FiRST PiCk Phonics

In September 2015, I was sitting through a teacher training program in Houston for a project to convert all or some of it into an online program. It was my fourth day observing and I was beginning to get bored. Just then, the trainer put up a video of a teacher teaching her young students how to read. But hey she was using the sounds of letters rather than the letters themselves! Later that night, as I sat up in the hotel room documenting my observations, I opened the training notes PDF for the day’s session and read it all in one go.

That was my first introduction to Phonics and I was riveted.

After returning to India, I got busy completing the project for another six exhausting months. At that time, I was teaching spoken English in one of the neighbourhood Government schools and having a great time. I was determined to keep my classes fun and giving the children one hour of stress-free joyful time. And I wanted to preserve the love the children had for me and I for them. Though it never left my mind, the thought of introducing the written word to children who had a poor relationship with it kept me from trying out Phonics that year.   

I did try to introduce it a year later using cards and sheets, but seeing some students struggling with it and zoning out, didn’t pursue it further.

It was only later, during my Nishtha Sunday classes post Covid, that I realised how serious the reading problem was in young adults. Most college-going sponsorship students struggled to read the lines of English plays I had written for them to perform. Their discomfort, anxiety and shame in not being able to read simple sentences was more disturbing to me than perhaps even to them. 10 to 12 years of reading English textbooks had done nothing for most of them. What did the content in their English text books mean to them? How had they gone through those years?

I knew then that the only way to tackle this was to start early- with primary school children. I dug up my old notes from 2015 and of course the Internet and developed 20 charts to teach Phonics rules in a sequence, taking care to use only words and sentences familiar to the target students. 

For example, there is no mention of airplanes, basketball and school buses in the learning material, just cows and broken roads and cricket matches. In the training methodology, I encourage cooperation and downplay competition. No one individual comes first, only teams do, and a team vicory requires that students teach and help each other. And I didn’t forget about the idea of stress-free joyful learning- it is still a big and explicit part of each lesson. For example, the students pretend to faint when they encounter the word, bow to the queen whenever she appears in a chart, and run till they sweat to explain what the sentence "I ran so fast that I started sweating" means. And when you see the way the children greet us or bid us goodbye, their love for us and ours for them is evident.  

Thus was born the FiRST PiCk Phonics program tailored for rural Indian students. It took over six months to develop and another six to pilot it at Chakwan school. The difference between the before and after reading scores, based on Pratham’s Aser methodology, was astonishing. Most students moved from Class 1 reading level to Class 4, and stayed there. Unlike spoken English, which dropped off in middle school because of lack of practice and opportunities for speaking and listening, here was a skill the students could take with them in higher classes and use daily. Of course, this was just my hypothesis. 

Yesterday, a few ex-students of Slate Godam school, now in Class 6 in Kasba Narwana school, walked into our primary classroom and proudly declared that they are the best readers in their new school. Can I say hypothesis proven right?

Today, we have six trainers working in 14 schools, teaching the program to over 220 students. There are 30 printed charts, and eight vocabulary card games that each trainer has with them. There is a handbook that the trainers can refer to for each chart and to learn about the Spoken English activities that we have retained. Our YouTube channel with explanatory videos is up and running. A website is being developed too. A new trainer joining the program will have all these reference materials to help them get started.  

Of course, I would like the program to have a wider reach. The thought of country-wide implementation of this program gives me goose bumps. Won't lie- I dream about it. 

But I also worry about dilution that comes with scale. I worry about rote learning and competition gaining importance. 

But mostly, I worry about love leaving the classroom. 

The Answer

 A few years ago, my adult son asked me why I married his father. It was not a question arising from curiosity, but anger and disgust. His actual words were "What made you marry that loser?"

I could not answer him. I don't think he wanted me to answer it either. It was rhetoric queston meant to express his disappointment in both his parents. It hurt me deeply as it was intended to, but it also made me relive my 18th year on this planet. 

My memories of my childhood are fuzzy, mushy and vague. I recall feelings of loneliness and inwardness. Even the events that shaped my personality didn't leave a clear impression, just vague dark imprints. 

I spoke to no one about my feelings or thoughts. There was no one who was privvy to them. My thoughts and poetry were hidden in a diary. Even the so called "best friends" knew me on the surface. The same is true for my parents and siblings. So, it won't be incorrect to say that I grew up with only myself, alone. Even when I was outside in public, I lived inside my head. All I had in terms of understanding the outer world were books. Some good, some trash. I can't say what I learned from them, except thinking I knew everything about the world at 18. 

