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PeriodStories: Menarche, my first period struggle

Published on 07.06.2021 at 13:47

My mother is a garden caretaker in the government owned garden developed in the Aurangabad City. We had a small one room house at the corner of the garden. I was 12 years old; my mother always used to give me hints about the menstrual cycle whenever she would find time after work.  I was so young to have this conversation; I felt very awkward to talk about this with my mother. 

 

After school, I always spent my time playing in the garden. One day I was playing with my friends in the garden. The children who would come to play belonged to rich families, so my mother always instructed me, to not play with them. But I always enjoyed good time with those children. One day we were all playing in the garden as always. We were running one after another, hiding around the trees and sliding on the slides. I was so interested in the game. We were all sliding one by one. When my turn came, I slid from the slider so fast and ran again to climb the ladder but the expression on all my friends was so weird. I really wondered about everyone’s silence. I went to see, then I saw the smear of blood stains on the slide. Everyone was looking at my dress. I got scared, then ran away. 

 

I told my mother about the incidence. I was expecting help from my mother but surprisingly she ran towards the slide. She took bucket of water and immediately cleaned the slide. In the window I could see children talking. Though could not hear anything, I could see young girls whispering in each other’s ears. One of the aunties came to my mother and she was telling my mother to clean the slide neatly again. My mother asked for apology and promised her that it would not happen again. When my mother came back, she cleaned me and gave me old cloth to use. She warned me not to play in the garden again. Since that day, I really hated these menstrual periods as I was not allowed to play in the garden. I hated the period which snatched my happy, cheerful, and playful life.

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