My mother has been a source of inspiration because she leads by example in a society where women are expected to behave a certain way, and she lives up to those expectations fabulously – while also breaking the stereotypes that come with these expectations. She is skilled at breaking stereotypes but in a manner completely non-threatening to the traditionalist, Hindu-patriarchic U.P. family where saari and pallu are still the norm every sanskaari bahu must follow.
While my father is the primary breadwinner of the family, my mother is still the matriarch. She leads the family of 4 men with a loving, watchful presence. She is respected for being the most sensible in the extended family of both sides, is a favorite bua, chachi, maami, maasi for all of my cousins, and is personally responsible for organizing THREE in-caste weddings, FOUR intercaste marriages, and ONE gay wedding (of her own elder son who is also the eldest among cousins).
My mother completed her BA in psychology at the age of 22 only a few months after her marriage, she completed her MA in Psychology at 33 with 2 sons (me being 10 and my brother being 7 of age) with a full-time teaching job. On top of that, she was brought up in a family of 4 brothers and 2 sisters living in a bungalow with servants – but married to a man who owned only a single bed charpoy in a 1 hall-bathroom arrangement. Just before I was born, they were relieved that my father got a pay-rise so they could afford to have a baby. I still remember the time when I was having a heart to heart with my mom, and she said, “Being strong, gives strength.” Her words forever etched into my soul – reminding me to stay strong facing the stigma of my homosexuality, a break-up after 7 years and another after 3 years, sex abuse, male-rape, and discovering my HIV positive status.
When I was in grade 4, my mum and dad took my brother and me for a trip to states South of India, during a visit to an old temple dedicated to Lord Vishnu, my dad walked in barefoot along with my younger brother but my mother stayed at the entrance. Mom asked me to go along with dad, while she waits at the entrance to keep a watch on the shoes – I disagreed. I insisted that she should come, or I would stay back to keep her company. That is when my mom said, “I can’t go in because I am on periods.” Her tone was serious enough for me to stop the argument and walk into the temple, leaving mom at the entrance.
I was amazed at the candidness with which she told me that she was having periods. I was too young to question the belief that prohibits fertile women to enter a temple – but I was old enough to know that ‘periods’ was an important medical word that has a meaning I was yet not aware of.
The memory of this episode stayed on. Over the next few years, I understood exactly what periods mean.
We used to live in Sec. 4 in Gurugram when I was in grades 3 through 5. My mom would hand me the money and tell me to go to the medical store to get Whisper pads for her. This is some 14-16 years ago when Whisper and Stayfree were the only reputable sanitary pads available – and the medical storekeeper would cover the pack of pads in newspaper, then in a black polythene bag before handing it to me. I remember there was a sense of awkwardness that the storekeeper and the other customers would feel every time I went to get Whisper. The awkwardness was akin to that felt by youngsters going to buy condoms in today’s generation.
But I got used to the experience of buying Whisper packs over soon – and would simply toss the pack in my school bag without any paper or black polythene covering. It would still be awkward to the storekeepers and other customers, but I couldn’t care. To me, the entire ordeal of covering it in newspaper and black polythene was a waste of time and effort.
Tampons! They were quite a rage when they came into the market! How do I know that? Coz, my mum! 🙂
My mother soon transitioned from Whisper Pads to Stayfree Tampons. I still remember my mother would call them “Tampoons” – just as she would call cardboard cartons as “Cartoons”. I remember asking for “Tampoons” at medical stores. By then, tampons were all over the media and billboards, they were also all over my mum’s dressing table and wardrobes. My mother was never shy about them, and so my brother and I grew up asking questions about how ‘tampoons’ are used, are they painful, uncomfortable, etc. My mother might have felt a bit awkward, but she never let it show. She answered the questions, and she made me understand why ‘tampoons’ are better than ‘whisper’.
My mother never called her periods as ‘female problem’ or ‘women’s problem’. She called them what they were: periods, cramps, stomach ache or heavy bleeding. There were times when she was unwell because of her periods, and she told me so clearly – she also told me what to do to ease her discomfort. Sometimes it was cleaning up the house, other times it was helping her in the kitchen, or running errands, or taking care of my brother’s needs. While she was the only one who could truly understand what she was going through, she made sure she reminded me of how I could be of assistance to her.
That is the upfront education I received much before sexual reproduction was taught to us in Biology, Grade 9 and 10. My mother normalized her periods to me. Her candor has been instrumental in how my younger brother and I view and treat the women in our lives. She did not give us a lesson on reproduction, nor a lesson on the perils of womanhood. Hers is a lesson on being a family, it is a lesson on teaching two young boys ways to aide their mother in things still considered taboo in India. It is a lesson to the men my brother and I have grown up to become – respectful to the needs of those who you care about – personally, emotionally, biologically.
#Periodपाठ is a lesson on talking about issues, offering to help, readiness to alleviate one other’s pain – and most importantly, to understand each other. It is a lesson on using love as a verb.