In Rural UP, One Teacher Helped 4500 Students Talk Openly About Periods for the First Time

The air in Malihabad, Uttar Pradesh, is fragrant with mango orchards. Inside a sunlit classroom at Vidyasthali School, a different kind of change is taking root.

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“Today we will study about menstruation,” announces Zarine Garcia, standing at the front of a Class 11 classroom.

Her words land heavily. A hush follows, punctuated by nervous giggles and the soft shuffle of notebooks held up for cover. For the teenagers, laughter is a shield for discomfort. For Zarine, it is the first crack in a wall of silence.

Lessons beyond textbooks

Zarine is the Director of Youth Leadership Development at the Study Hall Educational Foundation (SHEF) in Lucknow — an organisation that runs a network of schools and outreach programmes focused on quality education, girls’ empowerment, and social justice. But in these classrooms, she is much more than an educator. She’s an advocate, a mentor, and a patient guide helping young people understand their bodies with respect and clarity.

Her sessions go far beyond textbook diagrams. They are about dignity, agency, and giving students the language to talk about something often hidden in silence.

“Many girls don’t even know the names of their anatomy,” she says softly. “They should. It’s the first step to self-care.”

At first, students lower their faces, embarrassed. Boys shift in their seats. Girls giggle behind notebooks. But by the second or third session, something changes. Hands rise — timidly at first, then with confidence. Questions flow, honest and unfiltered.

And by the end, one question always returns: “Ma’am, when will you come again?”

When pain became purpose

Zarine’s path to this work winds through several countries and turning points.

Born to an Indian mother and Venezuelan father, she grew up in the United States, lived in Honduras, and has spent the last eight years in Uttar Pradesh. Each place shaped her understanding of culture, identity, and womanhood — lessons that now echo through her classrooms.

Her mission began with her own pain. In her late twenties, Zarine began experiencing severe menstrual cramps. Doctors dismissed her concerns, prescribing painkillers without real explanations.

“I felt invisible,” she recalls. “As if pain was something women were simply meant to endure.”

Frustrated, she turned to self-study. What she found transformed her perspective: menstrual cycles weren’t a curse or inconvenience, but a vital indicator of health.

Determined to learn more, she trained as a holistic reproductive health practitioner and fertility awareness educator. “It was liberating,” she says. “If I could learn to listen to my body, why shouldn’t every girl and boy have the same chance?”

Turning homes into hubs of change

That belief — that awareness could empower — was tested during the COVID-19 lockdown, when sanitary pads vanished from store shelves across Uttar Pradesh.

From her home, Zarine responded swiftly. She filmed a simple video tutorial showing how to stitch reusable cloth pads using old towels and clothes. The idea spread quickly. Students stitched their own pads, brothers helped at sewing machines, and families in Malihabad turned kitchens into small workshops of creativity and care.

“During the lockdown, we weren’t just talking about pads,” Zarine reflects. “We were talking about dignity.”

What began as a crisis response became a community movement — one that normalised conversations about periods, care, and sustainability in homes that had never spoken about them before.

Changing minds in rural Uttar Pradesh

In a state where menstruation is still wrapped in whispers and shame, Zarine’s sessions offer a lifeline.

Khushi Kannaujia, a Class 11 student, recalls a moment at a shop. A man whispered about the “disease” women suffer, sliding a packet of pads across the counter as if it were contraband. “It made me feel ashamed,” she admits. “But after Zarine ma’am’s session, I know better. It’s not a disease. It’s natural.”

For Nishtha Vishwakarma, another student, the memory of her first period remains vivid. “I was crying. I felt disgusted. Nobody explained what was happening,” she says. “Now, I understand my body. I’m not afraid anymore.”

Even boys have begun rethinking what they were taught. Abhay Diwakar, a 17-year-old science student, says, “I first heard about periods when my mother said she couldn’t do chores because of pain. Later, I studied it in Class 10. But here I understood it’s not impure blood — it’s a sign of health. As boys, I think we should also know. I wish my father could learn too, so we could talk openly.”

Each conversation, each session, chips away at old taboos. With every question asked aloud, a little more shame disappears from the room.

The ripple effect of a single lesson

Zarine formally joined the Study Hall Educational Foundation in January 2018, after volunteering for several months the previous year. Her first session on menstruation in Malihabad took place around 2019.

Since then, she has reached more than 4,500 people — mostly adolescents, but also mothers and teachers — across over 35 schools and communities in Uttar Pradesh.

Change in her classrooms doesn’t happen overnight. The first session is heavy with hesitation, but by the third, silence gives way to dialogue.

Her influence now stretches far beyond school walls. At home, girls ask fathers and brothers for help without shame. In schools, teachers openly discuss menstruation in staffrooms, even with male colleagues present. Across communities, reusable pads circulate — not as taboo objects, but as symbols of self-reliance and pride.

“Menstrual education shouldn’t just be about hygiene,” Zarine insists. “It’s about health, self-respect, and changing mindsets.”

Her approach has sparked a slow but steady transformation — one that begins with awareness and grows into confidence.

What stays after the session ends

As the bell rings at Vidyasthali School, students gather their bags, chattering and laughing. One girl lingers at the door, hesitant but smiling.

“Ma’am,” she says softly, “please come back soon. We have more questions.”

For Zarine Garcia, this is the real measure of success — not the number of pads made or sessions held, but the courage of a young person who wants to keep talking.

In the mango-scented lanes of Malihabad, where old beliefs once equated menstruation with impurity, a steady revolution is unfolding. With each conversation, Zarine is proving that silence can be broken and dignity restored.

“There’s plenty of focus on pads and hygiene,” she says. “But the real issue is mindset — shame and lack of body literacy. Menstruation isn’t just about reproduction; it’s a fundamental sign of health. If we can just start talking, many other barriers will fall away.”

In Malihabad’s classrooms, change doesn’t arrive with slogans — it begins with a question no one hesitates to ask anymore. Here, change isn’t loud or sweeping; it’s the moment a young person realises they deserve to understand, not just obey.