Friends from New York and new acquaintances alike ask me if I have experienced culture shock during my time in India. One incident always comes to mind.

I had just arrived at my uncle’s home in southern India, where I would be staying for a few months on assignment. A day or two into my stay, I made an offhand comment to my aunt that I had gotten my period the morning of my flight. I was expecting a little lady-to-lady commiseration, but instead we had this conversation in a weirdly hushed tone:

“Oh. We have to close the prayer room.”

“Ok…”

“And when you throw away the soiled napkins, make sure to wash them first.”

“But they’d be disposable?”

“Yes, but keep them neatly, you know, many people clear the dustbins [referring to the maids].”

“Ok?”

“And also, please refrain from cooking over the open flame.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know, it was a tradition kept from my mother-in-law. We have had such good luck, why change tradition? Many other people follow the rule more strictly.”

“Ok…”

I was completely confused. Forget trying to explain the concept of a tampon. I didn’t even know where to begin with this news. My mother had once mentioned to me an old tradition in South Indian villages where women were supposed to refrain from housework during their period. Apparently, the practice had started during ancient times, when women performed labor-intensive tasks. They were expected to fetch water from the well, cook meals for large, extended families and perform a battery of household chores that required a great deal of physical exertion. So, when their “chums” time came, this blanket ban on work was supposed to give them a few days’ rest. I figured this was literally ancient news, though. There was Midol now! And heating pads!

After this unexpected conversation with my aunt, I decided to do a bit of research. Apparently, it was decided that husbands would compel their wives to bend or break this rule if it wasn’t codified. Thus, women were banned from setting foot in a temple or a prayer room on their period because it was henceforth considered “unclean.” They went so far as to demand that women use separate utensils and plates while menstruating and confine themselves to a separate, closed room. Menstruation officially ended on the morning of the fourth day, when the woman bathed.

“When you bathe tomorrow, also wash your hair da kanna,” my aunt said on the third day, referring to me as “sweetheart” in Tamil.

The feminist in me was screaming THIS IS SEXIST. The idea that I was impure for a natural function, one that half the population experienced, was odious. I just kept thinking, this is some DUMB old rule written by DUMB old men. I hated it. But this belief was at odds with other beliefs I also held. I was a guest in my aunt’s house. She was a good person. Her Hindu orthodoxy rarely interfered with my decisions, which was clearly a conscious effort on her part. I found that I couldn’t entirely give up being sensitive to my host’s feelings for my principles. This is important to her, I rationalized. I went along. I let her pack my lunch for work. I avoided cooking altogether. The prayer room stayed closed, indicating embarrassingly to the whole house that for one of the girls, Scarlett had come home to Tara…read more.

Image courtesy of “Beyond The Maple Tree.‘”