There was a strange, bad smell spread all over the house, as if a dead rat was behind a cupboard, or a dead lizard under the sofa. Sometimes it felt like something was stuck in the kitchen sink pipe after washing meat, spreading a bad smell everywhere. But no one could find where the smell was coming from. Sometimes it smelled like rotten socks that hadn't been washed for days, and sometimes like stale, old curry.
Every now and then, a wave of that bad smell would hit, feeling like a hammer blow to my head. My anxiety would increase, and I'd become restless again.
"What kind of smell is this? Where is it coming from? Is there some part of the house not cleaned properly?" All the house helpers couldn't answer my questions.
Sofas were moved, under beds were checked, dustbins were emptied, kitchen cupboards were cleared out. Lots of cleaning liquid was poured into toilets, bedsheets were changed, washed clothes were sent back to the laundry. Hot water was poured into the sink, the fridge was emptied, shoes were put out in the sun, spray was used for lizards, and traps were ordered for rats. Children's nappies were asked to be changed even faster than before. Everything was done, but that smell didn't leave me.
I was going crazy, or maybe I already was.
Sometimes the smell would come closer, sometimes it would go far away. Sometimes it felt stronger in one corner of the house, sometimes in another, now here, after a while there.
The mystery just couldn't be solved.
"Madam, can I say something?" Maasi Haneefan, who had been watching my worry for two days, came close to me and asked.
"Yes, tell me."
"I think the smell is coming from that new girl you hired for Sherry baby."
"Haneefan, she just came a few days ago, and I gave her all the instructions to stay clean and change clothes."
"Yes, you are right, but I feel that way."
"How did you suspect that?"
"Madam, whenever she comes towards the kitchen, the smell is felt. Then when she leaves, the smell also disappears. Whenever she passes by, something feels strange."
"Okay, then ask her."
These were summer days. My younger daughter's ayah (nanny) had suddenly gone on leave because her mother was sick. I couldn't get leave from the hospital right away, so I thought about a temporary arrangement for the child's care. I tried hard but couldn't find any woman. Finally, the hospital watchman told me about a twenty- or twenty-two-year-old girl from a faraway village. She didn't have experience as an ayah but she was in need. I was also in need, so I agreed.
Thin, shy, with downcast eyes, clear signs of poverty on her face and body — this was Sherry's new ayah, Razia!
It seemed like this was her first time coming to the city. She would look at everything with surprised eyes, get confused by everything, and hesitate before saying anything. Anyway, I explained the basic things to her, told her about all the child's tasks, and said that even though this house is new to her, and I am also new to this situation, we both will try so that there are no problems.
Now, the reason Maasi Haneefan was telling me had made me a bit worried. But after a few years of experience, I understood that Maasi was very observant. Although her job was to take care of the house, she would also become my adviser when needed.
"Oh, Madam, what can I tell you, it was a disaster, oh so dirty. She made the whole house impure, that was the reason for the smell." Haneefan said, hitting her head.
"Tell me something?" I was surprised.
"Madam, I told you not to bring a girl from a faraway village. What do they know? The one who can't take care of herself, what will she take care of the child!"
"Haneefan, what is the matter finally?"
"She's been on her periods for two days."
"So, what's the connection between periods and the smell?"
The life of the one who keeps life flowing with her own body is so much a victim of alienation, undue shame, social pressure, and restrictions
"Madam, she hasn't made any arrangements for her periods. The blood just gets absorbed in her trousers. Maybe some drops fell here and there, and during periods, she doesn't use water in the bathroom because she thinks air will enter her body, so she's been sitting like this for the past two days. The smell is spread everywhere in the room."
"Oh my God!"
I felt nauseous. In the world of the 20th century, and women still living in the age of jungles and caves?
"Haneefan, please teach her how to use pads, and help her bathe and change her clothes. And after that, get all the rugs (carpets) washed with the help of Batman (the other house helper) and put them out in the sun. Don't forget to send the bedsheets to the laundry."
Late in the evening, Haneefan had gone home. After the cleaning mission in the house was successfully finished, the smell was slowly disappearing, but a wave of sadness and regret had surrounded me. I thought of calling Razia and talking to her.
Razia looked much better after bathing. The signs of worry on her face were less. After some general talk, I told her, "Look, Razia, I am a doctor; I want to ask you something. Don't be nervous, and tell me correctly, this is a matter of your health."
"At what age did you get your periods?"
"Yes, I was small, I had just grown a little taller when I got my periods."
"Then who told you?"
"My mother..."
"Okay, what did you use for it?"
She lowered her head.
"Don't be shy, tell me."
"My mother used to put many leaves inside my trousers and tie them tightly with a string, wrapping it around my waist."
"Leaves? These tree leaves. You mean these green leaves?" I couldn't believe it.
"Yes." She nodded in agreement.
"But why leaves? Why not cloth or cotton?"
"Cloth? Where would that come from?"
"Old clothes that get worn out and torn."
"We only have two pairs of clothes for every woman. When one is taken off, the other is worn. When one becomes rags, then another is found. What can such torn clothes do and how long can they last, one month? Then after that? And where would we buy cotton? My mother says we should worry about putting food in our stomachs or dealing with the hassle of periods."
My heart was sinking, into such deep waters whose depths held unknown things for me.
"So why didn't you tell me when you got your periods?"
"I was feeling shy. I tried to find leaves, but there are no trees in your house."
I started crying uncontrollably. For that girl who was seeing the 20th century with me. She was like a woman from ancient times when life was just about the hunger of the stomach.
"Listen, dear Razia, forget about leaves and all that. I will give you pads. Your only job is that whenever you go to the bathroom for your needs, you have to wash yourself thoroughly with water, and you also have to bathe daily."
"Madam, can I tell you something?"
"Yes, yes, of course."
"This thing you gave me to wear. It's very good. I don't feel any wetness or stickiness, and no itching. Those leaves used to prick a lot, and dirty water would also start coming after periods."
In just a few hours, she had understood the difference a comfortable life can make. My heart stopped beating for a few moments and then started beating fast.
I, a city dweller, living in the shadow of scientific progress, knowledge, and urban facilities, can I imagine how women living in the villages of Sindh, the deserts of Tharparkar, the mountains of Balochistan, the remote villages of Gilgit-Baltistan, the suffocating environments of tribal areas, and the remote villages of Punjab manage this basic need?
The discharge of menstrual blood from the body is just like the discharge of urine and faeces. But has anyone ever thought about what should be done for this monthly difficulty?
While making school curricula, creating five-year development plans, and resolving to spread knowledge in the nation, has anyone ever thought that in areas where poverty and destitution have spread their wings everywhere, there should be something for the woman who carries life's growth within her body? Government facilities for pads and related information?
In a journey of seventy years, except for a few percentages of women, nothing has changed for the majority. I also know that patriarchal society has not been kind to these fortunate women; rather, this lamp of knowledge has been lit by some conscious people. How to make the lives of the majority easier, understanding women's problems is not even included in priorities.
But I think, even in our neighbourhood, people like us live. Poverty is also like ours; social pressure is also not less. But despite that, if they can make a film called "Pad Man" and explain women's problems, why can't we? How long will we keep hiding our problems in a corner and singing the song of "everything is fine"?
The life of the one who keeps life flowing with her own body is so much a victim of alienation, undue shame, social pressure, and restrictions. How useful can the growth of life originating from such a body be for the survival of society?
Think about it!
Translated by Dr. Santosh Kamrani from Urdu.