I remember the first time I got my periods. I can sense the discomfort the previous sentence would have caused. Although a biological process, menstruation is deemed a taboo and makes most people uncomfortable, especially in an Indian family like the one I am from. It was finals week of grade 6, and I had my English grammar exam that day, not my strongest subject as a bilingual kid. To add to the drama, I hit puberty just before the exam. I went home and after two hours of careful deliberation and few fits of panic I said something along the lines of,     

“Mom, I think I got my periods.”

All hell broke loose. I was given one corner of the master bedroom, with my own set of utilities. In other words, I was secluded. I was confused and felt attacked amongst other nuances that would be more appropriate for another essay, while a storm of traditions and rituals whirled past me.

       Spending time became an endless task. One of my good friends, Neena: a high school student whom I believed knew more about the world than I ever will, came to visit me. She was an avid reader who carried an air of wisdom with a petite build that did not justify her huge appetite. We were from the same part of India and shared experiences that only the other would understand. We also argued about our conflict of interests when it came to literature. I have been reading ever since I could, but I limited myself to ‘Nancy Drew’, ‘Enid Blyton’ or ‘Illustrated Classics’ insisting that fantasy was a bunch of improbabilities that may never occur on Earth and nonfiction was far too boring. I read to improve my English, but I wasn’t too keen on exploring. That day, we talked about our experiences with periods and our conversation took a tangent to something like this,

Neena: “I got the entire series of Harry Potter if you want to read”

Aparna: “Meenu, you know that I hated the movie, we just watched it two months ago and you dragged me despite my protests”

Neena: “You didn’t give the movie a chance. How else are you going to spend time? This is what I did, during my first time. I am going to leave the books here, it’s your choice after that”

For the rest of the day, I let the books rest by my bedside. I had the darkest thoughts swirl through my mind, followed by spurts of hatred for being a girl. I enjoyed great food and undying attention, but the customs didn’t make any sense in my foreign head that didn’t grow up in India. The next day when I felt like my own thoughts would gobble me, I picked up my first Harry Potter book: ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s stone’. What followed was pure magic! I was reading a story about an 11-year child who was isolated from his family just like me. The days that followed felt like mere minutes. I was a five feet girl draped in a saree that was six yards long, guests flowed in and out of the house, but nothing mattered except waking up each day to join Harry Potter in the adventure he was partaking in that day.

       I read through all seven books in an alarming speed drinking in the vivid imagery and subtle values the book imparted. Once I was done with Harry Potter I couldn’t get enough of fantasy, I plunged into the ‘Percy Jackson’ series ‘The Alchemist’ and ‘The Shiva Trilogy’ among others. I experimented with dystopian fiction and binge-read ‘Hunger Games’ and ‘The Divergent’ trilogies one after the other. With the arrival of my teenage years, I read potboilers like ‘The Fault in Our Stars’ while running down other works by John Green and Nicholas Sparks. My lifelong enmity against non-fiction was broken with books like ‘In My Dreams I Dance’, ‘The Girl who Escaped ISIS’ and ‘My Experiments with the Truth’. These works turned out to be some of my most favorite books. I continued to read realistic fiction through authors like Khaled Hosseini, James Patterson, and Jeffrey Archer.

       Books transcended from something I must read to improve my English, to an essential component in my life, my first love. I could see the wisdom Neena possessed, slowly carving its way into my personality. I knew I could make it through any kind of reality if I had these books feeding my fantasy. This strength gave me new-found confidence. A natural consequence was a better hold over the English language which drastically improved my writing and communication skills. The following year the English Grammar exam was the one I prepared the least for and I was most confident about. This experience taught me how important it was to experiment. I began to love experimenting, to the extent that I moved to another continent to pursue higher education. I knew the moment I was done with that first book I will never feel ashamed or uncomfortable with periods or the experience of being a woman. Afterall we were the witches the muggles couldn’t comprehend. So, for the next two months after the very first time I bled, when I was told that I was not to leave the house, I couldn’t care less, I had witches, words, and womanhood waiting for me!