We rarely talk about the first time we notice our genital organs or the changes that occur in these organs during puberty. Isn’t it so? Well, not with our dear Trisha (15). Her discovery of her pubic hair is quite a story and one with a hair-curling twist in the end. Curious? Well, come then read the diary page she shared with us.
In without permission
I remember the first time I noticed a strand of hair in my pubic area. It looked like a blade of grass. I remember feeling disappointed and cheated as if someone had grown something on my land without my permission. My pubis used to feel smooth and soft, my hands gliding over it. Now this one hair. It heralded the start of something grizzly and dirty and unwanted.
And then they grew. They grew long really fast, I thought. Mom asked me to keep them trimmed. And no razors, she added.
But I liked them longer. I sat for extra time in the bathroom, analysing their texture, examining their length, and trying to pull out one to see how much it could hurt.
My secret playtime
What I liked the most was twirling them between my fingertips. Like the wicks, my nanny would roll for the diyas during Diwali season. As the thatch grew, I began loving it. It felt bushy, like a cushion – soft and protective. When they grew longer and started to resemble the uncut grass in our garden, I would trim it carefully and wash the area with my favourite soap.
Of course, all this meant that the average time spent in the bathroom went up. Mom would send out a shout alert every now and then from her bedroom, where she sat by the window sipping tea and checking her class notebooks. Her eyes were everywhere. I could even feel them inside my bedsheet at night. How intrusive.
I decided to try out my secret little play out in the open. It was going to be in the cashew grove one afternoon after school. No one came to the big trees except for the maids who came to take their naps in the shade of those big trees. I wore my shorts and climbed one of the big branches and sat astride, my hands slipped in.
That wasn’t the plan
The next thing I remember is falling down with a shriek. Something had bitten me hard. A couple of white ants must have sneaked themselves into my pants, bringing an end to that afternoon experiment. I decided to restrict my playdates to Sunday bath times – the only day when extra time was allowed without any hollering since Sundays were shampoo days – up and down.
Photo: Shutterstock/Abhi-R-P /Person in the photo is a model. Names changed.
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