Nothing Impure: Why misogynist taboos around menstruation continue to plague India
Photo: Dibakar Roy on Unsplash
In religion, politics, and mainstream pop culture, there is inexplicable hypocrisy and stinging prejudice surrounding the subject of menstruation in India. It begs for more proactive activism around the same.
It was early 90s when I woke up one unsuspecting morning to find—to my utter horror—my underpants soaked in blood. I panicked, lest this meant I had contracted some deadly disease and was about to die. I bolted to my grandmother to show her; her very next words infused in me both toxic shame and lifelong disgust for all things prudish and taboo.
One look at my bloodstained underwear, and grandmother loudly called out my aunt, “O Anita! (name changed) O hoyechhe go!!” (O Anita! She has become!!). Even after thirty plus years since that jarring morning, I haven’t figured out what I had “become” that ominous hour. I do remember how I was adequately made to feel ‘diseased,’ quietly whisked away behind closed doors, given a crash course on sanitary pads, on how to look for accidental stains on my clothes, how not to jump around, and strictly forbidden from touching prayer alters and pickle bottles for those seven days every month. If I had “become” anything different that day, it was a free bird suddenly caged in a hundred norms that never made sense.
Three decades later, that informal rite of passage is still stuck in my memory like a horrid blood clot. India, as a deeply religious and traditional culture, has her own serious set of malaises. One such is the rabid taboo around all things feminine, especially menstruation. Across almost the entire length and breadth of the country, menstruating women are perceived as ‘unclean,’ and treated as temporarily ‘untouchable.’ The taboo looms not only over rural India but also in the most modern, urban metro cities of India. Anywhere between three to seven days are strictly observed as ‘impure’ by almost every menstruating Indian woman/girl, during which strict self-segregation permeates their daily routine, albeit in varying degrees across the different states, regional, culture, and religious background they belong to. From being forbidden to perform religious rituals, to handling pickles, from being banned from the family kitchen and her marital bed, to using different furniture and utensils, the rules ostracizing menstruating women in India are deeply misogynistic and oppressive. Even more perplexing is the fact that these discriminatory impositions are willingly accepted and obeyed not just by some illiterate, rural peasant class of India, but also by innumerable women belonging to the educated urban population.
These experiences make one wonder about the precise root of such a strongly internalised social conditioning around the topic. Where did India derive her revolting beliefs around menstruation from? What is, if any, the scientific or logical argument for the same?
Back in 2020, during my stay in Uttar Pradesh, India, I was tenant to an orthodox Hindu Mathur Chaturvedi family. My landlord was a double M.A. and his son, LLM and practising attorney. The daughter, a chirpy young girl was pursuing LLM in Delhi and dreamed of becoming a judge someday. To my utter shock, I found this highly educated and fiercely ambitious young woman to religiously observe her days of ‘monthly uncleanliness’ and rigid purification rites every month. She would sleep in a cot instead of her bed, and eat in a different set of utensils while bleeding. The utensils of her ‘unclean days’ were stored far away from the ‘clean’ ones, and later ‘purified’ by burning newspaper in them and cleansing them with the ash. Never once during my year-long stay with the family did I hear her modern, educated mind raise a question about the sheer absurdity of it all.
These experiences make one wonder about the precise root of such a strongly internalised social conditioning around the topic. Where did India derive her revolting beliefs around menstruation from? What is, if any, the scientific or logical argument for the same?
The last one is easier to answer. Ask any recent Indologist leaning far-right into nationalistic ‘Hindutwavaad,’ and they will readily claim that these rules were originally prescribed in Hindu scriptures to protect and serve women’s own interests. They argue that because in ancient Bharat, Indian women had to do heavy lifting in the kitchen, and strenuous physical chores in the upkeeping of the house, the cowsheds, the family garden, and so on, this ritualised segregation during her menstruation was a way to offer her bleeding body and hormonal mind a much-needed break.