By the time I met my future husband in college, I had been through two short-lasting, tentative yet painful teenage romances, followed by equally hurtful gossip. I was wary of large groups of friends, boys or girls, because I had seen how they gossipped and put down simple people like me. Lo and behold, here was a young man who was always alone and who looked and behaved different from the loud uncouth boys in the college calling out to me and making me uncomfortable. So obviously I was drawn to him. 

He and I were a couple within a couple of days of having been introduced (by ourselves). I felt safe with him, perhaps because I was certain that he had no other friends. He never made me feel that I was not enough, not in the way I looked or behaved. So I never had to, not once, pretend to be someone I wasn't.  I don't remember ever worrying about what clothes and shoes to wear to college because none of that mattered. I was the centre of his world regardless. I had never been the centre of anyone's world before that, and it felt magical. 

After that day, no one else mattered to me. No friends, no family, no one. He showed me a world I had never seen- new music, new food, science fiction books, fashion! We walked for hours together in the winter of 1983- two young beautiful people, arms criss-crossed behind our backs, holding hands, oblivious to the world and its conservative gaze. I believe I was truly happy for that period in my life when we were still discovering each other without having yet figured out the dark parts.

The one incident that sealed my fate with him was when he didn't use a fan in his room on a particularly hot summer day just because I was in my house struggling with an asthmatic attack. By then, I had spent 10 summers sitting up alone at night struggling to breathe while the rest of the household slept peacefully, unaware of my struggles. To have someone participate in my agony, however pointless the method, won my heart like nothing else could. 

I had a gimpse of the darkness in him after a fight when I refused to meet him. In response, he tore his palm against a barbed wire. I was shocked and then went numb- my usual way of dealing with the undealable. Even if I had processed that action as abusive and manipulative at that time, I doubt I would have been able to back out of the relationship. I was in too deep and really very young and inexperienced. I was also without any mentor or philosophy. I just went deeper with him and lost any compass that I might have had (though I am quite sure I didn't have any). 

Then my strange sister, four years my senior, decided that my relationship with my boyfriend was so wrong and repugnant that she had to kill herself over it, or at least pretend to do it. One night, she walked into the house and seeing him with me, popped in some pills. I was going through my worst asthmatic attack of my life at that time and barely able to get out of my bed. My parents had decided to go on a holiday, leaving me alone because, in my mother's words, I didn't listen to them anyway so why bother with me even I was sick. So, in that empty house, where my boyfriend was helping me get up to go to the toilet and feeding me, she was found crashed in the kitchen with pills all around her. The one person who was caring for me was now rushing an unconscious woman to hospitals. I was left all alone in my fear and guilt and status asthmaticus. 

42 years later, it is still so difficult to think about that night and the following days. My heart is beating faster than usual and I feel pins and needles on my face as I write this. 

My sister survived the attempt but I now believe she came out of it more manipulative than before. Why not? It had worked, hadn't it? A few weeks later, my father gave me a choice- marry Arun or stop seeing him. I tried to reason but I had no status in this family after what my sister had done. Her attempted suicide had taken away the last bit of agency I had. Instead of getting help for her mental health, I was forced to marry a man I barely knew. Leaving him was not a choice for me or for him. This was something even his parents knew and that's why they did not object to the strange proposal. 

That's why I married your father. And honestly, marrying him was a better option than staying in this strange unloving unloved messed-up family, and I include myself in it. 

It took me decades to untangle myself from the family and build one for myself based on love, attention, fairness and harmony. If I hadn't married that loser, none of it would have been possible. 

Petite!

One month into our Bangalore trip, things began to change. The toughest exams were done. We had settled well into the house, figured out ways to get to places safely in time, and worked out efficient ways to get groceries and other essentials needed to run the house. Aloka and I both found ourselves with time to finally breathe and relax. 

With a month yet to go before we returned, I started searching for sports clubs where we could spend an hour daily. It wasn't easy. I wanted to swim, but Aloka doesn't swim. She wanted to go to a gym, but I hate those machines. Finally, I found a sports club called WE fitness that had both a gym and a heated swimming pool. And it was just 3 Km from the house, which translates to 20 minutes in an auto. Wonderful! 

