The scent of sweat lingered in the air. As her soiled feet kicked the pedals of her bicycle, the primrose colour of the sunrise had begun to vanish. She had been biking since the crack of dawn, and the tires hitting against the pavement beneath her seemed to be growing merciless. The sky was no longer a streak of hues as it had been when she began her spontaneous journey, but instead, it appeared a cloudless blue. The sunlight struck rays of gold, and it reminded her of Helios, the god of the sun. She gazed up, and envisioned him riding his golden chariot through the painfully blue sky, turning days into nights and nights into days. Suddenly, in a flash, her vision clouded. She lost control of the handlebars, and in an instant, her body hit the smouldering pathway beneath her.
Her mind in disarray, she shut her eyes and took in the faint scent of copper. She glimpsed at her knee, and saw the crimson shade of blood gradually flowing out of her cut. Her knee began to ache and sting. She had nothing on her to attend the wound. She steadily collected herself up and took in her surroundings. Overlooking a field of wheat, from afar, she could make out a small store. She hauled her grimy feet towards the store, blood from her wound trickling onto the sweltering ground, like freckles on a face. As she got closer, the aromatic fragrance of flowers in full bloom caught her nose. Squinting, she realized this wasn’t just a small store, but it was one of those shops where they sold commodities targeted to ladies. It was unfortunate that the familiar scent of flowers could be recognized by a store selling women’s hygiene products.
Opening the sliding glass door, a bitter front struck her body. The air conditioner was on full blast, humming like an idle truck engine. Glistening tiles and polished white walls closed in on her. The store felt alienated. There were no customers in view, just her and a stout old lady sitting at the reception. The lady seemed to pay no regard to the girl, her gaze set on the computer lying in front of her. The girl took this as a sign and wandered around the store for a bit, searching for a band-aid or anything to sanitise her abrasion. Her scar was starting to get tender, and the sensation of needles prickling her skin was gut-wrenching.
The girl searched the store for a packet of band-aid but to her disappointment she couldn’t find it. The familiar scent of flowers struck the girl’s nose yet again. Her legs made way towards the aroma, and she found herself at the section where they sold sanitary pads. A television was facing nearby to the section, and the girl’s eyes fixed upon the advertisement showcasing on the screen. A sanitary pad was being displayed, and a blue gel-like substance was poured onto the pad. The narrator enthusiastically expressed how much blood the pad could soak. It was comical almost. The girl didn’t remember the colour of blood being blue. It was the colour red. Then, a woman emerged on the screen. She had skin as clear as glass, and teeth as white as snow. The woman ran across a field of vibrant daisies, wearing an angelic white dress. The girl tore her eyes off the screen and stared straight at the ground, her mind a state of confusion.
Everything was so altered. Menstruation didn’t make women so joyous. The colour of periods weren’t a sanitised blue liquid. Women didn’t have enough energy during their periods to run across a field of daisies. Nobody looked flawless during their period, and it was not an easy matter to speak on. The girl recalled her school days, where she would sneak her pads under the pockets of her uniform to change during breaks, how it was embarrassing for her to ask her companions or teachers for sanitary products. Or how shameful it was when some boys in her class referred to periods as some repulsive mystery that should never be investigated upon.
Domestic abuse, child labour, corruption. These issues are profoundly highlighted in society, yet something so natural as periods are never spoken of. The girl’s heart felt heavy as she thought about her sisters around the globe who would share the mentality of periods being taboo, and the advertisements and media were the ones encouraging that state of mind.
Grabbing a pack of pads, the girl stepped towards the register. The plump old lady who had been sitting there at the reception was gone, now a teenage boy at her place. As he checked out the products, he emphasised on the pads as if asking “That time of the month, eh?” The girl just nodded her head, paid the money she owed and made her way out of the store. As she sat down on the steps outside the shop, she took a look at her kneecaps. The blood was dried. It was the same blood that coursed her body, the same blood she menstruated, the same blood that spewed out of scars.
They were all the colour red. So why was it so hard to talk about one from the other?
-Sivansi & Satyam