Another experience from North India immediately flashes before my eyes, when I saw a young mother of a toddler helplessly waiting for her father-in-law to return home to warm a bottle of milk for her hungry child because she herself is strictly forbidden from touching the oven during her periods. Hence, besides taking every offer made by patriarchy “in the very interest of women” with a truckload of salt, this one argument makes us wonder harder about the contemporary relevance of such mandated “days of rest.” Most Indian women—unlike their Vedic or post-Vedic counterparts—no longer cook for a legion of a family, lifting heavy brass cookware. Most don’t go down on their knees daily, rigorously sweeping and scrubbing sprawling palaces or cowsheds. On the contrary, contemporary life has become so sedentary that women are increasingly joining gyms, Zumba classes, etc, to get their daily dose of movement. In that context, magnanimously mandating women ‘rest and recuperation’ by banning them from the kitchen and the bedroom, forbidding them to warm a glass of milk or boil a cup the water even when in dire need don’t at all seem to be “in the very interest of women.” Instead, it reeks of patriarchal hegemony objectifying the female body, and using socio-cultural apparatus to police and control the same.
One finds the origin and primary fuel for such taboos in various ancient religious teachings across the board. Sanatan Hinduism, Islam, Jainism, orthodox Judaism, and more—each of these being, unsurprisingly, patriarchal institutions—declare menstruating women as “impure” and exhorts her to isolate herself from normal life during her periods.
This provokes one to trace the real root of this social evil. And upon deeper investigation one finds the origin and primary fuel for such taboos in various ancient religious teachings across the board. Sanatan Hinduism, Islam, Jainism, orthodox Judaism, and more—each of these being, unsurprisingly, patriarchal institutions—declare menstruating women as “impure” and exhorts her to isolate herself from normal life during her periods.
In, Islam, as per the Fiqh of “Act According to What you See” a woman is supposed to perform a bizarre “Cotton Ball Test”, intermittently inserting the same into her vagina to check if she’s bleeding, and after a complex calculation of time, if she deems herself menstruating, according to the Quran, “she must not perform the prayer (salah), she must not fast, she must not have intercourse with her husband, she must not recite or touch the Qur’an, etc..” all of which are considered ‘haram’ if violated. However, according to Shahi Hadiths (collections of religious and moral guidance derived from various words and actions of prophet Mohammad) menstruating women are not treated as overall untouchables, excepting the abovementioned restrictions.
Orthodox Jews devoutly following the Torah refer to a menstruating woman as Niddah, or “impure”, which lays down some very strict and complex laws on both Jewish women and men regarding it. Isolation of the woman, barring her from entering temples, touching certain sacred food, and sexual relationship with a man are strictly forbidden in the book of Leviticus. It also declares a man defiled if he enters into a relation with a menstruating woman. After her periods, a woman is supposed to observe seven more days of self-isolation and cleansing and then perform a purification rite through immersion in a mikveh (ritual bath). Like Islam, Jewish women are asked to insert a bedikah or “checking cloth” post purification rites, to double check if a they are truly free of menstrual discharge. Violating these laws of Niddah resulted in the punishment of kareth (cutting off) applicable to both men and women, which translates to expulsion from the tribe. Orthodox Judaism even stipulates women to use only white undergarments and bedsheets during her cleansing ritual, to easily notice any remnant blood flow. Thus, both Islam and Judaism exert extreme control over the female body through strict surveillance and impositions.
Interestingly, although Jainism was born out of the need for religious reforms in India, the original Digambara sect teachings are steeped with misogyny, hinting at women being some sort of second-class citizens, incapable of attainting salvation having been born in the female body, describing them as innately himsic (violently harmful) in nature and “impure” due to her monthly cycles. Some sects encourage progressive discourses on the same. However, the social and traditional conditionings keep most Jain women in India still much entrapped in orthodox menstrual taboos.
While Sikhism and Guru Granth Sahib neither consider menstruation as spiritually impure nor place any restriction on menstruating women from entering Gurdwaras, yet the cultural taboo has so permeated Indian society across all religious beliefs that some have observed, “many Khalsas who have not shed their own past affiliation (…) still practice certain restrictions.”
