The Tale of Blood
We are in a world today that appreciates awareness. From non-governmental organizations to health and educational ministries, everyone wishes to speak about topics that are considered taboo. While the effort is appreciable, the taboo topics are dealt with objectively, as if it can be defined in a straightforward, scientific manner. Yet, there is so much that remains in the shadows, so much that is not engaged with, left unsaid.
As a sexuality and menstrual educator, it is a part of my job to talk about menstruation. Yet I struggle. How do I define menstruation? Who does the tale of blood speak about? What is the story behind whispers that passes among circles, whispers carefully coded, whispers that reek of enforced silences? Indeed, how can we tell the tale of blood in all its complexity?
For someone new to the concept, menstruation may seem to be a biological phenomenon that takes place in the absence of the fusion of the sperm with the egg, and the uterus disposing off the bed of blood that is constructed with much pain (pun intended). As a menstrual educator, however, I look at menstruation not solely as a biological phenomenon, but as a social and political phenomenon as well. We cannot understand menstruation in its totality, unless we include subjective experiences of menstruators within the socio-political realm.
Menstruation is more than the blood that escapes from the vagina; it acquires social significance and meaning. It is, therefore, important to understand the layered meanings behind the blood, body, and genders to understand the actuality of the menses. Thus, the story speaks of the social understanding of menses: the impure blood, and therefore the impure body, a body that needs to be kept away from all pure places such as the temple and the kitchen, a body that needs to be restrained in its mobility such that it does not come in contact, and thereby defile, anything of high reverence. The body and blood penalized into silence, such that advertisements shy away from demonstrating the red of the blood coming out from between our legs, and pharmaceuticals make a concerted effort to wrap sanitary products into black polythene, for when something is not seen, it appears to have ceased to exist. A phenomenon as biologically natural as it can be, yet socially ostracised as contaminated; a phenomenon that cannot be spoken of, must not be acknowledged, must be endured in silence.
Thus continues the tale of menses, cloaked with myths, taboos, and shame, sinfully normal. What is also normal is to be in pain. Normal to be cocooned in agony, normal to be pale and feverish with the physical misery. When not banished in spaces such as a separate room or a menstruating hut, cis-gendered menstruators are expected to get on with the pain, as if it is inconsequential, as if the pain that tears a womxn apart inside, is of no importance. The pain is normalized to the extent that its materiality is refused to be acknowledged. Even when this pain has a scientific name that identifies it (dysmenorrhea) and has been categorized into types (Primary that is spasmodic in nature, and characteristically starts right after menarche and lasts for 48–72 hours, majorly during the first two days of menstruation; Secondary that arises due to gynecological conditions such as endometriosis, uterine fibroids, etc.), it is as if a deliberate curtain of invisibility falls upon womxn’s bodies, refusing to look at the bloody reality of it all. Science may have shone some light, even demonstrated how debilitating the experience can be, how it affects 45–95% of women (Iacovedes et al, 2015) (1). But how do you make visible something doomed to be in shadows?
Thus, the mind soaks in every ounce of agony felt, for it seems that pain reveals what they say is true for women- sensitivity, vulnerability, femininity. Pain is glorified and romanticized even when the organs twist on themselves, wringing the life out of our body, when tissues grow in abnormal places and pain shoots up through our nerves, wracking our mind, leaving us debilitated, even when we cannot endure it anymore. The tale of blood writes in red the state of the womxn’s body; violently erased and dismissed.
Even when some companies do provide “period leaves” in an attempt to make visible menstrual issues, only a certain section of womxn, privileged in the areas of caste and class, will be able to access them. Furthermore, only a fraction from that section will choose to openly ask for it. You see, womxn cannot be seen complaining about pain, lest they come out as too vulnerable, too weak, too feminine that opens them up to masculine criticism and takes away the spaces they have worked so hard to get. We must choose our words carefully. Maybe a sick leave might sound more prudent than a period leave; it has more material to it, and people might believe it more.
Then, the story of periods speaks of diverse experiences of womxn with menstruation. Institutions of caste and class carefully configure subjective experiences of menstruation for different womxn, such that for each womxn it is a unique experience, shared with, yet distinguished from other womxn. If we speak of menstrual hygiene, we may start with the issue of accessibility of sanitary products. Sanitary napkins are accessible to a mere 12% menstruators throughout the country, which pushes more than 88% women to resort to unsanitary products such as unclean cloths, ash, husk sand. (2) Next, is the access to clean toilets, running water, dry, clean, cloth, or even underpants, which is clearly defined by class-caste privilege. (3)The tale whispers experiences of not just menstruators, but also of those who clean up the mess later. Womxn belonging to marginalized castes who are mostly at the other side of menstrual hygiene, who clean public toilets, who work as janitors, who are at the receiving end of menstrual product disposal, have a different story to tell about menstruation. The story of blood reeks of privilege.
Furthermore, while menstruation is essentially tied up to femininity, not every womxn menstruates. The tale of menses beckons us, asks us to look beyond reproductive discourses. While some of the female sex have gynecological issues, and some choose not to, while others such as trans women cannot. On the other hand, men who have uteruses and ovaries and fallopian tubes and vaginas, bleed too. That dents the very gendered experience of what it is to be a woman, and the story tells you that it will be a foolish act to conflate blood with womanhood.
Finally then, what does the tale of menstruation tell? Does it speak of periods as a socio-biological (or bio-social, whichever way we wish to have it) phenomena that happen to people with uteruses, that involves blood gushing through the vagina, a lot of blood, pain, privilege? Or shall we listen carefully to how each womxn weaves the story of menstruation for themselves in their unique manner? Shall we listen to the intersections of class, caste, and patriarchy and how they whisper the tale of menstruation?
- Stella Iacovides, Ingrid Avidon, Fiona C. Baker, What we know about primary dysmenorrhea today: a critical review, Human Reproduction Update, Volume 21, Issue 6, November/December 2015, Pages 762–778, https://doi.org/10.1093/humupd/dmv039
- https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/70-cant-afford-sanitary-napkins-reveals-study/articleshow/7344998.cms
- https://feminisminindia.com/2017/08/24/period-leave-dalit-tribal-women/
Written by Annanya Chatterjee
Anannya is a feminist, artiste, aspiring academician and a story-teller/writer. She wishes to make a small contribution to the world to make it a better place to live in. She is also a changemaker fellow with Rangeen Khidki, working towards building awareness on menstrual health in various communities.
