The Life of My Periods
I knew I wouldn't bleed to death. So the first two days (of the rest of my periods life) were spent in tacit denial and dicey bravado.
But teenager Swati Sharma’s obsession with her periods and that of her friend’s is something I can’t relate to. I didn’t think of hormones back then. Heck, I didn’t even know hormones. I am sure the ‘girls in clumps’ knew it.
Biology had just started in class 6 and we were still in different branches of Biology and the plant kingdom. We had a long way to go before we hit the reproductive system.
Why did I need hormones, anyways? I had a crush on my classmate since the second standard. Or was it the third. And which, by the way, was reciprocated in fits and starts.
Unlike so many I knew, I wasn’t going gaga over Amir or Salman—the new kids on the block with their smashing good looks and smashing hit releases Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak (QSQT) and Maine Pyar Kiya (MPK).
Actually, the first time I really liked any actor was Amir in Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar (1992). I had turned 13 but it isn’t what you are thinking.
You see I loved cycling. When I cycled in the evening, looking to race with anyone remotely familiar, with a cycle and a racing spirit, I transformed into Sanjay Lal Sharma waiting to beat the Shekhar Malhotra’s of the world.
I was Sanjay Lal Sharma. Never Swati Sharma.
My fourth standard teacher called me a tomboy. I looked it up and I liked it. I liked being with boys because they played—ran around and played.
I had heard of periods. But would periods affect me? I cycled. I ran. Me and Periods, nah. I was certain this wouldn’t happen to me.
My mum was too busy—taking care of dad and my infant brother—to give me a lowdown. But the school stepped in and embarrassingly so. We were a co-ed school and so when teachers came to the class (once every year) and said, “All the girls are supposed to go to the auditorium”, it turned us into a class of giggly boys and embarrassed girls.
Then in the dark auditorium, a screen would light up with slides of ovaries, uterus, fallopian tubes, reproductive system, menstrual cycle, blood, sanitary napkins and the works. The lady speaking to us would be either from Whisper or Stayfree and then at the end of it all, everyone would be handed a pack each.
The only saving grace was that these ‘auditorium’ sessions were in the last period— I mean class—and would go on after dismissal. So at least we weren’t marching to a class of giggly boys this time with pads in our hands.
Anyway, I got my periods in class seven during a basketball tournament. We used to wear bloomers to school —which were like these big balloony, shorty undergarments— and since I wasn’t a heavy bleeder (at least on day one), it kind of got lost in the bloomers. And the basketball shorts.
In fact, I played even after returning from the tournament wishing that the periods would go away. I came home, washed my stained, stinky bloomers, changed into fresh ones and went back to play. I was not going to let this transform me into the “girls in the clumps”.
End of day one, I thought I could live my whole life like this without anyone knowing. On the second day, while I was at school saving my skirt, my mum found out. What was I even thinking!
She gave me a pad with instructions on how to wear it, sat me down—on the entrance balcony stairs—and explained a few things. One of which seemed to imply (in a very round about convoluted manner) that now I was a touch away from getting pregnant and that it was time to keep distance from the boys.
I remember nodding vigorously and striking off everything that she was telling me. You see I only played with the boys. GIRLS DID NOT PLAY! And moreover, why was any of this important? It is not like I am going to be in this constant state of periods for the rest of my life. Was I?
Grasping that little moment of pause, I sprang the question “How long will this continue?”
“For many years. Till you are 55, maybe.”
“Oh, no.”
A brief pause and I rushed down to play.
But the best bit — the mind fucking, excruciating pain called cramps, was yet to show up. And when it did, I basically lay in bed groaning (this is a genetic pain relieving mechanism), clutching my stomach, and holding onto the hot water bag as though my life depended on it. And it most certainly did!
My parents had a very “good cop, bad cop” approach to my cramps. My mum would leave the painkiller on the dining table along with a glass of water. Then from her room which was next to ours, she would simply say, “Get up, walk and eat the meds”. She had her reasons but back then (especially through the cramps) it was impossible to see reason.
My dad, on the other hand, would sit next to me and give me a leg massage. AND IT ALWAYS WORKED! But I would feel bad for dad, so I would start reducing the volume of the groans and feign sleep. Moreover, on a scale of 1 to 10, I was now at 3 from a full blown 10!
With cramps I thought I had seen it all. Little did I know that stains (wrong time, wrong place, always), judgy gynaes, invasive ultrasounds and cysts dropping off without a warning were all waiting in the wings to up the period game.
My periods petered out during Covid. I am done with it and I am amazed at the very organised, synchronised ending. 2020—periods every two months. 2021—every quarter. 2022—biannual. 2023—once. 2024—over and out.
I am fine. I feel ok. Maybe I am willing myself to feel ok. Perhaps I should see a gynae. And I certainly will, the day I come across a kind, non-judgemental, ok-with-my-choices gynae. Until then…
It seems my wishing really hard it goes away, worked. In a way. Mum was off by 10 years. Does this mean I am staring at cancer, osteoporosis or a heart attack? Who knows with life these days anyways.
For now, I am just period-free, happy and still Sanjay Lal Sharma at heart.
This was EVERY kind of delightful, and a refreshing and encouraging read about the end of the journey! I've only read dire accounts of what the ending looks/feels like.
(Especially loved the bit about your Dad massaging your legs during cramps and your consideration for him . That was so so sweet on both ends :):) )
What a wholesome, full circle ⭕️ story!