Bleeding in Silence

Nilim Kashyap Barthakur

(nilimkashyap123@gmail.com)

Every month, in millions of households equipped with high-speed internet, smart televisions, and degrees proudly displayed on living room walls, an ancient curtain drops without warning. A woman begins to bleed, and almost instantly, an invisible perimeter fence is erected around her. She is told to stay away from the kitchen hearth, warned not to touch the pickle jars, handed separate utensils, and instructed to spread a thin mat on the bare floor because the mattress is suddenly off-limits. She hasn’t committed a crime, nor is she carrying a contagious pathogen; she is simply experiencing the fundamental biological rhythm that makes human life possible. Even today, a woman cannot buy a sanitary pad without having it wrapped in newspaper because menstruation is still considered taboo.

The deep irony is that centuries ago, these customs began with genuine care rather than malice. In ancient times, daily domestic chores were extremely demanding. Women had to walk miles carrying heavy clay pots of water, gather armfuls of firewood, grind whole grains on heavy stone slabs, and cook for hours over stinging, smoke-filled hearths. During periods of intense cramps, backaches, and blood loss, such physical labour was exhausting. Ancient elders excused women from kitchen duties to allow them to rest, protecting them from the relentless demands of household work.

Over time, however, compassion gave way to rigid superstition. Families forgot the original purpose of these practices, gradually turning an act of care into a means of control. What was meant to provide relief from cooking evolved into the belief that a woman’s touch could spoil food, while a period of quiet recovery became a humiliating label of untouchability.

The human cost of this superstition is not merely emotional; it can be fatal. Medical surveys and public health studies across India suggest that a significant proportion of reproductive tract infections are associated with poor menstrual hygiene. When buying sanitary pads feels humiliating, millions of women resort to unwashed rags, dried husk, sawdust, and even ash to absorb menstrual blood. Because drying these cloths in direct sunlight is forbidden due to family shame, they are often left to dry in damp, sunless corners where harmful bacteria and fungi can thrive. These persistent infections can spread through the reproductive tract, potentially leading to pelvic inflammatory disease and other serious health complications. India loses roughly 60,000 to 70,000 women every year to cervical cancer alone. Poor menstrual hygiene is not an established direct cause of cervical cancer, but inadequate reproductive healthcare and persistent infections can compound women’s health risks. Women continue to suffer, and sometimes die, not simply because of disease but also because of the silence and shame that society imposes on them.

School classrooms and village courtyards bear this quiet burden every single day. According to national health surveys, roughly half of young women in rural areas still lack regular access to safe and hygienic menstrual products. In schools without functioning toilets, private changing spaces, and clean water, the anxiety of an unexpected leak or the fear of being mocked causes nearly one in four girls to miss classes during menstruation. Eventually, these missed days accumulate, grades begin to suffer, and many young girls drop out of school before completing their basic education. Their futures are cut short not because they lack intelligence or ambition, but because society refuses to provide clean restrooms or even speak openly about menstruation.

Even in educated urban households, where modern sanitary pads are readily available, the emotional cruelty remains stubbornly entrenched and quietly tolerated. Daughters grow up watching their mothers retreat to the edges of the living room, refrain from sitting on the comfortable family sofa, or quietly use a designated steel glass that never shares shelf space with the rest of the crockery. Fathers and brothers sit nearby, witnessing this monthly routine without asking a single question or offering a word of comfort. They have been conditioned to look away and pretend that nothing is happening. This silent agreement between generations sends a toxic message to every young child observing the practice: a woman’s natural biological processes are something to be tolerated only when hidden, and her body is considered impure whenever it performs the very function that makes human reproduction possible.

Real, lasting change will not come through government brochures or corporate advertisements alone; it must begin around the kitchen table and at the family counter. Fathers, uncles, and brothers need to walk into local shops, buy sanitary napkins in broad daylight, and carry them home without asking for three layers of newspaper or a black polythene bag. The simple, undeniable truth is that without this natural monthly cycle, none of our ancestors, parents, or children would exist on this earth.