Bleeding Past the Taboos: A new anthology on menstrual health in South Asia
Edited by Farah Ahamed, essays and stories in the anthology Period Matters confront directly with the issues of pain, health care, dignity, and social taboos around menstruation in South Asia.
I started my periods early, compared to most people. I was only ten, but thankfully, I had been somewhat prepared on what to expect. I knew about the blood, the sanitary pads, and even had a scientific explanation available. However, nothing had prepared me for the debilitating cramps and nausea, that—for years—I’d be unable to function for one and a half days every month. I obsessively tracked my periods: they shouldn’t clash with exams, holidays, or birthday parties. I carried around pads like I carried my phone: it was always in my bag like the Meftal was always in my wallet. And I spoke about it constantly: on dates, in offices, with my friends, on stage while doing standup comedy.
Last year, I read Emma Barnett’s book Period. It’s About Bloody Time (2019), about women in the U.K. going through their periods and the trials and tribulations they face in the process. It was insightful and informative, written with sensitivity and humour, and I desperately wished for a similar book set in my context and country. Period. End of Sentence, a 2018 documentary on Netflix, perhaps, came closest to what I was searching for: a tale of period woes and triumphs, of period solidarity and fighting stigma.
Period pain aside, I belonged to a group of the luckiest and most privileged women in South Asia when it comes to menstruation. The new anthology, Period Matters: Menstruation in South Asia, edited by Farah Ahamed, and published by Pan Macmillan India, proves this. In piece after piece, authors write of not knowing what periods were when they started, or meeting people who shared the same story. For example, in “Hormo-Baha: Flower of the Body”, PhD scholar and sociologist Srilekha Chakraborty speaks to Santhal girls who share their first experience of menstruation. One thought she had been attacked by leeches and would lose all her blood. She was too scared to tell anyone and just waited to die.
In a study conducted with over 600 women and 300 men in rural Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, 87% of the women said they did not know about menstruation when they started; 62% associated periods with shame, embarrassment, and worthlessness, writes Meera Tiwari, an associate professor of Global Development in the University of East London, in her essay “What Has Dignity Got to Do with Menstrual Health?”
Period Matters also explains how women’s health care has been overlooked for centuries and continues to be so. In “Right to Bleed at the Workplace”, PHD student Radhika Radhakrishnan says “researchers have conducted five times as many studies into erectile dysfunction as compared to premenstrual syndrome (PMS) even though it is reported that 90 percent of women experience PMS symptoms as opposed to 19 percent of men suffering erectile dysfunction… The most frequently encountered side effect of Depo-Provera [a contraceptive] is the alteration in the menstrual cycle, and yet there is a stark dearth of clinical trials and conclusive information about its efficacy and potential long-term risks,” quoting a 2016 study by Independent.
The book features essays, poems, artwork, and interviews about the experience of menstruating in South Asia. These include articles related to menstrual practices in Sri Lanka, Nepal, Bhutan, and Afghanistan; the experiences of tribal girls, homeless women, transwomen, and people in prison. The book also has short stories around this theme, photographs, and even the QR code for a dance video around menstruation (“Raqs-e-Mahvaari” by Amna Mawaz Khan). Best-seling author and politician Shashi Tharoor also writes about the Menstrual Rights Bill he had introduced in Parliament but was never adopted.
In the interview with the NGO Goonj, titled “Not Just a Piece of Cloth”, the founders say that they combat menstrual challenges at three levels: transactional (menstrual products), infrastructural (secure toilets, proper waste disposal, medical facilities), and mindset (ignorance, shame, taboo). Under these three broad buckets, the book explores menstruation and gives us an idea of how all three levels work for women—especially underprivileged women—in South Asia.
The anthology does the critical job of validating our experiences and doing what all good literature does: tell us that we are not alone in our experiences, fears, and pains.
The most interesting essays, I felt, were those placed in different settings or unique customs. One of the most striking pieces is “Bleeding Behind Bars”, an interview Ahamed conducted with Erum, a woman who spent six years in prison in Pakistan. It gave an eye-opening account of what it’s like to menstruate in jail. The piece also spoke about one of my favourite topics related to periods: female solidarity. “It was the friendships that I made with other women that helped me through that difficult time. Who am I? Just another poor woman. But the solidarity with other women helped me, without which, I would not have survived,” says Erum.
There is universal truth to this solidarity between women. Menstrual products are expensive, but I’ve never seen anyone say no to lending a pad or medicine if someone else required it. I’ve seen women cover for each other in workplaces when one had cramps, and women on the Mumbai local train shift strategically so the stain on one's pants wouldn’t be visible to others.
Another favourite piece was “Homa Istrizia Azan Asan: Our Women Are Free”, also by Ahamed. Here, she speaks of the Kalasha people in northwest Pakistan. A small community of only 3000 people, they have a unique way of dealing with periods. The village has something called Bashali, or maternity home. It’s a building where women go during their periods and even childbirth. They’re separated from their family, but in return, they find a solid community to interact and share with. It becomes a place of refuge, entertainment, and sisterhood, and women often pretend to be on their periods to escape here from domestic abuse or other social pressures. Since women go here every month, the Bashali is not hidden in shame but rather something that all villagers know about and accept. It makes menstruation less of a taboo.
“Behind the Braided Coconut Leaves” by K. Madavane, and translated from French by Siba Barkataki, is a story about a boy confused by the changes his younger sister has to go through when she gets her periods, and most notably because she can’t play with him and his friends anymore. It’s written from the young boy’s perspective, highlighting the absurdity of the customs, and the fear stemming from lack of communication.
Not all of the stories and essays in the collection are as insightful as these; yet, by treating this subject from so many different angles and perspectives, Ahamed achieves the goal of giving the reader an understanding of what menstruators go through. Period Matters is an essential read, for it provides a wealth of information, data, and insight for many of those who don’t usually engage with this topic. For others—especially menstruators—the anthology does the critical job of validating our experiences and doing what all good literature does: tell us that we are not alone in our experiences, fears, and pains.
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Shreemayee Das is a writer and producer of standup comedy shows in Mumbai. She writes on cinema and culture, and has been published in Mint Lounge, The Telegraph and Firstpost. She has a lot to say about books, but can't seem to write any. You can find her on Twitter: @weepli and Instagram @weepli.
