Period Pride with Papa

I grew up in small town India in the 80s, and in the 90s during my teenage years PERIODS was considered one of the dirtiest words ever. There were horrendous incidents of my friends spotting their school skirts and then walking (yes walking, we lived in a hill station) with great difficulty to home covering the spot with a sweater or a blazer, the school’s small infirmary didn’t have any ready to use sanitary pads back then and most mothers and older sisters still living in their time wrap to even talk about it. At homes those four-five days meant isolation and untouchability (girls were considered impure during periods.)

I was almost 13 plus and awaiting my periods to begin still when my father (yes you read it right) my father- papa sat me down to talk to me about periods. He first asked me what I knew about my body and anatomy and the changes happening to me as a young girl. I told him my sketchy know-how garnered from biology chapters and library books and even a sanitary pad company sponsored workshop in school about periods but I also told him about my fears about periods and how most of my friends use what they called “rough cloth” and how it kept them discomforted those 4-5 days.






He talked to me in a very technical and non- evasive way about periods, asked me what I would prefer using the new belted sanitary napkins that were the norm then or we can make our own disposable ones using cotton gauze and cotton, because he didn’t want me to use “rough cloth” like the other girls.






I loved making things with my engineer dad so I said okay let’s make our own, and that’s how I was taught to made my first disposable cotton gauze sanitary napkins by my father. A few months later I also got used to sometimes using the commercial ones and then came another major hurdle- I had a major leg surgery for which one of my full legs was in plaster. Two days later I got my periods. Lying straight in a bed with a wet pad wasn’t a good feeling at all, that’s when my father in the pre-internet days did some research and found about tampons. He bought me some and not only advised me to use those but helped me change them too, I was 15.







That one parent-child moment changed my perception of body image, sexuality, menstruation and gender forever. I passed on my new-found knowledge, confidence and ease about periods to many friends though both me and my father got labelled as "strange" as a result most of the time.



Ever since I was always eloquent about menstruation awareness and related issues and now that my father is no more and I am myself a parent to a pre-teen girl I realize in that one moment my father gave me that voice and that confidence.






He never allowed anyone in the family including my religious mother to put any menstruation related restrictions on me regarding going to the temple/kitchen in the house or touching the pickle. I could tell him I am having menstrual cramps and he would make the best hot chocolate ever and give me a hot water bag to place on my tummy.








Yes I was so blessed to have such an evolved parent who moved beyond the pre-defined boundaries of "masculinity", fatherhood and motherhood and dis all he could to raise a strong, confident, feminist-humanist who is committed for life to keep using her voice and agency to pass on the favor to as many young girls as I can.

My late father with my daughter

Kadam Chhota, Change Bada!


Every change begins with a small step, whether it’s a change within your family, or the whole country!

On 11th May, is the digital premiere of India’s Hero, Padman, on ZEE5. Don’t miss this inspiring true-life story, only on ZEE5. Download the app and subscribe now. For every subscription, ZEE5 will donate Rs. 5 towards the personal hygiene needs of underprivileged women.

Mother - Daughter - Mother

  


She was born in the Himachal hills, the nearest school was about five kilometers from her house, where in addition to homework and play she also had to look after two younger sisters when their mother worked in the orchards. So mummy's childhood was an all too common childhood for rural girls in India six decades ago.


I had a very different childhood, in a city, going to a good school , with plenty of assistance at home and practically no choices barred because so many decades ago my mother had chosen to fight for her education with her parents, her right to work with her in-laws and the world in general for the rights of girls.

She wanted to become a teacher and became one and  my achievements make her as proud as the achievements of so many of her students who give her so much credit for being a special teacher.
The voice in me that speaks for girls and against every discrimination against them is HER VOICE . I tell her that she was my first ever feminism expert and she tells me she doesn't know what Feminism is but yes no human being must be put down because of her gender.

Today as she shares her childhood anecdotes with my daughter I know there is no one else who can teach her feminism better.