But there was another problem. I hadn't brought my swimsuit with me. The lady at the club suggested a shop where I could go to buy one, so off I went to Options in Jayanagar. Having gone swinsuit shopping in the past in Singapore and Europe, I was cautious and ready for disappointment. But Options was true to its name. I could not believe my eyes when I was shown a whole stack of swimsuits to choose from. Most had sleeves, and some had attached pants! And size was no issue. They had sizes from small to 5XL. 

There were no bikinis on display. What I was being shown were burkinis minus the head covering! For a minute I wondered who these were for? Who were these sensible women who wanted so much coverage? For the swimsuit market to become so inclusive, there had to be huge demand (pun unintended). 

But then my thoughts became more centered on myself. Where had I come? This was my idea of heaven! 

I bought a black polka-dotted half-sleeved swimsuit with attached knee-length pants after making sure that I could get into it. Get into it? I should be more worried about my lady bits staying in place once I was in water, it was that comfortable. 

In the changing room at the club, I adjusted the swinsuit and looked in the mirror. All the jiggly pieces were in place and well-hidden. Of course, there is nothing one can do about the overall mass. The fat that is moved from one place has to land somewhere. I accepted that graciously.

I walked tentatively to the pool and was relieved that there was no one there. Luckily, the time-slot we were given, 1 to 2 pm, was the least busiest of the day. After 10 minutes or so, some more people came in. Everyone was rather big.  Given my size, I don't use these words lightly (again pun unintended). Everyone was in one or the other version of semi-burkinis, even the men! I caught myself staring open-mouthed at the swimmers. I call them swimmers but no one was swimming! They were walking in the water or contorting their bodies holding all sorts of styrofoam gadgets. 

Then realization slowly dawned on me. These folks were not here to swim, but to exercise. I later found out that such exercises were suitable for the very large people whose joints can't handle a regular gym. I was the only serious swimmer in that small group. 

I did my thing for the next 45 minutes or so, showing off a bit and being childishly competitive if I found another person doing a lap. When it was time to leave, I got out of the pool and walked unhurriedly and confidently towards the changing area, not covering myself with a towel as is my habit. 

And why not! For the first time in my life, I was the most petite person in a room! 

The Recycled Virgin

Some days are so eventful that it is almost impossible to hold all the events of that day in one place in your head. Or maybe, you can hold them together, but when talking of that day, some events go untold because of the enormity of certain other events of that day. This is one such untold tale from perhaps the most eventful and significant day of my life.

After thirty minutes or so at the hospital, when it was clear that I was out of the woods, Reese, Julia and Hanna decided to go to a restaurant to have dinner. Sushmita and I were to join them later upon my discharge. I was still in a daze, understandably so, and went along with their plans. Having others make plans for me in my condition suited me just fine. Also, it was after all just day two in Morocco and I had barely gotten to know three of my four co-travellers. I was still in my people-pleasing mode.

After my discharge, our driver brought us the fancy French restaurant where the others were. My legs were a bit shaky, but I felt okay otherwise. I thought the restaurant was too dark and the food servings very small. But that was okay because everything tasted like straw to me, even the delectable foie gras that I had never before (or after) had the occasion to eat.

Reese had struck up a loud conversation with two middle-aged men at the table next to ours. One was a tall reasonably good-looking white guy and the other was a heavily-bearded stouter shorter middle-eastern man. Their accents were unfamiliar to me, but the intonation not! Both were flirting with Reese and she was flirting right back!

A little description of Reese is called for here. She was a tall big-boned big-smile girl from Texas in her mid-thirties, always dressed in fancy wife beaters and shorts. She had a whole stack of them and wore them every day during the entire trip. She could outtalk anyone, and I came to know later, outshout anyone too. I never saw her having a quiet one-on-one conversation with anyone. I don’t think she could manage that. She was loud and messy, but somehow innocuous.

My legs were still shaky when I got up to use the restroom. Upon my return, Reese was no longer sitting at our table. Where was she? There! On the middle-eastern guy’s lap! Given her height, she was towering over him, but still looking coy as she giggled and tittered.  

I did a double take despite myself and then sneaked a quick look at my companions to see their reactions. Sushmita and Hanna were busy staring at their empty plates, but Julia was looking daggers at Reese.  I took it all in slowly. Here I was, barely out of death’s jaws and now somehow part of this absurd scene.

