What
comes to your mind when you hear the word, Periods?
Taboo,
stomach cramps, discomfort, grumpiness and severe mood swings?
Periods
or menstrual cycles are the regular natural changes that occur in the female
reproductive system (specifically the uterus and ovaries) that make pregnancy
possible. It is often accompanied by severe abdominal pain.
Naturally
as women, we often avoid scheduling anything important on those dates, and
travelling definitely is in that 'avoid-for-now' list. Unfortunately, this is not
always under our control and sometimes, we are compelled to deal with most
difficult and unpleasant situations during periods. In this post, I will be
sharing one such misadventure, one of the scariest incidents that I have ever experienced.
I was in Bhubaneswar for a Women's Conference. At the end of the conference, a group of delegates and I decided to go for sightseeing before taking the late night train from Bhubaneswar to Delhi. Prompted by the onset of premenstrual cramps, I kept a sanitary napkin in my purse before boarding the early morning bus for Konark from Bhubaneswar. I was right in anticipating it. I urgently needed to use a washroom, so I hurried to a restaurant in front of the Sun Temple Entry Gate as soon as I got down from the bus to save blue from turning red. :P I have an irrepressible craving for green Lays during periods, luckily there was a general store beside the restaurant.
I was in Bhubaneswar for a Women's Conference. At the end of the conference, a group of delegates and I decided to go for sightseeing before taking the late night train from Bhubaneswar to Delhi. Prompted by the onset of premenstrual cramps, I kept a sanitary napkin in my purse before boarding the early morning bus for Konark from Bhubaneswar. I was right in anticipating it. I urgently needed to use a washroom, so I hurried to a restaurant in front of the Sun Temple Entry Gate as soon as I got down from the bus to save blue from turning red. :P I have an irrepressible craving for green Lays during periods, luckily there was a general store beside the restaurant.
We
were a group of people in three different buses. I was enjoying Konark putting
my best efforts to pay no heed to cramps. I had taken a vow to not depend upon
Meftal Spas tablets to soothe the pain, and had learnt to tolerate it.
 |
| Sun Temple, Konark |
After a late lunch, we started off towards Puri from Konark at around 3 PM. The bus
I boarded had a mechanical fault, which meant that I had to disembark and wait
for the organizers to provide an alternative one. A replacement bus did not arrive. So, we grudgingly waited under a tree shade whilst the mechanics tended
to the bus. It took two whole hours to get the bus up and running
again. We set off for the city. This untimely mishap had me running late. I was
worried and apprehensive of missing my train from Bhubaneswar to Delhi at 11
PM. My fellow colleagues, who had to board the same train, had already reached
the temple, and they were to start from there at 8 PM for Bhubaneswar.
As
the bus huffed and puffed towards the outskirts of the city, the conductor
informed us that due to traffic restrictions, the bus was not allowed into the
city centre. That meant I had to take an auto rickshaw to complete the journey.
This slight inconvenience chewed away at the little sightseeing time I had. I called my teammates who were already in Puri to wait for me before starting for
Bhubaneswar. I had to shelve my plans to go to the beach and temple.
Time was not on my side, and apparently the heavens had other plans.
I
reached the auto-rickshaw stand, to only discover that there were no available
for-hire autos. I dashed into a fully loaded auto and squeezed myself next to the
driver as it was already leaving the stand. I begged
the driver to speed up a bit but my pleas fell on deaf ears. Instead of heeding
my desperation, the driver annoyingly
tried to engage me into an unnecessary conversation by frequently asking
questions;
'Kaunsi
train hai (which train is it)?
apne dosto ke sath kyun nahi gayi (why didn't
you go with your friends)?', and so on.
Finally
to shut him up, I shouted;
'suno, apni bakwas band karo aur chupchap
auto chalao' (listen, shut up and drive). I realised that I sounded very
rude and he looked offended by my tone. Who cared? I was at peace that he was
finally quiet.
I
frantically tried to call my colleagues but nobody was picking up my calls.
Finally we arrived at the beach. At this point, the auto was empty. I got off
and rushed towards the Jagannath temple to meet up with my friends. I reckoned
they had left their mobile phones at the temple's locker room.
I
ran as fast as I could towards the main circle to find other means of transport
while also continuously calling them. As I slowed down to catch my breath, I intuitively turned my head to look
behind me, and I suddenly realised that the auto-rickshaw driver who had dropped
me off moments ago, was following me. He was yelling at me saying;
'madam, aao baith jao, main chhod deta
hoon, pareshan mat ho' (Ma'am, sit in the auto, I will drop you off, don't
worry).
He
signalled me to go into his auto, where another strange guy, whom I presume to be
his friend was already on the wheel. We sat in the back passengers seat with
the familiar driver who hurriedly offered me some popcorns that were wrapped in
a dirty newspaper cone. I politely declined the offer.
'Drop
me at Jagannath Temple!' I instructed him.
'Theek
hai madam. Chinta mat karo. Yeh lo popcorn khao' (Alright, don't worry,
have some popcorns).
'Nahi
chahiye' (I don't want). I retorted.
As
we made our way to the temple, I felt his hand rest on my shoulder and I
immediately shouted angrily,
'Stay
away, don't touch me!'
I
was growing suspicious and uncomfortable . Why was he insisting on having me
eat the popcorn? Has he mixed something in the popcorn to make me unconscious?
