Those days of the month

Why is a biological activity viewed as a disgusting aspect of women’s daily lives, and why it remains a subject less worthy of social and psychological inquiry?

Nothing could be more unreasonable to imagine than blood in blue color, and yet it evokes collective embarrassment on spotting sanitary napkin ad on the television screen. No sooner the visuals pop on screen; the channel gets a hasty switch over. This is how our society tackles self-inflicted shame imposed on menstrual periods, head on. Despite half of the world’s population menstruating for large periods of their lives, menstrual-negative culture of shame and taboo has been allowed to persist. Feminists argue that part of the blame must rest with women who have hidden their perfectly natural bodily function, and have in the process punished themselves for being women.

Breanne Fahs, a professor of gender studies at Arizona University, is outraged at the lack of a culture of menstruation. She raises two valid questions: why is this biological activity viewed as a disgusting aspect of women’s daily lives, and why it remains a subject less worthy of social and psychological inquiry? Isn’t the missing public discourse on the subject a reason for menstruation being tagged secretive, hidden, taboo, and somewhat silly? There is little denying that there have been  many improvements in gender inequities in recent years, but little has changed in common perception about women’s bodies and sexuality. In effect, it may only have worsened. 

Fahs loathes at the idea of feminine hygiene, presented with aplomb in a recent movie Padman, because it only seeks to fix women’s leaky and troublesome bodies.  The products to counter unhygienic fixation seem scary as these only give additional cultural momentum to the prevailing notion about menstruation. Contrast it with products for men (e.g. razor, deodorant, aftershave) which directly refer to their individual functions, without being clubbed together under a descriptive phrase like masculine hygiene products. Such linguistic distinctions, feminists argue, hold immense implications for projecting another sex as clean and powerful. 

Using her academic research and drawing lessons from clinical sessions, Fahs forcefully argues for a new culture of menstruation where it gets viewed as an event of joyous rhythms. Only by doing so we could undermine the institutions that deplete and eradicate the natural cycles of human life by favoring sexism and profit. Authoritative, intense, and controversial, Out for Blood takes reader into the world of menstruation where coming-of-age narratives are beginning to challenge the entrenched notions of silence and shame. Only by bringing in new stories on defiance and rebellion can the long history of panics surrounding menstruation ever be rewritten. Else, it will remain trapped within the boundaries of patriarchy. It is a man’s world after all!

Padman: Fixing leaky and troublesome bodies

In her academic journey of viewing women bodies using a radical feminist lens, Fahs has often been chided for writing on such trivial subjects like orgasms, human hair, and fatness. For writing about and engaging her students in the discourse on body hair, she received death threats from conservatives who thought she was ‘ruining America’. Not to be let down by such threats, her resolve in studying women’s bodies became even stronger. ‘The body, after all, absorbs, reflects, and mirrors the fundamental social forces of our times.’ 

Out for Blood is lively interdisciplinary interrogation packaged in a dozen odd chapters which move through feminist theory, social science, psychotherapy discourses, cultural studies, sexuality and gender studies in challenging the gendered notion of feminine hygiene as a fait accompli for women, and demonstrates the expansive potential for menstruation as a radical form of feminist resistance. From menstrual art to menstrual stunts, and from menstrual zines to menstrual graffiti, the book provides provocative case stories that examine menstrual activism, and a possible playful menstrual future. 

The strength of the narrative lies in it being explicit about equating the taboo of menstruation with womanhood, detaching body physiology (sex) from gender identity. The book is a call for women to emerge out of the ‘menstrual closet’, and engage in what activists’ term the notion of the menstrual party. Will such a transformation be a reality in near future?  

From women being ostracized during ‘that time of the month’ to young girls shying away from school to avoid any ‘embarrassment’, restricting the unavoidable bodily function to just a case of menstrual hygiene will serve a limited purpose. Fahs argues that unless menstruation disrupts the boundaries of patriarchy, and underscore the realities of misogyny, the case for writing a new story to destroy conventional narratives of women bodies will remain to be written. It is a book that clears all the misconceptions about what essentially defines womanhood.

Out for Blood
by Breanne Fahs
State University of New York, New York
Extent: 139, Price: $25.95

A short version of this write-up appeared in The Tribune, issue dated Dec 19, 2018.

The power behind the veil

The Mughals held their women in gratitude for being robust and enduring in suffering along their men in periods of war and peace, who in turn exerted significant influence in shaping their history.

Much of the Mughal history - from Babur’s invasion at Panipat in 1526 to the death of Aurnagzeb in 1707 - is marked by the Europeans experience and their interpretation of the glorious period. Though meticulous in keeping records of their transactions and experiences, these traders, missionaries, and ambassadors to the Mughal courts were not privy to the finer nuances of the culture and comportment of the times as they did not speak Persian or Turki, Though fascinated by the notion of the private space of the Mughal women, the Europeans could hardly comprehend the Mughal women’s influence and power as they were physically and culturally separated from the world of women. For them, it reflected an emperor’s weakness, or worse, incest. 

As their understanding was loaded with whimsical misinformation and bazaar gossip, the Europeans reduced the carefully crafted world of ‘zenana’ into a ‘harem’, which only justified their perception of this forbidden space for satisfying endlessly lascivious appetite of the emperor. The image and the imagination of a place to which the polygamous emperor alone had access gained widespread acceptance as a harem. It was this misconceived notion that led many to believe that harem was a claustrophobic place where the women ruthlessly schemed against one another and wasted the hours of their days in frustrated languor, competing for attention of the emperor for pinning down their sexual frustration. Nothing could be farther from the truth, discovered Ira Mukhoty, whose research on the Mughal zenana has led her to conclude that it was instead a busy, well-ordered place where each woman knew her place and her worth.  What’s more, ‘it was a place where accomplished, educated women were prized; well-spoken, articulate, and cultured women most likely to advance.’ That the harem was a sexual charged place created a void in narrative on the feminine influence on the luminous destinies of the Mughal padshahs. 

