There is nothing
interesting that you will read in my blog today. There is nothing funny in
here, nor anything thought provoking, just like all the other times. This is
simply a gratitude post. A gratitude post to a minor section of men.
It seems like my grandfather
did not know that he was married to a woman.
Actually, I think my grandmother thought it was her duty of never
letting him find out about it. She also made sure that he did not know that
there was a daughter among the three kids that they had together. Funny, but
true! Ok, let me come clear and tell you that my grandfather lived in a house
where the women pretended to never have periods.
It was fun to watch you
know. My mother sneaking in sanitary napkins into the house as if it was a
stash of cocaine, just because my grandfather was reading newspaper in the veranda.
How one second I would be holding my stomach, whining to my grandmother about
the first day of absolute pain (the kind of pain you get when your uterus
squeezes out blood) and the next second I would be sweeping the house clean
because grandfather spotted some dirt on the window sill. We made sure that he
never knew about the monthly issue that came our way. We PMSed in private.
My brother too was kept
in the dark. Every time he innocently pointed at the Whisper advertisement and
asked what it was for, my mother and I became the most creative people on the
face of earth. We just could not muster enough courage to tell him about
womanhood. It’s like we were ashamed of what made us, us.
And then something
magical happened. I heard my mother on the phone asking my father to buy pads
on his way back from office. I looked at her and she simply said to me “He is not like your grandfather.” And mind you, my father did get sanitary
napkins on his way back, that too the right kind.
Last week I went to the
medical shop to buy Crocin. Now, it was around 6 pm and the shop was crowded. I
was waiting to be attended when a man standing nearby said “Bhaiyya, ek packet Stayfree deejiye”. It
was amusing how every other man in the shop stared at him as if he had broken
some code of masculinity. It was even more amusing to note that this man wasn’t
a tad bit uncomfortable with the attention he was garnering. He spent a while choosing
the correct sanitary napkin, paid for it and left the scene. I looked at the
men around me, all smiling slyly. I wonder if they felt this uncomfortable
while buying condoms.
I think I now know what
my mother meant when she said that my father wasn’t like my grandfather. I also
think I know how difficult it must be for a man to be different from the rest;
to be someone who understands women. It’s embarrassing to be someone who acknowledges
the strength that is required to be a woman. But yet, these few men continue to
be different from the rest because they know their women matter much more.
Women are to be blamed.
We keep menstruation a secret, as if it’s a sin instead of an inevitable
biological process. Imagine discussing periods with your father or any male
member in your life. Trust me, they would prefer you menstruating than being
pregnant and not doing so. So why do we hush it up? Why not give them the
opportunity to accept our reality?
So today I want to
thank the men who are not like my grandfather. We need more men like you. We
need more men like the guy I saw in the medical shop and lesser like the rest
who were mocking him silently. Thank you for being real.
Dear men, this women’s
day gift the women in your life, a better you.
P.S- Dear women, let us
promise ourselves one thing today. That we would stop outsourcing our life. We
must start making our own decisions instead of letting someone else do it for
us. Promise yourself that you would never outsource your life.
