We Don&rsquo;t Bleed Different &ldquo;Hello, my bleeder babies. I hope your Diwali was as lit as you all are, my phuljharisssss, my patakas, and my pookies!&rdquo;
But today, let&rsquo;s talk about the women who quietly light our homes, sweep away our chaos, and often bear their own storms in silence; our househelps. The ones we sometimes yell at when they switch off the fan to do jhadu, without ever realising that their stories carry the same shade of red as ours.
Because here&rsquo;s the truth&hellip; we don&rsquo;t bleed different.
From Ganguvala safed to chaand vaala safed, from Anjali vala laal to Jyotsanaben vala laal, the shades might differ, but the pain remains the same. Periods are universal, but comfort isn&rsquo;t.
For many of us, menstruation comes with a hot-water bag, rest days, and maybe a rant session on Instagram stories. For them, it comes with mopping floors, scrubbing utensils, and pretending it&rsquo;s just another day.
Some househelps still use old cloth, some newspaper, some even nothing at all, because sanitary pads are a luxury they can&rsquo;t afford. The red stain on their saree isn&rsquo;t just blood; it&rsquo;s the mark of how society grades dignity.
When I asked Jyotsanaben, my househelp, about it, she was shy at first, but eventually, girl to girl, she opened up.
&ldquo;I do get my periods, and some days are so painful that getting out of bed with that back pain makes me wish I were not a woman,&rdquo; she said softly. &ldquo;But I have to earn too. Pads are expensive, so I use a cotton cloth, and when I come back home in the evening, I change it.&rdquo;
That means twelve hours of labour, with the same piece of cloth, through cramps and exhaustion.
&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t say it out loud, but yes, mummy (your mother) gives me a pain relief pill when I don&rsquo;t feel good and asks my husband to do the heavier work. There&rsquo;s one more aunty here who talks about it sometimes; otherwise, no one does.&rdquo;
Vagmi Joshi puts it aptly, &ldquo;Very little, next to no concern, but yes, if we genuinely make an effort to ask her, then we do care. But it keeps changing from profession to profession. For example, if our mother is on her period, we&rsquo;d help her. But if our maid is, first of all, we wouldn&rsquo;t even know. And if she doesn&rsquo;t tell, how would we know how to help?&rdquo;
And that&rsquo;s the gap, not just of empathy, but of access, awareness, and conversation. Vagmi adds,
&ldquo;Privileges do affect and change certain settings, but these are need-based changes. We need to bring the change in those privileges through knowledge, attitude, and practice. Where knowledge lacks, education must step in; where attitude lacks, awareness must grow. Because for many women, that period leaves no time for resting.&rdquo;
Preeti Das takes it further, calling out the invisible walls that separate &ldquo;our comfort&rdquo; from &ldquo;their survival.&rdquo;
&ldquo;We never think about the women who clean our homes, offices, societies, and we don&rsquo;t even allow them to use our toilets. Caste logic is everywhere, and with it comes gender logic. Menstrual needs and rest for these women, the didis who clean roads, the ASHA workers are nil. Period leave itself is a matter of privilege. Privilege changes everything. It&rsquo;s not just about pain; it&rsquo;s about access. Access to money, to rest, to knowledge, to dignity.&rdquo;
And when we talk about period leave, we often picture air-conditioned offices and HR policies. But as Renu Pokharna reminds us,
&ldquo;The conversation shouldn&rsquo;t just be about period leaves; it should be about leave, period. Domestic workers don&rsquo;t even have the right to a regular day off. Construction workers, farm labourers, sugarcane factory workers, they have no bathrooms, no pads, no rest. They work 12 hours a day, often outdoors. That conversation has to move out of the air-conditioned offices and talk about all women, not just some women.&rdquo;
So maybe next time, when Didi walks in, tired but smiling, carrying her world in a plastic bag and a dignity the world forgets to notice, maybe just ask if she&rsquo;s okay. Maybe offer her a pad. Maybe make her a cup of chai. Because compassion, too, bleeds the same colour.

Househelps bleed too, let’s talk about dignity, access, and empathy beyond privilege

Let My Ben Bleed: Her Blood, Our Blindness

Househelps bleed too, let’s talk about dignity, access, and empathy beyond privilege

October 28, 2025 | 23:33 IST