We, The Women
How these bright young ladies have formed a collective that encourages people to talk about women’s health issues openly, sans any embarrassment
The first time I got my periods or ‘chums’ as we named it in school, someone equally naïve told me I was dying because something had exploded inside my tummy. I waited for my mom to come home from work and when I told her, I remember she burst out laughing. Even though I studied in a girls’ school in the capital, we weren’t really told about female health till we studied it in class 12.
Now, one of the many online collaborations the pandemic has sparked off hopes to normalise talking about women’s health. It started when four women met virtually at a hackathon in 2020, and a casual chat between four 20-somethings turned into one about the lack of menstrual and women’s health awareness in India.
Navya Naveli Nanda, 23, Mallika Sahney, 26, Ahilya Mehta, 26, and Pragya Saboo, 27, had never met before they got on their first Zoom call in the first week of April 2020. Neither did they know that at the end of it they would be planning to bring their dream – Aara Health, an online platform that addresses women’s health and issues and hopes to give rise to a safe community – to life. This includes medically verified content on social media and bimonthly virtual community gatherings where women discuss everything from mental health to sex.
START NORMALISING MENSTRUAL HEALTH
Each of the four had different points in their lives when they realised the stigma associated with talking about women’s health, even though they all come from privileged, educated and broad-minded families. For Navya, it was gynaecologist visits with her mom when she felt uncomfortable talking about sexual health and birth control.
“That got me questioning why it felt uncomfortable to ask valid questions! Probably because I wasn’t told how to initiate such conversations?” she says.
Ahilya’s interest in women’s health was piqued when she worked during her gap year with an NGO based on the outskirts of Rajasthan that focussed on female sanitation. This showed her the extremes of suffering faced by women when they aren’t given a platform to speak about or communicate their grievances.
But for Pragya, an engineer who has worked in the healthcare sector in New York, the larger problem is that all healthcare in India needs more attention. “You go to Dr 1 and then Dr 2 says something conflicting, and you don’t know the next step to take. I’ve found myself in that situation many times,” she says.
Mallika, who attended a girls’ school in Mumbai, only experienced the ‘hush hush’ness that comes with women’s health in college.
“The first step is to start normalising menstruation and keep pads in school bathrooms. Women’s health was something we didn’t speak about or think about. It was when I went outside India to study that I realised that men and women both are okay talking about women’s wellness as a normal topic,” says Pragya.
Navya echoes that her time in college in the US made her see the stark difference between the healthcare system in India and abroad. “They had women making products for women. That made me wonder why we don’t have something like this in India.” And the seed of a women-centric company founded by women was planted in her head.
For Ahilya, this venture also needed to feel empowering, something she felt had been missing in her otherwise open co-ed Mumbai school.
PRIVILEGE PREP
When each of these women got their first period, they were prepared – to an extent.
“Mom would pack a period kit for me to take to school. But there was never conversation around sexual health even at school. It was always friends I turned to,” says Navya.
Mallika was en route to play tennis when she got her first period, which she was prepared for. But she was stunned by the cramps that came with it. Pragya didn’t have the sex conversation with her parents, and Ahilya is the only one who had a lot of conversations about the menstrual cycle, sex and safety pretty early in life.
“My friends would tell me that their parents aren’t as open as mine are. That itself made me realise that things aren’t the same for everyone when it comes to having an open dialogue about these topics,” she says.
Still, they regard themselves as privileged for it’s not the same for other girls and families in our country. “A sanitary pad is almost like a human right. It’s unfair that in certain locations people are unable to access it. It makes you feel grateful for the luxuries you have because there are women out there who
“WOMEN’S HEALTH WAS SOMETHING WE DIDN’T SPEAK ABOUT OR THINK ABOUT. IT WAS WHEN I WENT OUTSIDE INDIA TO STUDY THAT I REALISED THAT MEN AND WOMEN BOTH ARE OKAY TALKING ABOUT WOMEN’S WELLNESS” —PRAGYA SABOO
have to use leaves and cloth,” says Navya. This prompted them to hold a fundraiser to distribute pads in Mumbai during the lockdown.
NO CLASS DISPARITY
But there is disparity even between people who can afford pads. “Even while living in the most privileged family, you can have taboos in the house such as not being allowed to touch food or enter the kitchen and temple area. Fundamentally, it boils down to this: How is it that we are still fighting to talk about women’s health? It’s absurd that this isn’t normalised. It’s not about how progressive you are but what your beliefs are about the world,” says Pragya.
This inequality though is nothing new. Even progressive people can be naive about women’s rights or respect!
Not just social media, but pop culture in general needs to start having conversations about women’s health – be it in podcasts, magazines, OTT or social media.
“I loved Pad Man (2018), which was inspiring. But I would also love to see more ads covering not just sanitary pads but more than menstrual hygiene and women’s healthcare. And companies can follow suit by giving menstrual leave, like Zomato does,” says Navya.
But the idea is simple: The more avenues and places people are talking about it, the less stigma there will be over time, regardless of class.
During one group session, a girl told them that she had seen their Instagram post about checking for breast cancer, which had helped her diagnose her grandmother well in time.
“It’s insane that an Instagram post has done that. The reach and potential this platform has to change someone’s life in a second is great,” says Pragya. Their session on sex and emergency contraceptives had 35 women in attendance, and as they took the mental health angle, six women spoke about their experience taking it for the first time.
“They felt heard and validated that they aren’t bad people for taking the pill,” adds Ahilya. And it’s the personal connect with members that helps them ‘bring the soul back’ (which is what the word ‘aara’ means) to healthcare.
“We don’t want to be profit-focussed but to give back to society. So, even though people in rural areas may not be our consumers today, they will be tomorrow,” says Navya.
Clearly, knowledge and acceptance does not depend on economics or class.
“A SANITARY PAD IS ALMOST LIKE A HUMAN RIGHT. IT’S UNFAIR THAT IN CERTAIN PLACES PEOPLE ARE UNABLE TO ACCESS IT” —NAVYA NAVELI NANDA