Talking openly about menstruation is and (undoubtedly) will remain a taboo in Indian ambience.
Menstruating girls will unanimously approve of those five days of each month to be no less than an adventure of restrictions. “No! You can’t sit there.” “Don’t touch the flowers or the pickles.” These are just a drop of the wide ocean of restrictions laid on us. It’s hilarious to see your mother freaking out at her own daughter’s stained bedsheet, and then like detective Bakshi directing your course of actions to secretly wash the sheet before the male members of your family notice the havoc. I have only one question, would the male members of my family really care to react to such a natural phenomena? I guess no. Because in my case, my sixteen year old brother just ignores the scene and cares the least.
Now, the most exciting part of the adventure, the disposal of our stained saviours. It’s a complete hide and seek game of its own genre. Peep out of the bathroom, look around like a thief, be double sure, hop as soon as the signal is green, race faster than Usain Bolt and finally, you win the hurdle race of disposal. Well, the complications arise if you meet a smiling face of a male on the way before you reach your goal. It’s like being caught hiding the ruins of a deadbody you recently slayed with your hands. The deadliest thing a girl can ever think of.
The five days of every month are no less than visiting a different universe altogether and returning back alive each time.