I waited for someone to say or do something, but nothing! Finally, I muttered something about being tired and wanting to get back to our riad for the night. Reese wanted to stay back on the man’s lap while we left, but Julia would have nothing of that. By then, I didn’t have the energy to follow what was happening, but do remember that all five of us got in our rented car and were driven to our riad. Once there, I quickly climbed up to my room and got in my bed before calling mom to tell her about my horrific drug reaction.

Soon after, I heard some commotion right outside the riad. It was close to midnight and the raised voices of two women could be heard clearly in the quiet neighbourhood. Could it be Reese and Julia? Sushmita, who was sharing my room, ran outside. The screaming stopped as quickly as it had started. Sushmita confirmed that it was Reese and Julia having a very loud argument, which was now settled. Totally exhausted, I drifted off to sleep without finding out anything else.

In the morning, I found Julia sitting at the rooftop breakfast table, smoking her cigarette. Soon, Hanna and Sushmita joined us. No sign of Reese. When I asked after her, I was told she had just returned to the riad after spending the night with Jean at his hotel.

Jean?

Yeah, the French guy at the table last night!

The French guy? But she was sitting on the other guy’s lap.

Oh, that was nothing. It’s the French guy she was interested in.

I let that sink in before I asked about the commotion of the previous night. This is what I was told.

Upon our return to the riad, Reese wanted to go to the men’s hotel, who had followed us in their car and were waiting for her to get into their car.  Julia was totally against it and was reminding Reese of their pact of never leaving each other side throughout the trip. Apparently, the four of them had made such a pact before the trip. Finally, Julia let go and Reese went with the men in their car to their hotel. 

I asked Julia what changed her mind. She said it was when Reese screamed that she hadn’t had sex in a year that Julia felt sorry for her and backed off.

“No sex in a year! Can you believe it! That’s like being a recycled virgin! I felt so sorry for her. How could I stop her then.”

How indeed, thought a 12-year-a-recycled virgin to herself! 

Shades of Emotions 1

I wrote this story as a proof to young people (my students of Nishtha and BSA) that we all feel multiple emotions each day- we are just not paying attention to them. An increased emotional vocabulary often means an increased control on reactions to emotions.

It never ceases to surprise me that most of my students are totally unaware of emotional vocabulary beyong Happy, Sad and Angry. In this story, students recognize these emotions: Frustration/annoyance, Compassion, Irritation, Relief, Contentment, Joy, Embarrassment, Regret, Envy, Arrogance, Guilt, Relief, Excitement. 

This is the first story along the themes above- this time the protaganist is a boy. 

A Day in the Life of…

I looked in the mirror one last time. My hairstyle looked good. The new gel is doing the job it promised, I thought to myself.

I didn’t realize that Kiran, my little sister, was in my room and watching me. When our eyes met, she ran her hands in her hair and twisted her body, exaggerating my pose. I chased her out of my room. Can’t I have any privacy in this house?

In college, I looked out for Anaira all day. She didn’t come to class. She wasn’t in the canteen at lunch break. Where was she? Had anything happened to her? These thoughts filled my head. I couldn’t pay attention to anything or anyone else.

Not even Sid’s silly jokes could uplift my mood, and they were aplenty.

I saw Anaira as I stepped out of the music class. She was in the corridor, talking to someone. Just looking at her, it felt as if a load was lifted from my shoulders.

She smiled when she looked up and saw me. Her smile lit up the corridor. As I walked towards her, I felt I was walking on clouds.

Until I saw who she was with. It was Anshul - everyone’s favourite Head Boy!

She told me that her cycle was stolen in the morning, which was why she couldn’t come to classes on time. But Anshul had seen some young boys with her cycle and managed to get it back.

I didn’t hear the details. I just kept thinking why it wasn’t me who had found her cycle. Why did I sit in classes instead of finding out what was wrong? Why was Anshul always the hero?

On my way back, Sid joined me. We had plans to play basketball in the park. When I told him about Anaira’s cycle, he said it seemed all too convenient that Anshul happened to see the boys with the cycle. Too convenient!

It suddenly became clear to me. It had to be Anshul’s scheme to gain Anaira’s attention, like in old Hindi movies! Anshul is more than capable of such a stunt. What a scheming dog!

