Making a mountain out of mundane..

In the Baramunda bus stand of Bhubaneswar, Odisha I was asked to stand by the bus waiting to go to Phulbani. "I have the ticket with a seat number..see" I was keen to prove I was not an imposter. "Yeah yeah...that's okay but just stand by" the conductor said. "But why?" My initial surprise was soon turning into irritation.

I was early for my bus. I did not want to struggle to keep my bag in the overhead compartment. The bus was all ready to go. It was nicely washed and the conductor had also put some incense sticks. Why couldn't I get on to the bus? "Oh..this is the problem with urban women..they don't understand a thing." He told his fellow conductor and turned to give me a piece of his mind, "Madam, you can not get onto the bus unless a man boards the bus first. It is inauspicious. Cant you see the bus is all cleaned up and you know very well that women are unclean on some days. Don't you? Can we ask around who is going through those days and who isn't? So..no woman can board a bus as the first passenger. Just wait till a man comes!" So there I was. A Post-graduate in a professional course, a social worker who considered herself quite an empowered woman was literally made to stand by the door until a "man" came and made way for me to the seat for which I had already paid.

This was not the only time that I have been treated like dirt for "those days" in my life.  I had once stayed in my aunt's (father's sister) house during my periods and when it ended, she washed all the bed-sheets, sofa covers, literally, all the linen. And mind you, she did not have a washing machine. I never felt so guilty for having my periods. She told me, "See..God is so unfair. Wherever he gives daughters, he gives them in twos and threes. He does not even think how the father will afford such quantity of sanitary napkins!" We were three sisters. I could not have missed the point. Could I? 

Going back to Odisha, I stayed in a village in Chilika region in 1998. The house owner belonged to a higher caste. I stayed in his home for days on an end to work on a research on ethnographic importance of Lake Chilika. Like a fool I thought I can ask the woman of the house how do they dispose their napkins, as part of a general conversation. I was soon barred from entering the inner-courtyard of the house. I was told to use the backdoor to enter the bathroom, which was also used by the washer-man (an untouchable in South Odisha) to collect my clothes from the washroom to give them a thorough wash. My hands were not trusted for cleaning my clothes anymore. I was served food in my room as I could not go to the kitchen anymore. They kept an eye on me almost all the time. I felt like a prisoner of attention. And all these when I did not even have my periods. They did not believe me. They could not check it, right? And I asked about napkin disposal. Wasn't that enough to think that I had mine? And then..it is always better to be safe (from what) than sorry (of what)! 

I remembered all these when I heard A Muruganantham speak from a podium. Muruganantham, the low cost napkin man. More than the invention what caught my attention was the fact that here was a man who was concerned enough to get involved in an affair that is considered strictly female in this country. So much so that even talking about it will make any other man redder than blood!

But then..may be Muruganantham is too dark to turn red :) And I am forever thankful for that!