Passing the Pad:
A Whispering Game By Garima Banepali “Have you got one?” “May I borrow…?” These are some questions we asked with hesitation and embarrassment. But the hidden word in those questions is “PAD”. It’s like talking on a covert operation when you ask for a pad. During my school days, I still remember how abashed I was as I had whispered it to my friend, she barely gave any reaction […]
The Blood was Natural; the Shame was Learnt
BY: GARIMA She was twelve when it happened. Just an ordinary school morning, getting dressed, when she noticed the stain; dark red, spreading across her underwear. Her hands started shaking before her mind caught up. She hadn’t fallen. Hadn’t hurt herself. So why was she bleeding? Then the cramp hit, sharp enough to fold her in half. The blood didn’t stop. […]
The Lifelong, Unpaid Labor of Nepali Women
BY: GARIMA Every morning, before the rest of the family wakes up, she is already busy. She prepares breakfast, packs lunch boxes, sweeps the house, boils tea, and makes sure everyone leaves home on time. By the time she finally sits down with her own cup of tea, it is often cold. Nobody applauds her […]
The Law Said Yes. The System Said No:
BY: GARIMA Nepal’s Unsafe Abortion Emergency Imagine a young woman, maybe 28, maybe 18, living in a rural village in the hills of Karnali. She missed her period. She’s worried. She knows there’s a health institution somewhere, but it’s a six-hour walk away, the roads wash out in the rain, and she can’t tell her husband. So she does what women in her community with the same situation […]
Passing the Pad
BY: GARIMA A Whispering Game “Have you got one?” “May I borrow…?” These are some questions we asked with hesitation and embarrassment. But the hidden word in those questions is “PAD”. It’s like talking on a covert operation when you ask for a pad. During my school days, I still remember how abashed I was as I had whispered it to my friend, she barely gave any […]
From Curiosity to the Ink Mark
BY: GARIMA My Journey to Voting I remember being a kid, watching my parents come home on election day with that small ink mark on their fingers. I’d stare at it, maybe even touch it, and wonder what the big deal was. It seemed like such a small, ordinary thing. I had no idea what it meant then. Now […]