The Tamil TV show Ayali, which premiered recently on Zee 5, is set in a fictional town where young girls are married off as soon as they get their first period. The show deftly tackles several subjects around menstruation and marriage, as well as the association of family honour with the bodies of women, a practice that still continues to plague contemporary Tamil society. When a girl gets her first period in Tamil Nadu, it is celebrated with a range of rituals based on caste and geographical location. Several women who spoke to TNM said that customs like dousing the menstruating girl with turmeric water to ‘purify’ her (called manjal neeraattu vizha in Tamil), asking her to carry a piece of iron to ward off ‘evil spirits’, and a ‘puberty ceremony’ at the end of the menstrual period to clear the theetu (loosely translated to mean impurity) that the family experienced because of her menstrual cycle, are not uncommon in Tamil households even today.
Puberty ceremonies are a big affair in Tamil Nadu. Relatives from every nook and corner of the state are informed about the ‘good news’ and they all flock to the menstruating girl’s house. A wedding hall is booked, invitations are printed, banners with the new menstruator’s picture are displayed outside the venue of the ceremony, and a grand feast is thrown for immediate and extended family. Professional photographers are hired to document the events, and the girl is dressed to resemble a bride, presented with gifts, and blessed to be a dheerga sumangali (long and happily married). The girl’s thaai mama (maternal uncle) plays a significant role in most of the rituals and is often the one who gifts the saree to be worn by her during the puberty ceremony. In some parts of Tamil Nadu, a hut-like structure is made from palm leaves, and the menstruating girl is supposed to live in it during the course of her first period.
Though observed as a customary announcement of a girl’s coming of reproductive age, puberty ceremonies also have very specific objectives, all of which come in conflict with the agency of the girl.
While a girl’s period is celebrated with grand fervour, little to no attention is paid to her emotional well-being. Recounting her first period, Srividya, a journalist from Chennai, said that she felt helpless and miserable as she was dressed up, garlanded, and made to sit in the middle of the house for everyone to see. “I cried throughout the function [puberty ceremony] and begged my mother to exempt me from wearing a half saree. Nobody comforted me or asked what I wanted. I was scolded and mocked for being emotional and confused,” she recalled. The 28-year-old also questioned why a teenager should become an exhibit in the name of traditions for the gratification of some adults.
Girls often feel embarrassed when their first period is announced to their extended family. Furthermore, in some small towns and villages of Tamil Nadu, the aunts of the menstruating girl are the ones who bathe her after the manjal neeraattu vizha, no matter how old she is. In a matter of days, most girls go from being children to ‘women’ solely because of the initiation of a bodily process. Ayali takes this practice one step further where the girls in the show are married off, weeks if not days after their puberty ceremonies, solely because they can now birth.
Kavya from Bengaluru said that she was hoping and praying that her period would only start during the summer holidays because prolonged absenteeism from class led to rumours among her classmates. At 12 years of age, she was firm about not wanting a puberty ceremony and insisted that the ‘good news’ not be shared with everyone. She succeeded, but she was still not allowed to leave her house for two weeks and was bathed by her aunt on one day of her period, as per custom.
Explaining how these rituals made her feel bad about getting her period, Kavya said, “I knew a lot of restrictions were going to be imposed on me. I knew people would begin seeing me differently. When I got my period, I did not tell anyone for a day and prayed the whole night hoping it was not my period, worrying about how society, my parents, and my relatives would treat me. It should not be this hard for a 12-year-old.”
Though largely associated with Hinduism, puberty ceremonies cut across religions in Tamil Nadu. The puberty ceremony of Balasubbulakshmi, a woman born into a Christian family from Tirunelveli, did not have many rituals. But she recounts not being allowed to go outside her house for nearly two weeks. At the end of the two weeks, a small ceremony was held at her house, throughout which all Balasubbulakshmi could think about was how she could not wear skirts and shorts anymore as people kept telling her that she had become a periya manishi (a mature girl). Balasubbulakshmi said that Ayali resonated with her as she also hid her period from her family for six months because she wanted to postpone the restrictions that came with it, as much as possible.
Puberty ceremonies are also a way of announcing to the extended family that a girl has come of reproductive age – an indication by the girl’s parents to relatives that they must all look out for suitable marriage alliances for her in a few years. These ceremonies also announce which girl in the community needs to be watched closely, lest she goes ‘astray’. Either way, they celebrate a girl’s reproductive capacity without taking into account her consent or ability to take on the role of a parent.
“One of the most peculiar things about the ceremony was that my relatives and family friends congratulated my mother saying that she would become an aachi (grandmother) soon. People also asked my parents if they had saved enough gold, implying that I would get married soon, even though I was just 14,” recalled Balasubbulakshmi.
For 25-year-old Sharon (name changed), a Dalit Christian woman, her first period and puberty ceremony gave her and her mother a much-needed break from school and work. While none of her cousins have had puberty ceremonies owing to their religious location, Sharon said that her mother insisted on having one so that she could “fit in” with their Gounder (dominant-caste) neighbours in Coimbatore. “I did have a puberty ceremony but I don’t think it is a family thing. It was only because the people around us had this tradition, and my mother planned to have the function and involve the other women in the compound we were living in. Even my younger sister did not have a puberty ceremony. It was probably peer pressure for my mother,” she said, recollecting how the rituals in her ceremony resembled the ones followed by the Gounder community.
Sharon, who is now a creative producer in the media, said that she enjoyed the attention and was actually glad to get her period because she was the last among her friends and was teased for being late. “I remember feeling like a heroine during the ceremony. I was receiving attention from everyone, photographers were taking pictures of me, and I felt very pretty! I got gifts from everyone and I was made to feel like a star for one day,” she said. Although Sharon did not have restrictions like her counterparts from more conservative families, she did not go to school for a week. But this gave her and her mother time to unwind as both of them had taken time off from school and work and would watch Kamal Haasan movies together.
Although Sharon had a positive experience with her puberty ceremony, she thinks they are not necessary. “Any form of ceremony is an assertion of power. This power is associated with dominance and disrespect for women,” she said.
Srividya is of the opinion that the puberty ceremony in itself is archaic and that the menstruating person should decide if they want a ceremony or not. “Times have changed and so have the situations of young girls. They have more exposure and access to education. They can think for themselves and communicate their requirements, so it should be left to them to decide whether they want this ceremony or not,” she said.