Varsha felt her stomach being stretched from within, her insides being pulled, making her bend by the force. She was confused. Her eyes were being stretched shut by the unbearable sudden pain and she had managed to plop herself down at a corner of the hall. Leaning her head against the wall, she panted for breath, her lower belly felt trapped by a force, and she had kept her eyes closed, believing it would help.

After a whole 5 minutes, the pain slowly dwindles and she opens her eyes to the recent evanescence realizing that all she remembers is the agonizing pain.

11-year-old Varsha had started to panic, trying to remember everything she must have eaten for this pain to happen. She was scared that maa would scold her, tell baba about it and eventually end up eating vegetables instead of her favorite dishes.

She passed across the hall towards the washroom and saw maa talking her heart out with maasi, leaning against the bed, in the master bedroom. She must not share, anything about the pain, with her maa, yet. Varsha would try getting hold of the reason and searching for solutions, or come up with a plan that could save her from eating the vegetables.

She closed the bathroom door and looked at the mirror, she was changing, she realizes. Her round eyes were getting puffier, her cheeks were breaking into hollows. She had one vivid red plump on her forehead, popping up, sore with pain and her skin looked pale. She had gained weight and grown excess body hair and looked nothing like she looked a year earlier.

Then she noticed her cream-colored shorts, stained red. Her eyes sauce-panned and she started panicking. Forgetting why she was in the washroom, she rushed to her maa.

Maa had let her know, some months ago, that it’s almost time for her to grow up, to act womanly, to be collected even if she wants to commit mischiefs, to stay away from boys her age, from men. She couldn’t get exactly why would she need to do that but dare not question her maa’s demands. She had sat quietly, taking in the words. Maa had hesitated initially, but then by caressing her cheeks had said, that ever, if not so soon, she finds herself stained red in her clothes, she should run to her maa, if it happens at home, or get help from any woman nearby, if in public. She must, at all costs, should hide the stain from the public eye.

So, Varsha ran, ran to her maa. She stood at the door, eyes filled with overpowering tears, about to spill soon. Her maa spared a glance at her and her enthusiasm with the call vanished in blinking seconds. Her eyes widened at the sight and mumbling something on the call, she threw her cell across the bed and ran towards a scattered Varsha.

“Varsha? Darling? Oh My God, what happened.” Maa said, adding to the dramatic as if she didn’t know what had happened. “Let’s rush you to the washroom.” and nudged Varsha towards the washroom.

Maa elaboratively explained what she had to do. Varsha stood, unable to conceal the emotions coming off as tears. She tried to take in whatever maa was teaching her.

“You place this right in the middle, stick it firmly, it’ll stain otherwise, and keep checking from time to time, okay?” her maa said, handing her the placed pads. She looked at it, she definitely has seen these on commercials but was never told her it was for her, maa had always acted weird whenever this came up. Is this something scandalous?

They were back at Varsha’s room, her safe place, and Maa handed Varsha a huge glass of lukewarm milk. “Have this. It’d help easing out the pain.” Varsha liked having milk, even more when it had kesar added to it, but plain milk would do too. She blew at the brim of the glass attempting to cool it down.

That’s when maa started caressing her forehead. Patting her head with slow soft pats. Varsha looked up with confused eyes, with a hint of glittering happiness. Maa smiled at her, a soft, kind smile. “My girl’s all grown up now.” She said and kissed her forehead.

Varsha saw her maa call up the relatives, and tell them about the new change Varsha was facing. She looked so happy talking about it, laughing heartily, her red shiny cheeks on display and had bragged about it as if it was an achievement.

“Of Course, I am proud of it. There are many who isn’t gifted with a healthy period. I had told you Aparna, she’ll have the healthiest period... yeah, you’re right that others do face issues beyond their control… that’s not my lookout, Aparna… My Varsha is healthy and it’s something we should be proud of, very less women on this earth are having healthy periods…..come visit us someday…..” Varsha had heard maa go on with Varsha’s favorite aunt. Was having this excruciating pain, which was extended on to a long 4-7 days, while we bleed, a flex?

The next month arrived, maa had told Varsha that this process was recurrent and would take place every month for the next forty years. This was something painful for Varsha to hear. To face this pain every month for the upcoming four decades isn’t something to be proud of.