Hinduism, the religion practised by the Indian majority, and often hailed as a tolerant and inclusive school of philosophy, imposes some equally strict and misogynistic laws around menstruation. While the four Vedas don’t directly stigmatize a menstruating woman as unclean, nor impose ritualistic restrictions on her, what the Vedas narrate as the origin of menstruation is implicitly very problematic. As per Vedic mythology, when the king of gods, Indra, slayed the demon Vritrasura, who was also a learned Brahman, the former became guilty of Brahma-hatya, a deadly sin in Hinduism. To lessen his share of sin, the Earth, Water, trees, and women volunteered to be his proxy for atonement. Each of the four were meted out a different punishment on behalf of Indra, to be borne for eternity. For women, the ‘punishment’ was to experience monthly menstrual bleeding; thus, mythologically forever associating the natural, physiological cycle of menstruation with the religious constructs of sin, impurity, and atonement.
Early Vedic commentaries like Yajurveda Taittiriya Samhita and Brihadaranyaka Upanishad impose certain restrictions, more based on her physiological safety and health measures, and less on ritualistic ‘impurity.’ But several later Vedic commentaries deem a bleeding woman “Asaucha” (unclean) including Vashishta Dharma Sutra, Baudhayana Sutras, and the Manusmriti. Manusmriti infamously forbids men from not just touching menstruating women but even from conversing with her. It shockingly compares a menstruating woman to “a Chandala, a village pig, a cock, a dog, … and a eunuch (who) must not look at the Brahmanas while they eat.” declaring their very gaze as deeply unclean and harmful.
At a deeper philosophical lever, Sanatan Dharma’s Trinity, Brahma-Saraswati, Vishnu-Laxmi, and Shiva-Shakti are layered metaphors of the inter-dependent agencies of creation-knowledge, sustenance-supplies, destruction-reset respectively. Over time, at the layman householder level, each of these metaphors was anthropomorphized and presented as a divine couple in marital partnership. This naturally gave rise to a cognitive dissonance which had to then be remedied with more myths that would make sense to the common Hindu.
The three days of Ambubaachi are observed as the annual bleeding time of the goddess. During that period, the temple remains closed to visitors as witnessing the goddess menstruating is strictly forbidden.
Many Indian Hindus across the subcontinent worship Adi Parashakti, or the Sacred Feminine as the Divine Mother, the Primordial Force behind all creation. While procreation on a human level is biological, directly dependant on a woman’s natural cycles of menstruation, Hindu goddesses are almost never depicted experiencing the same biological processes. Puranic mythology strips the goddesses of a natural vaginal birth and substitutes it with portrayals of mystical, non-biological childbirths involving cosmic energy transfers. Devi Parvati is cursed by Devi Rati to be infertile. So, she births Kartikeya through an energetic union with Shiva instead of a physical one. She births Ganesha, and Ashoka Sundari, by breathing life into an idol she makes out of her bodily dirt, and a clay doll respectively. Goddesses Saraswati and Laxmi are depicted as childless.
The only exception to this narrative distortion is perhaps Goddess Kamakhya, another form of Adi Shakti, worshipped in the Kamakhya Temple, Assam, and famous for her menstruation during the monsoon each year. The three days of Ambubaachi are observed as the annual bleeding time of the goddess. During that period (pun unintended!), the temple remains closed to visitors as witnessing the goddess menstruating is strictly forbidden. A local fair celebrates the occasion with much veneration to the deity. After Ambubaachi, cloth pieces soaked in her menstrual blood (reddish water emanating from the water beneath the seat of the idol) are distributed among the devotees as a sacred talisman.
In a nation where the menstrual blood cloth of Devi Kamakhya is worshipped as an extremely sacred religious object, menstrual cycles of mortal women are treated as ritualistically impure and untouchable. It is both mind-boggling and unfortunate to witness how while Sanatan philosophy is quintessentially feminist, the everyday Hindu practices on ground are staunchly patriarchal and misogynist. Historian Janet Chawla discusses this split in Hinduism extensively in her paper.
