The issue of menstrual exclusion made national news this month when Prayar Gopalakrishnan, the Devaswom chief of the Sabarimala temple in Kerala, reportedly talked to the media about a machine to scan if it is the ‘right time’ for a woman to enter the Sabarimala temple. The temple, which worships a celibate deity, does not allow entry to women in the reproductive age. In response to this statement, which many feminists found sexist, a young woman called Nikita Azad wrote an open letter and started a Facebook campaign called “Happy to Bleed.”
I have mixed reactions. Talks of tolerance and free-thinking can’t be a one-way missile. There is no institution, religious or otherwise, that doesn’t adhere to a code of conduct. Sabrimala has also followed certain rules for centuries. Besides, wouldn’t it be common sense, if not anything else, to save oneself from the arduous Sabrimala trek up the hill, followed by hours of wait in the queue on days of the cycle? Can’t the pilgrimage wait for three days? Is it necessary to break the rules to make a point? If we have Sabrimala in Kerala, we also have Kamakkhya temple in Assam which celebrates fertility and the phenomenon of menstruation.
The good thing about the Sabrimala controversy is that it has brought the talks of menstrual exclusion on a national platform. Women (mostly Hindu) are forced to follow strict rules for three days that often end up making them feel like outcasts in many families in rural and urban India. The blood that is a precursor to life is still a taboo subject.
Girls as young as eight begin to menstruate. A friend recounted how life changed for her little cousin who started getting her period in the second-grade. The mother was zapped by this early onset and was not quite prepared herself to guide the kid. She acted hyper and constantly asked her daughter to sit right, legs folded tight and skirt covering the knee all the time. The start of a natural process which simply signifies that the body is now receptive to hold human life should not be a premature end to childhood.
Before beginning to write this article, I called up my father and asked him to recall his thoughts when his daughters first started menstruating. “I became more sensitive as a person,” he said. “I would see you running out to play, coming back early because of exhaustion, sleeping out the pain. I felt uneasy. I also felt like becoming more protective and wished I could give you more comforts.”
Father recalled how he was happy that the family had stopped adhering to menstrual exclusion rules much before we were born. Says the grandmother, “We all (sisters-in-law) were working, had moved away from the joint family and it was no longer possible to sit away and do nothing when my husband and children had to be fed. My mother-in-law understood. One fine day (sometime in the 1960s) she called us and declared that we no longer were required to sit away in a corner, sleep on the floor, eat from separate dishes and keep out of the kitchen on those days.”
A blog called Menstrupedia, updated by Prachi Prabhu, an outspoken crusader against menstrual exclusion is worth a read. Many NGOs in Nepal are also working to end the system called “chaupadi” which enforces extreme seclusion rules on menstruating women. They are sent outside their villages and made to stay in makeshift sheds in remote areas come rain or snow for the entire duration of their cycle. Attacks by wild animals and abuse by men are frequent because these women are lonely and helpless in these exclusion sheds.
Many families still follow strict rules and regulations for its menstruating women. A childhood friend doesn’t touch anything outside of a seclusion room and doesn’t cook for three days. Her husband and in-laws cook, or order food from outside and take up the entire responsibility of looking after her toddler on these days. She says it is a completely personal decision. “Look at it from a housewife’s point of view. We tend to feel low, have mood swings and have less energy. With this system, I get complete rest for three days, complete space. And, it is not a do-or-die thing. When we were working in Delhi, it was just the two of us, it was impossible to follow this, so we didn’t. Now I have help, and so I follow the rules. No one should be making fun of me or calling me outdated because of a personal choice.”
What if she has a daughter, will she expect her to do the same? “I will explain her why I do this and would be happy if she continues the tradition. But, it will be her choice. I will respect it.”
