By About an incident from when I was five,
Running too fast, meters away from the beehive,
Missed a step, fell hard on the ground,
One scream, and it brought Papa around,
Knees and hands scratched- Oh, how they bled,
Fear crept over pain, surely I would get scolded. But, Papa was soft, carrying me in his arms,
To avoid my cry, he told me the story of the farms,
As he tended, carefully, to my bruised knee,
Just as he had done since I was three. On the schoolyard, one summer evening,
Twelve years or so, then I must have been,
Papa’s cheers were loud, almost deafening me,
As I ran through the ribbon, bagging my victory. A boy laughed, at something he had just seen,
Turned around and saw, his laughter so obscene.
Pointing at me, apparently, I was his hilarious joke,
What a brainless, stupid, little bloke! Saw Mama, pushing her way, through the crowd,
I just won a game, what’s the fuss all about?
The schoolyard turned, from cheers into whispers,
My happy triumph drained, by unknown shivers.
Funny feeling shifted, in my little stomach,
Someone must’ve punched me, Mama, I’ve been hurt.Mama stopped short, right in front of me,
She was in shock, too, but I held her tightly,
Looked for Papa, like I always did while in pain,
My little heart must have been broken then,
When I saw him leaving, from where we came,
Mama dragged me home, her head, held in…. shame?At home, Mama demanded I quickly clean and change,
Only on doing so, did I find the source of the stench.
There lay, a new design, on my dirty white shorts,
The whole chaos earlier was over a few bright red spots.
But it was only blood, then why all those faces?
Mama, mama, I’m bleeding, get me some bandages.
Pulling my hand, she took me to a dark room,
I didn’t know, the whole setup had been for whom.
Curtains down, mattress laid on the floor,
Mama warned me, not to take a step out the door,
Until further notice, I was to remain there,
Mama, what’s going on, everything seems so unfair.
This is a diaper, I laughed, as I broke through the seal.
Your kind of bleeding, she said, bandages do not heal.
Staring at her directly, I wanted to know more,
Got interrupted, though, by murmurs behind the door.
That’s Papa, he will know how to stop the bleed.
Foolish woman, I said, it was always him who did.
Only when the wall changed, did I realize,
Mama’s timing, as always, had been so precise,
Tears welling up, couldn’t hear her one word or other,
For 21 days, I was not to see my Papa and my brother.
I insisted on why, scared of being hit again,
She only offered food, and medicine for the pain.
At around 9 o’clock, Mama paid me another visit,
This process, she said, all women must go through it,
Said I will understand better when I get older.
Until then remain unknown, yes, Mama, I told her.
She shared with me a few things, and also gave it a name,
Call it menstruation or period, but never in front of any men.
Invisible punches and my insides contracted all at once,
I should call a doctor, while I still have the chance.
No one slept, I am sure, for loud was my scream,
But, Papa didn’t come, not even on my dream.
If it’s from my limbs, Papa will run to my aid,
If it’s from down there, no questions, Mama said.
It’s the same blood, flowing through different ways.
Then, why one gets healed, while the other gets caged?
In so many ways similar is the story of me and my brother,
For we both came to the same route, out of the same mother,
Still, he receives all her love, and I only get some,
Hey, mama, is my uterus and vagina the problem?
In the darkroom, where the spiders would creep,
Weighing my own fate, I would always drift to sleep.
Beginning of your actual life, Mama had said.
Then, why call it a period, where sentences end?
If it’s the time period everyone is referring to,
I will call it monthly, and ruin the word for you.
The isolation was not even the most dreadful part,
Facing Papa once I got out, was the one really hard.
Do we talk of the disease.. or process, whatever it be?
Or, has Mama told him also, all women must go through it?
A sense of relief and disappointment flooded in,
Papa never talked about it, and neither did I with him.
The laughter resumed, from where it had been left,
I became the girl that peed her trousers red,
The entire school looked like I had killed someone,
From the amount I bled, I probably was the one.
Years later, ‘remember when’s always brought the story,
Yes, it was an amazing time, sad, you cannot be me.
My daughter, now twelve, starts her journey today,
Unlike my Mama, I won’t let stigma get in her way,
She is not going to miss three whole weeks of school,
Period doesn’t equal untouchable; Wake up, you fool.
Did I mention, I know now why it’s called a period,
Because, it’s her body, it’s her choice, the end.