The messaging that menstruation is ritualistically unclean is also indirectly coded in the worship of Devi Matangi, one of the Dasa Mahavidyas (Ten Great Wisdom Goddesses). As per Hindu mythology, Matangi was born to the chandal (a Hindu low caste considered extremely unclean) named Matanga, who later became a sage through his rigorous austerities. His daughter, Matangi, is also known as Chandalini, a word that commonly refers to an unclean social outcast. In what seems to be a noble attempt of representation of the socially ostracised into the Sanatan Dharma, Devi Matangi is a symbol of the much-needed dissolution of caste-based discrimination and oppression, and the inclusion of communities traditionally considered untouchables into mainstream Hindu society. Devi Matangi’s worship mandates unbathed devotees offering her their leftover food (uchhishtha) with unclean hands after they have themselves eaten portions of it, all of which Hinduism deems as ritualistically unclean and strictly forbidden in case of every other deity. It is interesting to note that while Devi Matangi is the divine archetype associated with all things unclean, she is the only deity allowed to be touched and worshipped by a woman during her menstruation. And just as exception proves the rule, the mythology and rituals surrounding Matangi end up unwittingly further reiterating the orthodox blind spots of casteism, misogyny, the trope of clean versus unclean, and the flawed narrative of menstruation being impure and untouchable in general.
The pedagogical nature of the MHS campaigns conducted through ASHA and SHP (School Health Promotion) using the classroom and chalk-board approach to awareness, is effective only in reaching mostly able-bodied school attending girls, in a country where nearly 23 million girls drop out of school annually due to lack of proper menstrual hygiene management facilities.
Infamously, the Sabarimala temple in Kerala, dedicated to Lord Ayyappa strictly prohibited not just menstruating women, but all women of menstruating age (between ten to fifty years) from entering the temple precinct, until in 2018 the Supreme Court, in a historic ruling, struck down the norm calling it unconstitutional and in violation of fundamental rights of women. So strong is the taboo surrounding the topic that the ruling immediately had about fifty petitions for review, and the hearings are still ongoing.
Ever since the ascension of the right-wing BJP to the centre of power in 2014, the orthodoxy towards menstruation has only worsened in India. Post-2014, heavier overtones of ‘Sanatan Bharat’ and Hindutwavaad have been observed to embolden Hindu fundamentalists, and many affiliated voices urging Indians to denounce all things secular, liberal, and progressive as foul Western influences. In effect, this has fuelled further orthodoxy among ordinary Hindu population like never before. Eminent right-wing voices pan-India have been glorifying a diverse range of outdated lifestyle as authentic Bharatiya Sanskriti (authentic Indian culture), urging Indian men to embrace traditional Indian outfits, tilak, ‘bhagwaa’ (saffron cloth), etc. Earlier this year, BJP minister Kailash Vijaywargiya controversially said: “In India, we appreciate women who dress modestly, wear jewellery, and present themselves gracefully. To me, women are forms of goddesses and should dress accordingly.” Such unwarranted moral and cultural policing by the right-wing power centres, repeatedly demanding stricter observance of religious and socio-cultural codes of purity and chastity, continues to indirectly add more fuel to the pre-existing misogynistic taboos and superstitions against menstruation in Indian society.
In 2011, under the UPA government’s National Rural Health Mission [NRHM], the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare introduced Menstrual Hygiene Scheme [MHS] aimed at promotion of awareness around menstrual hygiene among adolescent girls in rural areas, and cheaper access to sanitary pads. Packs of six for just rupees six were distributed among 107 selected districts in 17 states. To give credit where it’s due, the Modi government has expanded the vision further. In 2014, the endeavour was decentralised, providing funds directly to the states/UTs under the National Health Mission [NHM]. In 2018, under the Pradhan Mantri Bharatiya Janaushadhi Pariyojana [PMBJP], the Oxo-Biodegradable Sanitary Napkin, ‘Suvidha,’ was launched and made available for just at ₹1 at all PMBJP Kendras across the country through ASHA (Accredited Social Health Activist) workers.