I ran back towards Anaira’s house to share this thought with her, hoping to see her before she went inside. I wanted to avoid her mother, who always looked at me as if I was a worm. Her father was different- kind and gentle, though he was a famous lawyer. I looked up to him and wanted to be like him when he grew up.

When I saw Anaira, she was standing with Shalini outside her house. I wanted to tell her what I had realized about Anshul, but suddenly felt awkward. What if I was wrong? What proof did I have? What if she thought I was the one scheming to make Anshul look bad?

As I stood there staring at them tongue tied, Shalini started laughing. I felt like a fool and wished I had never come there.

Anaira hushed Shalini and came towards me, still holding her cycle. She asked me if she could borrow my notes for today’s classes that she had missed, adding that I had the best notes in the class. Best Notes!

I took out my notebooks and handed them to her, without saying a word. I didn’t mention Anshul and my suspicions to her.  He just wasn’t important in that moment.

As I walked back towards where Sid was waiting for me, I felt that the world was beautiful again!

_______________________________________________________________________

Here is a Hindi transalation of the story, done by Sonika. 

एक दिन प्रतिदिन…

जाने से पहले मैंने एक आखिरी बार शीशे में देखा। मेरे बाल अच्छे लग रहे थे। तो वह जेल्ल का प्रॉमिस ठीक ही निकला।

पता नहीं कब मेरी छोटी बहन मेरे कमरे में आई और मुझे देखने लगी। जब हमारी आंखें मिलीं  तो उसने मेरी नकल उतारते हुए अपने बालों में हाथ फेरा। मैंने उसे फटकार के कमरे से बाहर निकाला । क्या इस घर में मेरी कोई प्राइवेसी नहीं है?

स्कूल (College) में सारा दिन में अनायरा को ढूंढता रहा। वह क्लास में नहीं आई। लंच ब्रेक में भी कैंटीन में नहीं थी। कहां थी वह?  उसे कुछ हो तो नहीं गया था?  यही ख्याल मेरे दिमाग में उठ रहा थ। मैं किसी और बात पर ध्यान नहीं दे पा रहा था। 

यहां तक की सिद्धार्थ के इतने सारे चुटकुले भी मेरा मूड ठीक नहीं कर पा रहे थे। 

जैसे ही मैं म्यूजिक क्लास में से बाहर निकला, मैंने अनायरा को देखा। वह स्कूल के कॉरिडोर में खड़ी किसी से बातें कर रही थी। उसे देखते ही मुझे लगा मेरे कंधों से कोई बोझ उतर गया हो। उसने मुझे देखा और मुस्कुराने लगी। उसकी मुस्कान से जैसे सारा कॉरिडोर रोशन हो गया हो। जब मैं उसकी ओर बढ़ा मुझे ऐसे महसूस हुआ जैसे मैं बादलों में चल रहा हूँ।

जब मैंने देखा वह किसके साथ थी, तब मैं बादलों से जैसे गिर कर ज़मीन पे आ गया। वह और कोई नहीं अंशुल था - सबका चहेता हेड बॉय!

अनायरा ने मुझे बताया कि सुबह उसकी साइकिल चोरी हो गई थी, जिसके कारण वह समय से क्लास में नहीं आ पाई। लेकिन अंशुल ने उसकी साइकिल कुछ लड़कों के पास देखी और वह उसे वापस लाने में कामयाब रहा।

मैंने उसकी बाकी बातें सुनी ही नहीं। मैं बस यही सोचता रहा कि मैंने क्यों नहीं ढूंढी    उसकी साइकिल। बाहर क्या चल रहा था, यह जानने की बजाये मैं क्लास में ही क्यों बैठा रहा? अंशुल ही हमेशा हीरो क्यों बनता है?

छुट्टी होने पर सिद्धार्थ मेरे साथ वापस घर चल पड़ा। हमारा पार्क में बास्केटबॉल खेलने का प्लान था। जब मैंने उसे अनायरा की साइकिल चोरी के बारे में बताया तो उसने कहा दाल में कुछ तो काला है! इतनी आसानी से अंशुल को साइकिल कैसे मिल गई?

तब मुझे समझ में आ गया। यह सब अंशुल की चाल थी अनायरा का ध्यान अपनी ओर करने के लिए, ठीक जैसे की हिंदी फिल्मों में होता है। अंशुल ऐसे कामों में बहुत तेज़ है। चालबाज़ कहीं का!