My mind wondered.
"Baap
re, itna gussa, shant ho jao, lo main door baitha hoon' (Calm down, don't
be angry, let me sit further away).
Finally, I got a response from my colleagues that I had to go directly to Talabania
where the bus for Bhubaneswar was parked. My friend spoke with the Autowala to
direct him to the place.
'Talabania
toh bahut door hai' (Talabania is very far). The auto driver quipped .
'How
far?' I asked.
'Kareeb
7-8 KM, apka train toh miss hoga' (Approximately 7-8 KM, you won't be able to
catch your train). He guessed.
I
didn't believe him. My friend had mentioned that Talabania was nearby.
I
felt the eery feeling of being trapped. Am I in danger? What will he do?
Traffic me or take me to a secluded spot and then what?
No!
I was freaking out.
Despite
my incessant yelling to have him stop the auto,
the driver kept his foot on the pedal. I had all kinds of terrible
thoughts and worst-case scenarios running through my mind . Jumping off a
moving auto was not the best of ideas.
We
drove into thick traffic which forced the driver to significantly reduce
speed. I saw my opportunity to escape. I snuck out of the auto, which at this time had come to a halt. I saw a small Chai-Cigarette shop.
'Uncle Talabania yaha se kitni door
hai?'(Uncle, how far is Talabania?) I yelled at the shop attendant.
'2
KM, beti. Yaha se sharing auto mil jayega' (it is 2 KM. You will find
sharing auto from here). He responded with an expression of bewilderment.
It
was apparent that the autowala and his friend had sinister plans. He was being
untruthful and clearly was driving me away to a destination only known to
himself. This just augmented my uneasiness.
As
all this drama was unfolding, I was having excruciating period pain. It felt
like my ovaries were being shredded into pieces. I yearned for a peaceful place
to relax and have a cool breeze rub against my face.
Firstly,
I had to extract myself from a sticky situation whose end looked more ominous. He was still following me on foot. Nobody was stopping to help me because of the things (best known to him) he was telling them in Odia.
A passing biker stopped to enquire if I was okay. I had no time to
explain or let alone dial 100-the emergency police number. I requested him to
take me to Talabania (hearing this, the auto driver was displeased). This is where my
colleagues were waiting for me. He agreed and we sped off.
'Yahan
5 min khana pack kara loon nahi toh bhookha rahna padega?' (Can I stop
here for five minutes to get some food packed?) The biker requested.
'Hmm,
okay.' I answered with a nod.
The
stress on my face was so apparent as he ordered food at a roadside restaurant.
Time was not on my side. I forgave the waiter when he enquired whether I had
been fighting with my boyfriend- the Good Samaritan biker, or not. The thoughts of
missing my train to Delhi were making me extremely jittery.
As
they prepared and packed the food , my period cramps did not let loose. The
agony was unrelenting. I waited for the food for what felt like forever. My
colleagues kept my phone abuzz. This
signalled that I was getting late. I was already late.
In
my desperation, I requested the restaurant owner if he could quickly drop me
off to where my friends were. He agreed. I thanked the Good Samaritan biker and
left. In no time, we safely reached the destination . Finally I was reunited
with my friends. I felt relieved.
I
hurriedly boarded the bus and rushed to the window seat at the backside where
no-one could see me. I slumped into my
seat, heaved a sigh of relief and all the tears I was holding back started
rolling down my face uncontrollably. I sobbed like a toddler. A Nepali friend in the group saw me. I cried more
when she hugged me. She made me feel better. Nobody except her knew about this
incident. And, I never felt the urge to share it with anyone else.
We
had no time to go to the place of accommodation to get our luggage. The idea
was to reach the station directly and ask some of our friends who had remained
behind at the guesthouse to pack and carry our luggage from there to the
station. Many of my miscellaneous belongings including the much needed sanitary
napkins were left behind in the room. I looked for shops and medical stores at
the station, but unfortunately all were closed.
 |
| Dysfunctional vending machine |
I searched for sanitary napkins at the Railway's Passenger Welfare vending
machines in the ladies waiting room. They were not functional. I complained to
the station staff. I was told that the person in-charge for the dispensing machines was not around. They could not offer any more help. My
train's imminent departure was announced on the speaker. 'Leave it. I
have no time for the this.' I talked to myself as I ran to my train.
 |
| The Bandage. |
I
was running towards my coach when I heard a voice;
'Eh
ladki ruko.' (Hey, girl, stop). A man, whose age I presumed to be that of
my father stopped me.
'Yeh
rakh lo.' (Take this). He said as he politely extended a bandage to me.
It
was of no use but I was touched by the generosity and sensitivity of the old
man. I gladly accepted it. He was sitting in a corner of the small
male-only-office of Railways when I went to complain about the dysfunctional
vending machine. To this day, I still
have the bandage as a souvenir. The old man reminded me of how my father used to quietly keep sanitary napkins in a small zip compartment of my school bag.
In
a society where uttering the word period is a taboo, my parents never made me
feel that periods are shameful, embarrassing or should not be openly talked
about.
Fortunately,
a friend of mine had spare napkins and tampons which she joyfully shared with
me.
In
the end:
"To
share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable
is to show your strength."
-
Criss Jami