Some social scientists have criticised an inherent lacuna in this scheme: its failure to effectively include adolescent girls with moderate to severe intellectual and/or physical disability. The pedagogical nature of the MHS campaigns conducted through ASHA and SHP (School Health Promotion) using the classroom and chalk-board approach to awareness, is effective only in reaching mostly able-bodied school attending girls, in a country where nearly 23 million girls drop out of school annually due to lack of proper menstrual hygiene management facilities. Additionally, non-school-going girls with special needs, and/or impairments and needing a greater assistance, personal counselling, awareness in Braille or other disabled people’s medium are yet to benefit from this scheme.
The stigma around menstruation is so deeply entrenched in Indian society, that ever since its birth, Bollywood mainstream industry has hardly given the subject a mention, even in its innumerable women-centric films.
The debate on Mandatory Paid Menstrual Leave for Indian working women has been going on for years. In the 2022 Budget Session in the Arunachal Pradesh Legislative Assembly, Congress MLA, Ninong Ering tabled the Menstruation Benefit Bill 2017—a private member's bill previously introduced by him in the Lok Sabha. The counters arising from the MLAs representing the right-wing party at the Centre were revolting: BJP MLA Tana Hali Tara dismissed the bill as irrelevant for Arunachal Pradesh arguing that already the local “Nyishi tradition prohibits women from eating with men during the ‘unclean’ period...” BJP MLA from Koloriang, Lokam Tassar went on a bizarre rant of how till date, menstruating women from his hometown have no “ilaaj” (cure—his euphemism for sanitary napkins), are visibly bleeding before everyone’s eyes, and how some bleed for seven days, some only for three. He went on to dismiss the entire subject, claiming that the Assembly was “too holy” a place to discuss a “letera cheez” (a dirty thing), and suggested that the State Women's Commission should take it up instead. The bill was later withdrawn from the Arunachal Assembly, owing to such misogynistic pushback.
In 2022, as a refreshing change, BJP MP, and Union Women and Child Development, Smriti Irani made a nuanced comment on the floor of the Rajya Sabha that menstruation is not a handicap, and mandating paid leaves could increase prevalent gender discrimination against women at workplaces. Ironically, a big segment of the Indian society lashed out at her seemingly unsympathetic, anti-woman stand. All this buzz around legislating menstrual paid leave seems to indeed be a non-debate when compared to the greater need for discussion and debate around the enormous stigma and misogynistic discrimination that menstruating women still face in the country.
Talking openly about periods or mentioning one’s menstrual health in India is still treated as extremely awkward, if not strictly forbidden. Sanitary pads are requested at the chemists in a hushed tone, and get handed over discreetly wrapped in black polythene. Women pull their women friends aside to ask for an emergency pad or tampon. At social gatherings, they whisper about it lest it scandalises other guests within an ear’s shot. Often, the word itself gets replaced by embarrassed euphemisms like ‘Time of the Month,’ ‘Aunt Flo,’ ‘Code Red,’ and more. In many households, even fathers and brothers are never openly told about one’s menstrual days. Woe to a woman who accidentally stains her clothes! Fellow women are quick as a falcon to pull the former aside, gasp, and fervently urge them in a low voice to go clean up the stain.
I vividly recall my own similar ‘moment of shame’ at school, when some mischievous male seniors stole my school bag and dug into it behind my back, only to discover a meticulously wrapped and discretely stashed away sanitary pad deep inside it. As they passed it around, cackling over it, a female staff came running to me, rebuking me for my callousness and ordered me to immediately go secure my embarrassing possession from them. Such incidents only prove the burning need to promote increased awareness around the topic of menstruation among all genders equally, normalising it to be perceived as any other physiological phenomenon as sweating, sneezing, or puking, and reiterating that just as those three are ‘unhygienic,’ so is one’s menstrual flow, but there is nothing impure or awkward about them.
Personally, it was a pleasant surprise to learn that Nepal has introduced menstrual health awareness in co-ed classrooms, boldly passing around sanitary napkins and menstrual cups among boy and girl pupils alike. Sadly, in India, the gender divide still looms strong and MHS/SHP sessions are conducted mostly among girl students by female teachers and SHGs. For India to effectively destigmatize menstruation, the discourse needs to be normalised among all, regardless of age and gender. Stayfree India published a bold and refreshing awareness ad on the same in 2023.
