Tag Archives: menstruation

His torturous existence.

I am a woman

And by default I have a best friend.

I met ‘him’ at a tender age,

When I was 14

And for everyone I knew

I was already late.

When the first time I called my friend ‘him’

I was frowned upon.

“It is she, my dear! It is only your chance.”

But I didn’t want that chance, you know.

Who would want a friend

Who comes unannounced

At all the wrong times

When you plan to go for a swim

Or have a dance show

Or better yet

When you already have 10 different aches,

Who would want a friend that will just add another set of pains?

But there I was, at 14

And just because I ticked the box ‘Female’

I had a best friend,

Who would be with me till times inane.

And so I complied,

Now, if I have to have him inside my body every month

Why not make the best of it?

So, every month I would cry

When he would enter me

And I’d simply shy

Wouldn’t know how to walk-

Did he make everyone this uncomfortable?

Or was I the only one who would feel as a

Combustible?

So I would sit and complain,

I can’t go out

I am not well

And I just want to sit and read and eat and sleep and rest-

My excuses were never enough,

For I was a woman

And people were after equality

So it didn’t matter

And so I had to plaster a smile

Even when my cramps would let in no air.

As time went by,

My best friend became consistent,

Ever month, after almost 35 days

He’d visit me

And make me want to become a man.

“Why did he not have any pain?” I’d wonder.

But then if ‘he’ was the one giving me so much pain

How could he himself accustom to such cruel gain.

I call him

And every man, and woman would cringe-

But come on, it has to be a ‘him’

Who else would think of harassing a woman

The likes of this-

If it weren’t for a ‘him’?

It can only be a him

Who gives me such a headache,

Who makes me a throbbing backache?

Who makes my walking difficult,

With his unwanted intrusion,

Who makes my stomach bloat

Who takes away from my own body, my very own blood,

Who makes me consistently wet

And pains me with his very existence!

Of course it has to be a ‘him’-

Its name itself involves ‘Men-‘

Of course it has to be a him-

Ladies, at least must agree,

But then we live in a conventional society

Where talking about being wet is grimaced upon,

Let alone the talk of staining your pants,

Shhhhhhhh—-

You are making it very clear, woman

Stop talking!

We are at the point where we fight for equality

And you saying these things

Isn’t helping

You are a woman

And you just have to live with your best friend.

And so I tell myself

I am a woman,

As if I didn’t know so far

And since I am a woman

I will just have to live with it.

As if I could literally do anything about it!

And so I make sure that I carry ‘things’ with myself

Everywhere,

Carefully hiding it from the men’s stare.

God forbid they know

What we go through.

Let alone ‘him’ being the only reason we go through.

Then comes the choice of colors of my dresses

Where I will make sure to avoid

The white and lights

When I will somehow know

That ‘he’ is going to visit me.

And then suddenly I will have to cancel all the fun plans

Only because I am not up for it,

And my mood is so unreliable

That I will hate even myself

But I still go and work just as such

For I am a woman,

And that is just a part of me.

That ‘him’ is just a part of me.

And just suddenly, because I am the one inviting problems,

I will have the unknowing urge to visit a temple,

Why?

I am not even that religious

But just because I am not “allowed”

I want to go in-

And I will somehow land up at my relatives place

Where again I am not ‘allowed’ to

Sit on the sofa

On the bed

Or eat just as naturally.

For I am dirty on those days

And I just don’t love it.

But then again I am a woman,

And that is how I am ‘suppose’ to be.

My friend will come and visit

That is by default-

In my system-

And I will have to just live with it.

I don’t have a choice.

‘He’ is just a part of me.

And just like all other men

He is just another sour ache on my body,

My mind

Straining my life with his very existence.

 

The Time I’m My Period.

Just the other day I shared a very powerful poem ‘Half World’ by a Telugu poet, and here I am today, sharing yet another AMAZING piece by a Tamil writer K. Geeta. Again I had to find the translation in English to read it, but here it goes.

The Time I’m My Period. (I am not sure with the title, my translation version says so.)

When the whole body is frozen into an abscess

When a private mount explodes silently

I make efforts vain to catch the pain in my grip

All of a sudden it gives a jolt

I in myself, solid becoming liquid

Then become a solid again

And then shattered to pieces.

Every month, having no other go

I transform myself into pain

Dead

Unable to plaster the wound that would’nt surface

Unable to grind the ribs into powder

Even unable to draw myself into a bundle of cosy sleep

Embracing the thirty-six hours of turbulence

Unable to remain a forced untouchable

Walking forward a few paces in civilisation

Becoming gasping leaps and sprints

Desiring to flatten the spine on the anvil

Toying with the idea

To bundle this bother with chains of iron

Again and again, once in every thirty days

Taking rebirths one after another

The period when crushed in gut-twisting agony

This period …

The problem does not lie only when people shy away with the topic, but even today their are many myths and beliefs associated with it. Not going into the details much here, I’d safely say that those beliefs should not be thrown on women, it’s on them if they believe in it or not.

Even today we have people who shy away with the topic of menstruation, and it is indeed a powerful poetry that I strongly stand by. Some people tend to take it so casually, never understanding the amount of pain that a woman’s body goes through and those hormonal changes which she is herself unaware of, in those days, every single month, almost her entire life.