She had never asked why her maa felt her having this was something to be proud of but she had tried searching it up. The internet couldn’t show possible results and Varsha had given up in an hour. She had wondered often, lying on her bed at night but never could guess why. She was an 11-year-old kid after all.

A month had passed and Varsha had missed her period this month. Another month flew and Varsha didn’t have her monthly cycle yet. Maa started pacing the room, concern etched on her face. “What could be the reason?” she had mumbled to herself. It was the 7th day since Varsha’s period date, for the second month, had passed and maa started panicking. “We should take you to the doctor.” She had said.

And Varsha was taken to a doctor. The Doctor had examined Varsha and asked to get some tests done and be back with the reports.

Varsha was back with her maa in a couple of weeks and the doctor wanted to talk to her maa all alone, asking politely of Varsha to wait outside the chamber. Varsha had stood, obediently, unaware of everything that was happening around her. The morning breeze had hit her face, cooling her clammed neck, it was the end of autumn of the year 2005. The dying orange leaves would turn paler, become lifeless and die. The plants will wither, bury under the cold weather, patiently waiting for spring to save their lives, and gift them resurrection.

Varsha had stood taking in the surroundings when her maa came out of the chamber, thanking the doctor. She smiled softly at her maa but didn’t receive back any smile. Suddenly, she was conscious of the situation, the silence was settling in an unwanted awkwardness. Nobody said a word as they walked down the lane, back home. Maa neither passed a glance at Varsha nor tried telling her what was up with her, even though the entire matter was about her and her own body.

The awkwardness didn’t vanish once they were back home. Varsha was asked to lock herself in her room while her parents talked. But that was of no use, she could hear vividly every word her mother uttered. She placed hands around her ears to block out the sounds, the words that seemed to cut deep through her heart, this wasn’t like the maa she knew. This person was different, harsh, curt, rude and ferocious (at least she sounded that part), and Varsha couldn’t possibly understand her part of the fault in this.

“That girl is having a disease! Do you get this, honey?” her mother shouted, rubbing her temples with her palm to ease out the growing anxiety.

“That’s alright Damini, she can’t be blamed.” Her baba defended.

“She can’t be blamed? She is my daughter, she is carrying my blood in her body, how is she supposed to be sterile?” She had said, looking shocked, herself, while she shocked her daughter, sitting inside her room.

“She isn’t sterile, Damini, she just has PCOD. The doctor said it’s incurable but manageable, she still can produce children if taken good care.” Her baba said.

“Why should we have to spend money for something like this? Why did she have to end up like this when all the women in our bloodline were the healthiest and could go on producing children even at their 40s? This is bekar ka kharcha, don’t you think so too, Vinod?” Tears escaped Varsha’s eyes as she heard the conversation.

“Pipe down Damini, she might hear you. Why are you so upset about a thing that wasn’t in our hands in the first place?” Varsha’s baba reasoned, wrinkling his temples.

“You would never get this Vinod; you’d have understood had you been a boy. You don’t understand how shameful it is to be sterile.” Her mother said, stopping tears from spilling out her eyes and gushed out the door to her room.

“She isn’t sterile, Damini, once again. And please don’t be so hard…” Varsha heard her baba’s voice fade beyond the doors and sat crying on her pillow, asking God what she did to deserve it.

She saw her mother’s growing infuriation on her since that day and succumbed with her feelings in one dark corner. Little Varsha used to cry, when alone, at night, sitting on bed, asking God to fix it, fix everything for she missed her maa. She missed how her maa loved her. She needs her.... but nothing changed. With age Varsha grew emotionally and mentally, her medication continued and she was managing just fine, but a dent was etched in her heart forever. The dent of seeing her maa turning to her mother. The same maa who bragged about her Varsha turning to the same mother who was displeased even by Varsha’s presence. Varsha saw it all.

She soon got used to it and today was her delivery date, almost two decades later, seven years since her mother passed away, after a successful marriage, career and love life, Varsha was successfully going to become a maa. She reminisced the day, still etched in her memory, smiled and kissed her husband before entering the Operating Theatre.

After an hour, when Varsha gained her senses, she was handed a bright girl into her hands. Varsha had smiled big, wide, with all her might. This was the best day in her life and she’d shed a tear kissing her newborn child, a part of her life, her own mortal façade, her own body, the missing part of the puzzle and named her... Damini.

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