Bollywood, decried by the right-wing Hindutva crowd as an agent of “immoralities exported from the culture Western liberalism” and an apasanskriti (anti-culture), has presented us with bold films covering a range of controversial and taboo topics. Yet, the stigma around menstruation is so deeply entrenched in Indian society, that ever since its birth, Bollywood mainstream industry has hardly given the subject a mention, even in its innumerable women-centric films. The film Veerey Di Wedding (2018), which portrays the lives and friendship of four fiery, rebellious young women, explores taboo topics such as a woman seeking divorce, female desire, female masturbation, and more, but quietly gives menstruation a pass.
Films revolving around female athletes and sportswomen, fictional or biopic, naturally highlight the female body, its struggle with building exceptional physical stamina, and the nuanced female biological experiences such as pregnancy, child birth, motherhood pitted against an athlete’s career. At the same time, these completely omit the reality of a woman’s menstrual issues from the narrative. Chak De, India! (2007), Mary Kom (2014), Panga (2020), Mr. & Mrs. Maahi (2024) have all been guilty of the same. Dangal (2016), is a lauded biopic about Phogat sisters, depicting a father’s fight against social stigma and sexism and rigorously training his daughters for Commonwealth wresting championship. Yet, the Aamir Khan film strangely omits any hint of the sisters’ making training or lifestyle adjustments around their natural menstrual cycles.
A still from Pad Man (2018).
Only in recent years, Bollywood produced just a couple of significant films on this religio-cultural malaise and attempted spreading awareness against the same. Pad Man (2018) based on the life of social activist and entrepreneur, Arunachalam Muruganantham, narrates the predicaments of a newly-wed Gayatri (Radhika Apte) married into a home that observes strict restrictions around menstruation. As Lakshmi (Akshay Kumar) watches Gayatri struggle with monthly self-isolation and using stained reusable cloths as pads, he worries about her catching some fatal infection. He tries buying her sanitary pads, but faces a pushback from both his mother and Gayatri herself due to their exorbitant pricing. He then decides to manufacture an affordable version, not just for his wife but for the average Indian rural women who are still using unhygienic reusable cloths. When his wife refuses to experiment with them, he ties one to himself, along with a blood-filled pouch, causing much uproar and social shaming. The movie realistically depicts the rabid backlash, ridicule and social ostracization Arunachalam had faced from society at large in the process. While Pad Man has a happy ending where Lakshmi becomes a successful entrepreneur manufacturing affordable sanitary pads and spreading mass awareness about menstruation hygiene just as Arunachalam in real life, it also depicts the stark reality of severe social and religious dogma around menstruation still prevalent in the country.
Phullu (2017) is a strikingly similar fictional social drama, in which Phullu (Sharib Ali Hashmi) becomes aware of the importance of sanitary pads when he goes to buy the same at his wife’s request. Finding it very costly, he learns about how to make them, and begins experiments with his cheaper pads on a mannequin. The story is both educational and heart-touching, especially in the climax where Phullu’s pregnant wife dies due to a vaginal infection the same day his experiment is successful.
Santosh Upadhyay’s Masoom Sawaal (2022) is based on an innocent question the director had once faced from an eight-year-old on the subject. The film revolves around a young girl, Prabha (Nitanshi Goel) flouting all religious restrictions placed on menstruating women, facing social and legal backlash for her rebellion, and bravely questioning the superstitions and social prejudices around the same in the court.
Only a handful of other mainstream, women-centric Bollywood productions have included references to menstruation. Chokher Bali (2003) subtly depicts the social norm of segregation, the and embarrassment around the subject when the young widow, Binodini suddenly starts bleeding while sitting in the kitchen. Gippi (2013) the coming-of-age story includes the protagonist’s mother talking to her about the day she’d get her first period. The film includes a subtle scene of Gippi experiencing the same, and bringing out a pack of sanitary pads. Begum Jaan (2015) has a feisty comeback from the titular character, “Mahina humein ginna aata hai, Sahab. Har baar salaa laal karke jataa hai!” (We know how to count months, Mister! Each time one arrives, it leaves us red!). The Netflix series Kota Factory (2019-) has a funny scene where fellow male students discuss Vartika being on period, and another where Shivangi explains to Meena how 17% of Indian women experience menstruation at any given time.
