DISINHERITANCE by Gauravi Keni Khaunte

Writer -Gauravi Keni Khaunte

 

Memory is a funny little thing, is it not? I often find myself remembering some really embarrassing moments while I’m doing something as mundane as driving or cooking. Sometimes, on a happy day, a sudden flash of something terrible that happened a really really long time ago rears its ugly head up from the depth of my memory recesses only to engulf my happiness with the gloom of that memory. One memory, that stands out and returns time and again like the rerun of a show that we’ve grown up watching, is that of GUILT.

I remember feeling guilty on many occasions. Right from the time that I’ve grasped the meaning of that word, I’ve felt it more powerfully than any other emotion. As I’m typing this, there’s a montage of memories that flashes through my mind space and I’m compelled to acknowledge some of them here.

As a twelve year old, my body began changing overnight. All of a sudden, I was introduced to bras and underskirts and sanitary napkins. I remember feeling the blinding and knee buckling pain I felt when a friend accidentally hit my growing breasts during a game of catching- cook, the pain was followed by GUILT. For some unfathomable reason, I was ashamed to admit to the doctor I visited that I had pain in my breasts.

After a boisterous round of games with my classmates during lunch time, we would run back to class before the second bell rang. One fine day, while running back to class, a teacher called me aside and asked me if I was wearing any tights or an underskirt below my uniform skirt. I replied saying that I wasn’t because it was too hot and the underskirt gave me rashes. She told me to either wear one or stop playing or running about as the slight visibility of thighs wasn’t appropriate anymore now that I was growing up. What followed was GUILT. I took a long time to run freely after that, or perhaps I think I never really did run freely after that. Even today, while going out for a jog, the thought of my thighs, or even the shape of my thighs being exposed scares me.

When I got my first period the guilt increased beyond my imagination. My grandmother said, “Stop that silly habit you have of sitting with your legs open, it’s unladylike”. GUILT. An aunt said, “Enough cycling now, it will give your calves a manly look and nobody will marry you”. GUILT. My father said, “doesn’t really suit you to act on stage now, it was fine when you were a child”. GUILT. The only fond memory I have of some solace of hope amidst this despair of judgments and do’s and don’ts is of Viju, the house help who made sure my bag was packed with extra sanitary napkins and a clean underwear and gave me tutorials and random motivational talks about “everything being okay” as and when required. Isn’t it ironic that I got my first period education from a woman who was supposedly illiterate?

My ignorance on menstruation as a child had a drastic impact on my self confidence. I was an extremely active child and I stopped going outdoors. For months together, while on my period, I was paranoid. While walking I would make sure the sanitary napkin material does not make any noticeable sounds, if someone behind me laughed I would automatically assume they’re laughing at a stain on my skirt and I would rush to the washroom in a frenzy to clear my doubt.  I cannot describe what I felt in one word! it was ignorance, frustration, fear, anger, and guilt all at once.

I know there are a thousand menstruation myths, but I encountered an amusing one as a child. I was fourteen years old and on my period during Ganesh Chaturthi. As is the practice, I kept to my room and avoided the space where the Ganpati idol is kept. As soon as the idol was brought home, the elders of the family noticed a crack on one of the legs. While my father and two others went back with the idol to ask for a replacement, an aunt hinted that the idol had a crack because I had peeped at it, out of my room while on my period. A menstruating girl’s peeping had caused the crack. GUILT.

Today, with a decade and a half of coping with menstruation and every other emotion or stigma or taboo that comes with it and after a decade and a half of coping with GUILT, I realize it was all for nought. Who taught me to be guilty of the biological demands of my body? Where did the fear of judgement and body shaming stem from? Why was a family member not responsible for my menstrual education? Why was there a focus on the societal do’s and don’ts and expectations of a menstruating girl rather than a focus on understanding my physical well being?  Why is it that a fourteen year old knew that women don’t visit holy places while on their periods, or keep their legs tight while on their period or don’t touch the pickle while on their period but was clueless as to WHY all these practices are followed?

I am born centuries after the universe has already been in existence. Human beings have lived for thousands of years, evolved and survived, women have menstruated for years before I was born and will do so for years after me as well then why is it that menstruation, something that plays a pivotal role in the existence and sustenance of this universe as we know it, is hushed up, enveloped in darkness, pushed under a plethora of taboos and paraded around in the garb of embarrassment? Why have the women in my life, made me feel awkward, afraid and GUILTY about my own body, about our bodies, and about being woman?! Who conditioned them into this guilt? Is guilt the only emotion we wish to pass on, from one woman to another? The guilt of not living up to societal expectations and constructs?

I leave you, my readers with these questions to ponder over. They say every drop that culminates into an Ocean is important. Well then, every voice that culminates into change must be important too? I am disinheriting myself from the years of shame, guilt and awkwardness of being a woman that was passed down to me from generations of women and stepping out towards knowledge, acceptance and freedom. Come join me, find your voice, share your story, and maybe, leave something beautiful for the generations to remember you by and more importantly to help them understand themselves better.