Tainted

I love the color green and I love wearing saris. I was obviously thrilled when I got a green sari as a gift from the Telugu school a couple of years ago. I wore it for the first time to what I thought was a traditional prayer meeting that turned out to be my surprise baby shower hosted by the families of my students! They gave me flowers, fruits and sweets to welcome the baby, followed by a sumptuous traditional dinner. Me wearing the green sari and spending an evening with the students that made the green sari possible- it all made for an absolutely memorable evening.

A selfie before I headed out for a prayer, or so I thought. 38 weeks pregnant with Taara, our youngest.

What ended up happening at the "prayer" event

Me, surrounded by my dear Telugu students

The second time I wore that sari was a year later, for an equally memorable event- my little one's first Bhogi. It is the harvest festival where the youngest in the family are showered with fresh jujube fruit, soaked chickpeas, flowers and money for good luck. We don't get jujube fruit here so we substituted with cherries. It was a coincidence that all of my students were in attendance at this event as well, showering the baby and watching her in awe as she picked on the cherries, squished them and tried to eat them. By the end of the evening, the green sari cemented its place in my heart as one of my absolute favorite worldly possessions.

My mom showering us with bhogi fruits, my oldest picking coins, and my youngest, squishing the cherries and looking for more

It was not until five months after that, at Annamacharya Aaradhana, a music concert in honor of saint Annamacharya, that I got to wear my lovely green again. First with the pregnancy and then with baby around, I rarely found time to pursue carnatic music which I am an ardent fan of. I missed most of the classes and skipped several group practice sessions. When my teacher mentioned the concert, I had immediately thought of the green sari. It gave me the motivation to practice. For a week, I sang the song, Entha Matramuna by saint Annamacharya, every morning while driving my oldest to school, every night while putting the baby in bed, and hummed the song every moment in between. I felt so ready for the recital!

On the morning of the recital, a Saturday, I made breakfast, packed lunch for the oldest to take to her all day dance competition, set aside food and snacks for my husband to feed the baby. Wore my green sari and arrived at the venue- the local Balaji temple. I felt so light, despite not losing any of my baby pounds. It must be the effect of not having to worry about the kids! When our group song was a couple of items away, I walked to the back of the temple hall and waited there with the others in my group. As I stood there, making a small talk, a lady walked up to me. She looked extremely uncomfortable and spoke in a hushed tone. She said, "I don't want to get into your personal space and say this, I know it is an extremely private matter, but there is a giant stain on your sari on the back. It looks clearly like a menstruation stain. You may want to go into the bathroom and check it out." 

I am not sure if it was how worried the lady sounded, the sacred temple venue that women were not supposed to enter while menstruating or if it was the fact that it was my favorite green sari that apparently got ruined, I felt extremely defensive. I hurriedly blurted out my thanks to her, murmured how I am not on my period, that I would not come to the temple if I were on my period, and that there is no way I would wear a sari like this if I were on my period. I quickly found a friend, a fellow student of my music school, dragged her into a small room next to the concert hall and asked her to give me the rear view. She confirmed. There was no denying. The location and color of the stain could only mean one thing, the thing, period. 

I grew up in a very traditional household. We were made to sit and eat separately when on periods. We were not allowed to touch anyone, enter the kitchen or the prayer area for three days. We were not even allowed to go to our next door uncle's place let alone go to temples and other sacred places. It makes me laugh now but when my friends came over for studying together for the exams in college, they too sat on the mat next to me, washed their plate and cup after their meals and put their clothes away from the sofas in the living room. Nobody questioned this practice. We just went with the flow, no pun intended. So to find myself in a temple, caught red handed (or wearing a sari tainted with red), was extremely uncomfortable. I never felt more embarrassed! 

By this point, our item was announced and it was time for us to go on stage. I pulled my pallu (the dangling end of the sari) from my back, making sure that the stain was covered. How I got onto the stage, sang, and made it off stage in one piece is all a blur to me. I rushed out of the temple and drove home, the whole time, wondering how blood could get on my sari- given that I generally don't wear saris, let alone my favorite one, during periods. As soon as I changed my clothes, I inspected my sari- it indeed was a period-like stain. However, it was only on the outermost layer, contrary to a menstruation stain. I immediately remembered the involvement of squished cherries the last time I wore the sari at Bhogi. I felt an enormous relief. I felt vindicated! I was not making the temple impure, after all!

Me singing enta maatramuna- an Annamacharya composition

My singing group at the temple, celebrating composer Annamacharya 

The relief gave way to some deep thinking. Say it wasn't the squished cherry, say it WAS blood from my periods. Would my embarrassment have been justified? Say it was not MY recital for which I practiced for a week and could skip on account of periods. Say it was my daughter's solo Arangetram (dance debut) that she practiced for months and years. Would I ask her to skip it because she got her periods unexpectedly on the recital day? Are the beliefs and practices I grew up with, practical for my daughters? Would their lives be forever tainted from their experience of periods around religious events, much like my green sari? I will simply have to go back to the first line of the song we sang that day and find a path forward for the tough *periods* that lay ahead.

ఎంత మాత్రమున ఎవ్వరు తలచిన అంత మాత్రమే నీవు

God- However and in whatever shape and form one imagines you, you are that.

Link to our performance:
https://youtu.be/-XH3vVZiIIc

Afterthoughts:
I would like to think that I am a fairly reasonable and compassionate human being. I don't derive any pleasure out of being a rebellion. I am not going to schedule an event at the temple while on period just to make a point. Neither am I going to step into the car and drive right to the temple as soon as I get my period every month. I am simply wondering about the future. Does it makes sense for me to force my daughters to miss a (hypothetical) concert at the temple or other religious venues on account of their getting their period? My younger one is still a baby and I can only speculate on her personality. My older one is not especially a rebel. I am pretty sure that she will oblige to whatever mandate I set in my household around periods. I just want to make sure I take them on the right path forward. My non-Indian/non-religious friends reading this might be wondering what all this fuss is- and their reaction is completely justified. I am an eternal optimist and I know the day is just around the corner when periods are no longer associated with the sanctity of women, regardless of who they pray (or don't pray).