Quarantined queens

Our house in Kanchipuram had a separate room meant for women of the household passing through their monthly menstrual period of three days. In houses where no separate room was available, women had to remain in a corner behind a screen. They were not allowed to roam around and they were forbidden to even look at the kitchen. Women of those days liked and loved these three days of "privilege leave" which gave them freedom from having to cook for a big family, freedom from having to perform the back breaking chores of washing clothes including nine-yard sarees of in-laws. No one was supposed to come in contact with the "quarantined house-queens."

An exclusive plate and brass tumbler were given to them and these were not to be placed with other utensils. Coffee was poured into the tumbler from a height of 12 inches. Even cruel mothers-in-law would not allow their daughters-in-law to work on these days. It was quite a sight to watch the mothers-in-law carry food three times a day, on time, to their daughters-in-law as the latter sat leisurely stretching out their legs, leaning against the wall of their pleasure cell. The women used to spend these days reading magazines and novels and listening to transistors. My mother utilised this monthly opportunity to read and reread all her favourite Tamil novels. It was a big joint family which she entered in. She was made to cook and wash clothes for a huge joint family comprising a dozen children. There were no washing machines and no overhead water tanks to supply water through taps. She had to draw umpteen bucketfuls from the backyard well. "But for those three days break, I would have died long ago" she once observed.

My mother was happy when she was confined to the room, but we children were most unhappy having to endure our father’s horrible cooking. He not only cooked badly but also expected us to eat what he cooked and compliment him too. The worst of his stuff was 'Sambar'. My father used to make his own 'Sambar' powder, mixing disproportionately various ingredients. Sometimes his 'Sambar' would turn out bland and insipid and sometimes it would burn like lava. While we children suffered, our mother had no complaints. “Only on these days three I am, though confined to this coot, totally free,” she told once a friend of hers who wanted her to rebel against this orthodox practice of imprisoning menstruating women.