इससे पहले कि अनायरा घर के अंदर चली जाए, मैं उसे यह बात बताने के लिए उसके घर की ओर दौड़ा। मैं उसकी मां से नहीं मिलना चाहता था, क्योंकि वह मुझे ऐसी देखती हैं जैसे मैं कोई गली का कीड़ा हूँ। वह न ही मिले तो अच्छा है। उसके पिता की बात और है, वह बहुत अलग हैं। एक नामी वकील होने के बावजूद वह दयालु और नरम स्वभाव के हैं। मैं बड़ा होकर उनकी तरह ही बनना चाहता हूँ।  

तभी मैंने अनायरा को उसके घर के बाहर शालिनी के साथ खड़े देखा। मैंने सोचा मैं उसे अंशुल के बारे में बता दूँ। पर अचानक से मुझे थोड़ा सा अजीब लगा। क्या पता मैं गलत हूँ? मेरे पास क्या सबूत है? क्या पता वह सोच ले कि मैं ही अंशुल को बुरा दिखाना चाहता हूँ?

मैं निशब्द होकर वहीं खड़ा रहा। मेरी यह हालत देख शालिनी हंसने लगी। मेरे गाल लाल हो गए। मुझे लगा काश मैं वहां आया ही नहीं होता!

अनायरा ने शालिनी को चुप करवाया और साइकिल पकड़े हुए ही मेरे पास आयी। उसने मुझ से आज के क्लासेज के नोट्स मांगे और साथ ही यह कहा कि मेरे नोट्स क्लास में सबसे अच्छे होते हैं।

सबसे अच्छे!  मेरे नोट्स!

मैंने चुपचाप अपनी नोटबुक्स निकालीं और उसे थमा दीं। मैंने न अंशुल का नाम लिया न ही अपने शक का ज़िक्र किया। उस समय यह बातें कोई मायने ही नहीं रखती थीं।

जब मैं वापस सिद्धार्थ के पास जा रहा था, तो मुझे ऐसे लग रहा था कि दुनिया सच में बहुत ही खूबसूरत है।  

If Men Could Menstruate (English and Hindi)

I wrote this piece for my FiRST PiCk theatre group, who performed it twice in 2025. It was performed twice again by my Nishtha Sponsorship students in front of an audience of Nishtha funders, supporters and well wishers. The piece is derived from a satirical essay written by Gloria Steinem in 1978. I repurposed it as a dialog and Indianized it. You can read the original essay here. 

https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/23293691.2019.1619050

If Men Could Menstruate

(6 actors standing facing the audience. While talking they do look at each other and laugh when called for, but their focus is on the audience.)

Woman 1: Have you ever thought what would happen if men could menstruate?

Woman 2: Wait a minute…Menstruate! Why is it called menstruation? Shouldn’t it be “womenstruation”?

All shrug and shake their heads.

Woman 1: I was saying, what if suddenly, magically, men could menstruate and women could not?

Woman 2: Of course, then menstruation would become a desirable, masculine event.

Woman 3: Yes! Men would brag about how long and how much.

Woman 4: The onset of periods would be a proof of manhood. Boys would mark it with religious rituals and stag parties.

Woman 5: Let’s not forget sanitary supplies, ladies! All sanitary supplies would be government funded or at least tax-free. And men certainly wouldn’t be hiding them in newspapers!  

Woman 6: Or black plastic bags!

(All look at each other knowingly and laugh!)

Woman 6: Pharmacies will be filled with Man-pads and Bro-tampons! No “Whisper” for them!

Woman 1 (shrugging delicately): Or Carefree! Or Sofy! Or Paree!

Woman 2: Street guys would brag “I’m a three-pad man. “

Woman 3: If someone said to them “Man, you lookin’ good!”, they would give high fives and say…(Woman 2 and 3 high five at the right time.)

Woman 2: “Yeah, man, it’s period time!” They certainly wouldn’t be using euphemisms like “I’m down” or “It’s that time of the month!”.

Everyone looks at each other and nods!

Woman 4: Newspapers would carry such healines- “SHARK-SCARE THREATENS MENSTRUATING MEN”. Or “JUDGE PARDONS RAPIST, CITING MONTHLY STRESS.”

Woman 5: And what about movies- “Khoon ka Rishta” and “Blood Brothers” would become popular movie titles once again! Starring…Tiger and Varun!