If women can still be discriminated as weaker vessels, segregated from normal life, or treated as less competent employees mandated to go on paid period leaves, how is the nation upholding its commitment to women’s empowerment and equality?
Period. The End of Sentence (2018), a Netflix documentary directed by Rayka Zehtabchi—which won the 91st Academy Award for Best Documentary (Short Subject)—is a heart rendering and hopeful story about the women of Kathikera village. Both young and old, these women are embarrassed to speak about menstruation, are mostly unaware about sanitary pads, and face endless practical difficulties during their periods. When asked about what menstruation is, a young wife defines it as “ganda khoon” (impure blood) being released from the body. An old lady describes it as “a thing given to women by God.” Meanwhile, a group of young men guesses it to be “some disease that women get every month.” Soon, the documentary picks up a hopeful note, featuring Arunachalam Muruganantham and following a small group of Hapur women installing a pad making machine inspired by his ‘Pad Project.’ More women volunteer to learn how to operate the machine, make cheap sanitary pads (while fibbing to the men in their family about making baby diapers!), and gradually spread awareness door to door in the village to sell the pads to women. The documentary portrays both the bleak reality of much prevalent menstrual taboo and helps us hope of a future where these shackles weaken and fall away, emancipating Indian woman further.
The evolution of mainstream conversation around menstruation has been slow, but steady progress is being made. In modern times, an increasing number of Indian women have been breaking free from orthodox religious and social impositions placed on them. Yet, much work remains to be done. The country needs to be more assertively asked: if Indian culture truly believes every woman to be the physical manifestation of the Divine Goddess, then how can the same woman be also perceived as intermittently unholy and unclean? If Devi Kamakshya’s alleged menstrual blood is considered to be extremely auspicious, why are her menstruating human embodiments treated as inauspicious untouchables? If women can still be discriminated as weaker vessels, segregated from normal life, or treated as less competent employees mandated to go on paid period leaves, how is the nation upholding its commitment to women’s empowerment and equality?
That we need to pose these questions itself exposes the inexplicable cognitive dissonance, hypocrisy, and stinging prejudices still surrounding the subject of menstruation in India. It begs for more proactive activism around the same. And as all real change begins with oneself: After decades of living in the internalised conditionings and awkwardness around the topic, I’ve had to slowly but mindfully begin unshackling my mind. Instead of waiting for other customers to leave before I request in a low voice, I now boldly walk into even a crowded store and simply ask for a pack of sanitary pads. If I am on my period and need to decline an invitation for an outing due to physical discomfort or pain, I openly reply, “I got my periods,” instead of offering some false excuse. While I haven’t experienced another accidental blood stain on my dress in public after that one unforgettable day in school, I imagine that now, instead of feeling mortified, I would diffuse the awkward air of onlookers by cracking a joke, before calmly excusing myself to go clean it up. What? It’s just a period stain. Not the blood from a murder I committed.
Most importantly, if I ever have a daughter, unlike my grandmother, I am determined not to shock the wits out of the child when she gets her very first period by screaming Ohhh! You have become! Instead, I imagine myself normalising that unfamiliar and vulnerable experience for her as a very natural part of female physiology, teach her to speak about it with her male family members and friends, and never let anyone dare to shame or segregate her as ‘unclean.’ I truly wish every Indian would one day do the same.
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Nivedita Dey is a poet from Kolkata, India. Her poetic philosophy is one of hope and transcendental humanism, and her debut poetry collection was Larkspur Lane: Branched Labyrinths of the Mind (Notion Press, 2022). Dey holds post-graduate degrees in English and Psychology. She is part of the editorial team of HNDL Magazine. She can be found at niveditadey.com, Twitter: @Nivedita_Writes, and Instagram: @niveditadeypoetry.