So every mother's day I celebrate a lot of women through my mother

My grandmothers and great grandmothers and all women before them
Aunts, teachers, senior colleagues who build other women up
Cousins, friends, colleagues who have each other's back
Nieces, young girls, students who make the fight for gender equality worthwhile
My daughter who is my hope for a better world for girls
Myself - daughter, mother , woman in no particular order, all mixed up !

This post is an entry for mother’s day contest by kreativemommy.

HAIL MARY ! For the daughters of India

For the last few years I have always done a daughter's day post, especially because in addition to being my online journal this is my intellectual legacy for my daughter. I hope some day as a  young woman she would come back to this space to know me better, to understand my compulsions and know my answers.

This year I did not do a daughter's day post, because it was a day with mixed feelings and a lot of disillusionment about how this online armchair activism had become plain and empty rhetoric and going by the number of crimes against little girls ,this country did not seem like changing sometime soon for its daughters.

I was in utter despair because just that week a young two and half year old had been sexually abused in her play school in this city that I call home. My little girl also goes to a school here and takes a school bus with many other little kids. Knowing that none of them are safe till each one of these kids is, is sad and disheartening.

And then today this happened MARY KOM WINS ASIAN GOLD IN BOXING

Mary with her youngest son , Photo courtesy: Google images





M C  Mary Kom is a renowned boxer from India but she has now transcended to becoming a symbol for many aspects of the lives of the marginalised in India . Her story is a special story of triumph because:

• She is a WOMAN in a hugely patriarchal system, that either subjugates women or gives them limited powers as collaborators in oppression.
• She hails from the NORTH-EAST state of Manipur, which for years has felt marginalised and suffered political turmoil.
• She is into BOXING ,which isn't exactly as glamorous as men's cricket in this country.
• She is a MOTHER & WIFE who carries the extra psychological burden put on her by tradition to always put her husband and kids first and her career down the list.

Her triumph then becomes the triumph of all of these marginalised sections- the women, the people from north-east and the sportspersons in less popular sports.
She is a personal HERO , who makes her own choices, pays the prices and overcomes all hurdles.

A special part of THE MARY KOM SUCCESS STORY for me is her husband Onler Kon. The man who is secure enough to look after their three kids when the lady steals international limelight, the man who supports her career choices and becomes her backbone.

So Mary's story is also a special message for all Indian men - Just Imagine what all your daughter, mom, wife, female friend, female colleague or any other woman could achieve if you would just let her be , if you take your fair share of responsibilities of the home and the hearth, if you let her be less intimidated and be free of prejudice and cliché.

Mary Kom for me is one of the stories that we need to tell our sons and daughters , as its multiple layers will make each one of them revaluate their choices about gender and about stereotypes.

Hail Mary !!



 

RADHA

This is a Winning entry here at Women's Web 

Photo courtesy: Birbal Sharma

Another cold winter dawn will break a few hours later in her tiny hilly village.She does not even remember since when she learned to wake up at this hour,quickly grab her mangled woolen scarf and head for the barn.The young ones of the cows and the sheep are used to an early breakfast and she loves to see them snuggle next to their mothers as soon as she unfastened them from their stakes.Every morning she loses some precious time here just gazing at this divine scene.

Just before sunrise the kitchen chimney is smoking,she quickly guts the watery tea in her tin cup and heads for the stream.Thankfully the cooking is taken care of.In summers the water bit is fun,while filling her two pots she often slips her feet in the fresh cool gurgling bubbles of the stream and  also splashes some on her face,but in this season the water is so cold that even the pots are difficult to handle after a while.

On her way back she can see the boys heading for the primary school,carefree and naughty and the girls taking the cattle out or fetching firewood.Her mind wanders to the tangy chutney she had saved from her share of previous night's dinner,oh how she would love to have it with a crisp roti and another cup of tea !

But brunch as usual is hurried, the utensils have to be washed for the next meal before the men return from the fields and the cattle has to be attended to.