Woman 6: And can you imagine men suffering cramps every month? I bet the Government would fund a National Institute of Dysmenorrhea to stamp out period pain!

Woman 1: Absolutely! The medical community would probably start studying “Male Premenstrual Syndrome (M-PMS)” and come up with all sorts of fancy treatments.

Woman 2: I can see a support group called “Menstrual Men Mm-anonymous- Em Em Em!”

Everyone laughs!

Woman 3: And lo and behold- menstruation leave would be compulsory in all organizations.

Woman 4: And surely, there would be flexible work hours for menstruating men! How can the poor men work in such discomfort?

Woman 5: Okay, maybe then, women will play a bigger role than men in religious organizations and military, because they do not menstruate!

Woman 6: Quite the opposite, my dear! Military men would insist that only men could serve in the Army because they are used to “giving” blood. They would be heroes because they bleed and suffer pain on a monthly basis.

Woman 1: Religious fundamentalists will insist women are impure because they do NOT get rid of their impurities every month! (Said with an eye roll.)

Woman 5: I don’t get it. Aren’t these the very things they say women CANNOT do because they menstruate?

Woman 6: That’s exactly the point. It’s got nothing to do with menstruation per se and everything to do with who is stronger in society.

Woman 1: If menstruation becomes the attribute of the strong, it would suddenly become a positive thing. Logic has nothing to do with it!

Woman 5: Logic has nothing to do with it?

Woman 2: Yes, logic has nothing to do with it. Just as white people have made everyone think that their white skin makes them superior. Actually, the only thing white skin really does is…

Woman 3: …make them more sensitive to UV rays and to wrinkles. You see, an attribute becomes coveted just because it is the attribute of the powerful.

Woman 5: So, what you are saying is, even if menstruation moves to men, nothing will really change for us women, is it!

(Everyone shakes their heads)

Woman 4: Well, something will. Think of all the extra caregiving we will have to do for our poor menstruating brothers, sons and husbands!

Everyone shows frustration! 

Here is the Hindi translation of the previous piece, done with a lot of effort by Sonika Thakur!

अगर पुरुषों को माहवारी होती तो क्या होता

महिला 1: क्या आपने कभी सोचा है कि अगर पुरुषों को माहवारी होती तो क्या होता?

महिला 2: एक मिनट.... माहवारी! माहवारी तो महामारी की तरह सुनाई देता है,जैसे कि कोई बीमारी हो।

महिला 1: हाँ सच में! मैं कह रही थी कि अगर अचानक कोई जादू हो जाए और माहवारी महिलाओं की बजाये पुरुषों को आने लगे तो?

महिला 2: तब तो माहवारी बेशक एक बहुत ही आकर्षक, मर्दाना, गर्व करने वाली चीज़ बन जायेगी।

महिला 3: हां! पुरुष इस बात पर डींगें हांकेंगे कि उनके पीरियड कितने लम्बे और कितने ज़्यादा चले।

महिला 4: माहवारी का शुरू होना मर्दानगी का सबूत माना जाएगा। लड़के इसे धार्मिक रिवाज़ों और स्टैग पार्टी के रूप में मनाएंगे।

महिला 5: और सेनेटरी पैड्स की तो बात ही मत पूछो! सारे सेनेटरी प्रोडक्ट्स सरकार द्वारा मुफ्त में दिए जायेंगे या टैक्स फ्री होंगे। और पुरुष उन्हें अखबार में छिपा कर तो बिल्कुल नहीं ले जायेंगे!

महिला 6: और न ही काले प्लास्टिक के थैलों में!

महिला 6: दवाइयों की दुकानों पर हे "भाई -पैड्स" और "यारों का यार टेम्पोंस" भरे दिखेंगे! आदमियों के लिए कोई “व्हिस्पर” नहीं होगा!

महिला 1: न ही केयरफ्री! न सोफी! न परी!

महिला 2: गलियों के लड़के शेखी बघारेंगे कि, “मैं तो तीन पैड वाला आदमी हूँ।“

महिला 3: अगर उन्हें कोई कहे, “भाई, तुम आज बहुत अच्छे लग रहे हो!” तो वह हाई-फाइव करते हुए कहेंगे...

महिला 2: “हां, भाई, क्यों नहीं, माहवारी का समय जो है! इसी से तो चेहरे पे चमक आती है!” वे यह कह के कभी नहीं छुपाएंगे कि “मैं डाउन हूं” या “महीने का वह समय है!”

