Learning to be a Woman - Incidents 1

Black kite, soaring high 

Growing up, I went to a convent school. One of the most prestigious girl’s schools in our area or even our city. I had been lucky to get a slot in this school. In India, in the seventies, the government allowed lower school fees for families who had only two children. If the child was a girl, there were schemes for free or heavily subsidized education. However,  as a fourth child of the family, my father had to pay full fees for me.

Another part of growing up in India, means that any child going to school wears a uniform. This has a socio-economic and anti-elitist benefit as many children who are poor would stand out amongst the rich or the middle-class students like a sore thumb. It promotes equal opportunities for children amongst all strata in our society.

Now, in our school, we had two types of uniforms, one which was a regular school day uniform, a blue pinafore or a blouse and skirt. The other uniform was a white outfit with a blouse and knee-length wide-leg pants or something which looked like a skirt from far. We were to wear the white outfits on days when we had sports classes. So, that was a couple of times a week. 

On one such sports day, a twelve-year old me had reached school quite nervous. I had just started menstruating the week before.  It was difficult learning to wear the sanitary pad and hard  work trying to know what my body cycles were like. How much time was I to wear one pad  before it got full and needed to be changed, when did I need to go check if it needed changing or how to move and walk optimally in order to avoid any accidents were several questions on my mind from the moment I got my periods.

Unfortunately, what happened next in a crowded class of around sixty-five girls was not a memory easy to efface from my mind. I was sitting right in the middle of the class in that white uniform when the teacher asked a question. I lifted my hand to answer and as I stood up, I heard a collective mix of ‘ohs’ and ‘eehs’ and ‘Gods’. I realized with unease, immediately, that my skirt was soiled. One of my classmates looked at me and as it was the end of that period, she went up to the teacher and whispered something to her. I was beckoned to the front and felt all eyes on me and on the back of my body. I knew then that it was not just a small stain. I remember thinking even in that panic mode, how ironic and stupid it was to have a white uniform for sports in a school full of girls. Girls who like me would be squirming, if, they did manage to stain their clothes with  blood. 

I remember walking through all the corridors and all the by lanes in our big school to reach the Principal’s office. I was treated kindly there. I was asked to follow a nun who handed me a spare pair of the white pants and a plastic bag to take my soiled pair home. I remember feeling afraid, embarrassed and not sure how to pass the rest of my day.

Luckily, all was forgotten by the time I returned to the class. I got back to my good friends, and simply got down to  planning how to finish our homework in time after school to be able to play together around our homes. No one seemed really bothered to look, point, stare or comment on what had just happened. They seemed to have forgotten the incident completely.

The embarrassment stayed for longer with me though.  I went home and told my family the story of what had happened that day. I insisted that my parents buy me the best sanitary pads available in the shops to avoid having to endure something like that at school again. 

It was one of the first times of millions when I realized being a woman was not child’s play.