Daughters of the Sun is an authoritative attempt at bringing to life the dynamic zenana, which grew from an imperial sanctuary for elderly matrons, widowed women, unmarried relatives and royal concubines to an imposing place that contributed feminine wisdom on matters of governance, trade, and literary scholarship. The book examines lives and influence of some fifteen women – over a period of almost 200 years of Mughal rule - in shaping and strengthening the empire that carefully nurtured the old Perso-Chinizid symbol of the sun. The Mughals traced their lineage through Timur and Chinghez Khan to Princess Alanquwa of Mughalistan who were believed to be impregnated by the divine light of the sun, and hence these influential women were deservedly credited for being the daughters of the sun. And, the astounding efforts of these women were suitably acknowledged by each of the Mughal emperors.   

Through the rule of each of the six great Mughals, one woman of enormous prestige and respect was bestowed the title of ‘Padshah Begum’ which she used to retain till her death. Such woman was very rarely the wife of the emperor, signifying the enormous respect and gratitude the emperor had for the matriarchs of the clan, the mothers and grandmothers, for keeping the warring brothers together and empire intact. It began with the supreme sacrifice of Babur’s elder sister Khanzada who was left as a captive of the Uzbek warlord Shaybani Khan, to secure Babur’s safety. Upon her return ten years later, by which time Babur had become the Emperor of Hindustan, she was bestowed the title of ‘Padshah Begum’ which she continued to hold without any stigma well into the reign of Emperor Humayun. 

Mukhoty’s research pieces together that part of the Mughal history which has gone unnoticed despite the existence of extraordinary biographies of Babur and Humayun written by Gulbadan Begum, a member of the zenana and daughter of Babur and sister of Humayun, who was commissioned by Akbar for this onerous task. That the zenana had space for literary foray comes clear from Gulbadan’s account, ‘there are no rigid limitations to the women’s freedom, and the matriarchs, especially, are constantly called upon to fulfill public roles’. She further observed it ‘as a raucous place filled with camaraderie, disagreements, hurt feelings, song and laughter’.       

From the secluded space of the zenana emerged some of most versatile women of the Mughal period - unmarried daughters, eccentric sisters, fiery milk mothers and powerful wives - who not only engaged in diplomacy from behind the jaalis but traded with foreigners, built stunning monuments, and joined their men in the battlefields as well. The Mughal treatment of their women had been exemplary; they held their women in gratitude for being robust and enduring in suffering along their men in periods of war and peace. The life they led and the influence they exerted contributed significantly to shaping the history of the Mughals. 

Aunt Khanzada begum rode 750 kilometers on horseback braving icy winds to parley on behalf of her nephew Humayun; sister Gulbadan begum wrote the only biographies written by a woman of the Mughal court;  milk mothers like Jiji Anaga and Maham Anaga shielded and guided the thirteen-year-old emperor Akbar until he came of age; favorite wife Noor Jahan ran the imperial proceedings from behind the jaali; and writer of two Sufi treatises daughter Jahanara owned the most lucrative port in medieval India. These were women of real mettle and substance, political strategists, spiritual scholars and successful entrepreneurs in their own rights. One begins to feel for these women who, despite their immense contribution, remained a footnote in history. 

Daughters of the Sun uplifts these amazing women from the closet of the zenana.  Mukhoty confesses ‘I did not realize that the idea of a constantly evolving and dynamic zenana would become central to this book.’ Not all women in the zenana were sexually available to the emperor. They all had a role to play, a duty to perform, and were respected and paid for their crucial jobs. However, the strength of the zenana would continue to grow as ‘it was an established custom at the Mughal court that the padshah must protect all the widows and dependent members of those who have served him.’ That there was no love life for the Mughal women in the zenana would only be an absurd figment of imagination. Curiously, however, most relations for these medieval Muslim women were based on a number of considerations – expediency, practicality, and complicated genealogical calculations. The marriage of Babur’s sister Khanzada to a nobleman was one such, a marriage of propriety and convenience.

While avoiding the titillating tales of concubines, the book makes reading the Mughal history no less intriguing, engrossing and gripping. It captures one of significant aspects of the chequered Mughal history that has been grossly ignored by the mainstream history. In a well-researched and well-crafted narrative, Ira Mukhoty fills the curious gaps in the Mughal history by swinging the male-dominated narrative away from the prevailing Eurocentric vision. In most history books that deal with the life of the Mughals, the royal harem or zenana is usually a single chapter sandwiched between the imperial court and the royal kitchen. That there was something cooking at all the times within the confines of the forbidden place is what lends historical value to this book. 

By viewing history from the women’s perspective, Ira Mukhoty has opened a new window to view the complementing world of zenana in re-narrating that part of Indian history.  It is must-read parallel history of the Mughal Empire and its women. The book shows that the Mughal women were not just names in dull history textbooks, but were people with emotions and ambitions, loves and jealousies, and were equally accomplished, educated, articulate and cultured.

Daughters of the Sun
by Ira Mukhoty
Aleph Book Company, New Delhi
Extent: 246, Price: Rs 699 

First published in Biblio, the issue dated July-Sept 2018.