महिला 4: अखबारों में ऐसी सुर्खियां होंगी - “माहवारी वाले पुरुषों में शार्क के हमले का खतरा!” या “जज ने बलात्कारी को मासिक तनाव का हवाला दे कर छोड़ दिया!”

महिला 5: और फिल्मों में क्या होगा -"खून का रिश्ता” और “ख़ूनी भाई” फिर से सुपरहिट शीर्षक बन जायेंगे! और हीरो होंगे - टाइगर श्रॉफ और वरुण धवन!

महिला 6: और सोचिए, पुरुष क्या हर महीने पेट में मरोड़े झेलेंगे? सरकार तो उनके लिए पीरियड का दर्द मिटाने के लिए राष्ट्रीय “दर्द मिटाओ दर्द हटाओ” संस्थान खोल देगी!

महिला 1: बिल्कुल! मेडिकल समुदाय “मेल प्री मेंस्ट्रूअल सिंड्रोम (M-PMS)” पर रिसर्च शुरू कर देगा और बड़े-बड़े इलाज निकाल लेगा।

महिला 2: मुझे तो एक सपोर्ट ग्रुप भी दिख रहा है “माहवारी के मारे मर्द - एम् एम् एम्!”

महिला 3: और देखना! माहवारी की छुट्टी सभी संस्थानों में अनिवार्य हो जायेगी।

महिला 4: और निश्चित तौर पर माहवारी से पीड़ित मर्दों को जल्दी छुट्टी दे दी जायेगी! बेचारे इतनी तकलीफ में कैसे काम करेंगे?

महिला 5: अच्छा! तब शायद महिलायें धार्मिक संस्थानों और सेना में मर्दों से बड़ा योगदान देंगी। क्योंकि उन्हें माहवारी नहीं आएगी!

महिला 6: इसका बिलकुल उल्टा होगा, जानेमन! सेना के आदमी यह ज़ोर देंगे कि पुरुष ही सेना में रह सकते हैं, क्योंकि वे “खून देने” के आदी हैं। वे हीरो होंगे क्योंकि वे हर महीने खून बहाते हैं और दर्द सहते हैं।

महिला 1: धार्मिक कट्टरपंथी कहेंगे कि महिलायें अपवित्र हैं क्योंकि वे हर महीने अपनी अशुद्धियाँ नहीं निकालतीं।

महिला 5: हद्द हो गई यह तो! क्या ये वही चीज़ें नहीं हैं जो वे कहते हैं कि हम महिलायें माहवारी की वजह से नहीं कर सकतीं? यह क्या बात हुई।

महिला 6: बस यही तो बात है। इसमें माहवारी का कोई लेना देना नहीं है। असली मुद्दा तो यह है कि समाज में ज़्यादा ताकतवर कौन है।

महिला 1: अगर माहवारी ताकतवरों को आने लगे, तो माहवारी अचानक एक पॉज़िटिव चीज़ बन जाएगी। तर्क या लॉजिक से इसका कोई लेना देना नहीं है।

महिला 5: तर्क से इसका कोई लेना देना नहीं है?

महिला 2: हाँ, तर्क से इसका कोई लेना देना नहीं है? जैसे कि गोरे लोगों ने सब को विश्वास दिला दिया है कि उनकी गोरी त्वचा उन्हें बाकियों से श्रेष्ठ बनाती है। जबकि वास्तव में गोरी त्वचा…

महिला 3: … उन्हें यू वी किरणों के प्रति ज़्यादा सेंसिटिव बनाती है और झुर्रियों का कारण बनती हैं। मतलब कि कोई भी गुण सिर्फ इसलिए ज़्यादा मांग में होता है क्योंकि वह ताकतवरों का चिन्ह होता है।

महिला 5: तो तुम यह कह रही हो कि अगर माहवारी महिलाओं की बजाये पुरुषों को आना शुरू हो जाए, तब भी महिलाओं कि लिए कुछ नहीं बदलेगा। है ना!

महिला 4: बदलेगा!

(सभी औरतें कहेंगी “क्या”?)

महिला 4: यही..… कि हमें अपने बेचारे माहवारी वाले भाइयों, बेटों और पतियों की और ज़्यादा सेवा करनी पड़ेगी!