnt about menstruation in class VI during a lesson on adolescence and sexual health. My friends had also started menstruating and had told me about it. In spite of that, it was still a bit bewildering the first time I saw blood. I went to my mother and she told me why it happens and what I need to do to stay clean.
I was lucky that there were no restrictions imposed on me. For many girls, menstruation means an end to their freedom. I was allowed to do everything. But if I get my period when my nani (maternal grandmother) comes to Delhi and stays with us, I do not go into the kitchen or give my nana (maternal grandfather) water. I like it because it is an excuse for me not to do many things I do not like doing.
My school also provides an open environment where we can discuss everything under the sun from farmer’s suicides to gender discrimination to relationships. Menstruation is not taboo either. The girls in my class outnumber the boys and we have frank and open discussions on menstrual cramps, bleeding, pads, etc. May be it is just my class that is an exception. But it helps that we have special sessions on sexual health and sex education, so we can overcome our shyness and talk about these issues without any embarrassment. I find it ridiculous that menstruation is still considered as polluting. It is a natural biological process, a sign of fertility and necessary for the continuation of the species. And still, social pressures make us hide the fact we have periods, almost like it is a crime, and manage it in secrecy and isolation.
Fortunately, my school has excellent sanitation facilities and we do not have to struggle or miss school when we have our period. There are separate washrooms for boys and girls, clean toilets with jet sprays, dustbins and they are cleaned regularly. All the girls, as far as I know, use pads. The school clinic also stocks pads in case we start our period unexpectedly at school and are not prepared. The clinic even keeps a change of clothes, should we need one.
But I still do not like being down. I get cramps on the first day and even though I still play badminton, I cannot give it my best due to the discomfort. I also dislike wearing a pad. Yes, I have heard of the menstrual cup but I do not use one and find it intriguing how people use them.