Long ago when she had gone to school for a few days she had learned about cities where there are cars and buses,taps for hot and cold water and no cattle or fields to attend to.Their teacher had told them that in cities girls also drive cars,go to schools and work in offices and factories.She had only seen one city lady-Indira Gandhi,whose picture hung on the wall of the headmaster's office.

In the evening as she brings back the grazing cattle home every day and carries the stock of firewood for the night she halts in front of the door of the village headman, some folk song is playing on his TV.She begins to hum along and tap her feet,but just after a few seconds the jagged edges of the rope holding the wood begin to cut into her shoulders and she moves on.

Dinner is the usual ,a small helping of buttermilk and rice.The utensils have to be done again,before she finally gets to lie next to her mother in their shared blanket.

Another winter day is over in Radha's life and she closes her eyes to dream about a world where 8 years old girls like her,went to schools. She wanted to be there where grandmothers and other elders did not believe that girls are a curse upon their parents like she and her three younger sisters were.She dreamt of a new dress,shoes,enough rice and buttermilk to eat.She often had dreams about going to school,driving a car,reading thick books and dancing on folk songs.She dreamt till it was a couple of hours to dawn and Radha woke up again to begin another day.



No celebration of womanhood,motherhood,equality or freedom is true or justified till we have little girls like Radha working and getting the basic amenities of life only in their dreams.

This post is part of a contest CELEBRATING GIRLS,CELEBRATING WOMEN

Blogoversary week Special - FIVE

The snapped limbs

of a rag doll,

or a lost toy

the missing piece

of a picture puzzle

or the mislaid

hair clip

from a shiny pair

Her sanguine eyes

look at me

as if I am the

goddess of her small things

However behind

my reassuring smile

I measure my 

fearful fragility

and wait for the inevitable

as she will grow up

to see my

shivering

human inability !

मदर्स डे

साल दो साल में

एक -आध बार होता

किताबों के सारे बक्से  खुलते

चुनिन्दा साडीयाँ, चुनियाँ निकलती

एक-एक चीज़ को माँ  घंटो 

छूती रहती ,और पीछे बजता

एक पुराना गाना- मेरा दर्द तुम न समझ सके....

मैं झांकती दरवाज़े से तो

वो मुस्करा देती,पर नहीं छिपती

आँखों के कोनों की नमी

आज बरसों बाद

नहीं बिखरी मेरी किताबें

नहीं निकाले मैंने कोई चुनिन्दा कपड़े

छू के देखा ,आँखें भी नम नहीं मेरी

फिर भी मानो

मन ज़रा गीला सा लग रहा है

और जैसे कानों में वही गाना बज रहा है

मेरा दर्द तुम न समझ सके

आज शायद मदर्स डे है !

MOTHERS

A Spanish proverb says -An ounce of a mother is worth a ton of a priest.

Ever since I have ben a mom ,I often wonder, about moms of people who made an impact ,be it the great reformers,scientists and artists or the dictators,terrorists and the like.

I often wonder what kind of childhood influence did Hitler's mother have on him to make him so full of hatred and anger.So I researched and found that Klara Hitler was a young victim of cancer and many historians opine that had she lived more Adolf Hitler would have been an artist and not a traitor.His years of misery in Vienna after her death was the time when he formulated many of his ideas on politics and race which had immense consequences in the future.

I strongly believe that any kind of change in individuals or societies has to begin with mothers,simply because they are the vocabulary and the dictionary of a child's thought process.I am my child's encyclopedia ,her window to the world,her reference point to relationships.I am important because I am indeed the key to her future and the difference she might make to the world.If this is so then it is the most empowering role one can ever have.

We really have had enough of sham glorification of motherhood in literature and history,what is needed now is aware motherhood,educated daughters who become empowered wives and moms.

History,literature and  even our own bollywood is full of exaggerations of the greatness of motherhood,what however is really needed is acceptance of motherhood as a job worthy of respect and praise.The requirement is of a society more sensitive towards its women ,a nation that pays some real credit to moms who groom its future.  All moms though don't need to carry the load of making the next Einstein or Picasso,yet all mothers must carry the huge load of responsibility of nurturing responsible and sensitive humans.