Women Classified!

In Coimbatore, an eighth-grade child was asked to write an exam outside the classroom, seated on the floor near the entrance, citing menstruation. This created a huge ruckus among the public, who demanded an explanation for the school’s inappropriate act. This was coupled with fears of possible caste discrimination as well.

This incident reminded me of my teenage years when I had to fight all the menstrual taboos in my family. At the time of puberty, besides the fear of bodily changes, I faced the mental anguish of following various taboos tied to it. My mother seemed completely different in her approach. She asked me to take a week off from school, which was a big shock to a girl who was always hesitant to miss class. I vehemently opposed whatever came my way. For the first time, I felt my independence was completely stripped away. I incidentally sensed from my friends’ experiences that there might be plans for a ceremony or function. My friends had all enjoyed those instances and shared them with me happily, but I was always uncomfortable with the idea of putting on a show for a simple physiological change. To me, it felt like a way of announcing to the world that there was a girl awaiting marriage in our home. My first response to my parents was to not conduct such ceremonies and to leave me unbothered as before. Fortunately, they heeded my request. 

My happiness didn’t last long. My mother isolated me in one corner of the room and asked me to refrain from touching anything, followed by various rules: I had to wash hair for three days, not enter the pooja room, and sleep on a separate bedsheet. This pattern was to be followed every month. I was shocked at my mother’s superstition—and even more so by my father, who remained indifferent to all these new changes in my life. The whole process was too traumatizing. When I was allowed to participate in all activities at school, dance class, and so forth, what made me so impure that such restrictions were imposed at home?

 My friends, who never cared about these taboos elsewhere, diligently adhered to them in their homes. I felt bad for remaining indifferent and not educating my mother, who was following such stigmas herself. I decided to not remain silent, at least for my younger sister’s sake.

I opposed all the rules she set. I entered the pooja room, didn’t wash hair, and hesitated to sleep separately. My home was always in a ruckus on those three days every month. I threw all kinds of tantrums, preached science, and quoted the absence of such customs in other parts of the world. It was a long process. Eventually, one rule after another was set aside, and my mother came to accommodate my stand after nearly two years. I’m not sharing this story to vilify my mother or my family. The rural upbringing of my parents didn’t allow them to defy such norms.

 The Brahminization of the Hindu religion, incorporated into everyone’s livelihood, deterred my parents from rational thinking. Despite their Dravidian roots, the fear of disrespecting God overpowered their learned, yet unpracticed, ideology. My sister didn’t have to face any such ordeals. 

 When one questions the scientific backing for these taboos, people claim they’re measures to relieve her from the burden of work and ensure rest during menstruation. If that’s the case, when a person objects to the need for such relaxation or feels humiliated and wants to uphold their self-respect, there should be room for that choice.

India honors or glorifies women so much that their every action and inaction must be monitored and critiqued. It’s measured to fit the scale of the “honorable woman” tag. If there’s one iota of deviation from that scale, they’re thrashed, disrespected, killed, or assaulted in the name of honor. The patriarchal society hesitates to treat women as equal to men but insists on placing their honor on women’s bodies, acts, and every movement. This is an instrument to dictate terms, subjugate women, and maintain the status quo of Brahminical hegemony. My mother was open to reform and change, which facilitated my ability to establish my freedom and further helped me learn and think rationally. If there’s no scope for such space, this indirect treatment of women as secondary human beings will persist, hindering their growth. Educational institutions should serve as platforms to sever such stigmas rather than perpetuate them.