‘Period. End of Sentence’: Transforming a Taboo into a Cause

If you are an urban Indian woman, chances are that you’ve been asked at some point to desist from touching or staining or entering spaces while on your period. Temples and other religious sites are off limits. In certain homes, so are kitchens. This is such a normalized phenomenon, that most Indian women will not blink at it. When buying pads at the local store, chances are that the owner has wrapped the pack in newspaper so your period will remain private, not to be carried or seen out in the open. In Bengal, even today, albeit under protest by feminists, the term “shorir kharap,” or sickness, is colloquial phrasing for menstruation. In the Indian rural context, a period may be considered a curse or the onset of shame, to be covered up at all costs, rendering a woman unclean. And while times are changing and Indian women are in open and often defiant celebration of their bodies, the conversation in villages and smaller towns has only just begun.

A new documentary by Rayka Zehtabchi, Period. End of Sentence, has been nominated for an Oscar this year, in the shorts category. Zehtabchi, 25, is of Iranian-American descent, raised in Southern California. The film follows a group of women in rural Hapur district, outside of Delhi, India, as they transition from crippling shame at their own menstrual cycles to creating the beginnings of a microeconomy, based on a low-cost sanitary napkin machine. Arunachalam Muruganantham, an entrepreneur from Tamil Nadu, famously created the pad machine to spare his wife the trauma of having to reuse unhygienic rags for her period. This is not the stuff of rom-coms, however—Shanti was displeased at her pioneering husband’s interest in her or anyone else’s period, and the couple fought vigorously over his desire to have her experiment with pads. In her experience, men were excluded from any conversation around the gynecological properties of women’s bodies. Anything else invited unwelcome attention.

Prior to Zehtabchi’s team entering their lives, the women of Hapur had little idea what pads were, and certainly did not have the resources to afford them. For Zehtabchi, this was a sea-change in perspective. “We have entire aisles for pads and tampons when we go to stores,” she observes. “We don’t think about it because it is at our disposal. When I went to India, we heard about women using rags and leaves and even ashes to deal with their period. They were dropping out of schools, hiding from society, seriously hindered by this. It was a huge cultural difference.”

In 2013, a group of female students at Oakwood, a North Hollywood private school, found themselves in a unique position. One of them, Helen Yenser, had visited a United Nations Commission on the Status of Women that focused on the impact of taboos around menstruation on women in countries such as Afghanistan, India and Nigeria. Girls in these chapter schools were dropping out because of their lack of access to feminine hygiene products and the trauma that ensued as a result. When Yenser and her mother, Melissa Berton (a high school English teacher at Oakwood and, like Yenser and the other Oakwood students, a producer on the project), returned from the trip, they wanted to raise funds for pad machines. Berton also suggested that the team make a documentary. Says Yenser, “People in the activist world wondered why we would pour money into a film instead of the machine. We could make a film and have one machine or instead, have three or four machines. My mom had the foresight to see that if we made a good film, we might raise money for eight machines.”

Producer Garret Schiff is father to Ruby Schiff, one of the Oakwood students involved in the pad project (both Schiffs are producers on the film). During their time as film students at USC, Zehtabchi and her boyfriend and creative partner, Sam Davis (editor and cinematographer on the film), had worked with Garret Schiff on a project. Soon after Rayka’s graduation, Schiff called her to pitch the documentary. “I didn’t hesitate,” says Zehtabchi. “My first official Pad Project meeting for the film was walking into a room of high school girls who were going to be my executive producers. It was a really cool experience because I’m a young female filmmaker and I felt very connected to the girls and their journey of activist work.”

In the first few minutes of Period. End of Sentence, two pre-teen girls from Hapur melt into giggles of embarrassment at having to discuss their period. The older women exhibit quiet rage at having to live lives of seclusion, away from a pervasive male gaze, because of their period. Zehtabchi’s oldest female subject, at least 60, calls it dirty blood and a mysterious illness. Then, Zehtabchi captures the arrival of the pad machine in Hapur. The women are equal parts terrified and eager—the men have been told that it is a machine that makes diapers for children. Once trained, the women make enough pads for personal use as well as commercial sale, quickly evolving into a small business. This is no small impact, onscreen or in its message. “It was crazy that we saw a real-time transition and shift,” Zehtabchi remarks. “I would never have expected that we would come back to India, six months after my first trip, and see that the women had made about 18,000 pads that they were trying to package and market. They were whispering about the pads to their aunts and sisters and friends. That was when they started to open up. I think the presence of the pad machine and our efforts at opening up the conversation reassured them that it was okay to talk about periods.”

The Oakwood girls and Zehtabchi say that they were aware that they were making a film about a foreign culture, from what may be a position of privilege. Zehtabchi observes, “We were filming people telling us things that they don’t want to be talking about, so we were always trying to not be invasive, especially with the camera. And in the edit. For example, we walked into a co-ed classroom, unannounced, in India. The teacher asked the 15-year-old students if anyone could tell her what menstruation was. And there’s a shot in the film of a young girl who’s called upon, and she stands up completely petrified. In the film, there is about 30 seconds where she literally cannot say a word. In real life we got about three minutes of footage of her where it seemed like she was going to faint. It was so hard to watch and realize that the shame was so painful. In the edit, part of you wants to indulge in the drama of it and continue that shot for as long as you can. And then you realize what it is to be respectful and sensitive and not exploit them.” Echoes Yenser, “I never wanted it to be a film that said, ‘Look at these poor women, at this backward village.’The United States also has issues with menstruation and stigma around it. When we added pads and tampons to low-income schools in New York, attendance went up. When I saw the film, it was a relief.”

Yenser, currently a screenwriting student at USC, describes an incident in one of her MFA classes. “As part of an introduction, we were asked to name an interesting extra-curricular that we did,” she recounts. “I said, ‘My name is Helen and my extracurricular is this documentary about periods.’ The reaction I essentially got was, ‘That’s so weird.’ I was asked to have a better lead-in to that because there were guys in this classroom who may not be comfortable with me talking about my period. It reminded me that I had been advertising this film for seven years and I forget that some people may not be as comfortable.”

Period. End of Sentence is visually rich, with the shawls and tapestries and faces of wintertime in Hapur. This is Zehtabchi’s first documentary, a medium in which making cinematic choices while trying to capture moments of truth before they are lost is notoriously challenging. “My background and training is in narrative storytelling with tight story structure and character arcs,” she explains. “When I came to this potential documentary idea, I knew that I wanted a beautiful film that took audiences on a journey with these characters, rather than a straight journalistic treatment.” Zehtabchi speaks no Hindi, the language of the film. Both she and Berton testify to the enormous aid extended to them by Action India, a grassroots feminist organization in India, for the three years that it took to get the requisite permissions for filming. For Zehtabchi in particular, the value of a local producer and translator—in this case, Mandakini Kakar—was invaluable. “Mandy would conduct interviews and break every ten minutes to give us a quick summary,”Zehtabchi recalls. “We would pivot based on those responses. I would have detailed conversations with her and map out an outline of all the points that I wanted to hit in the film or topics I wanted to dig deeper into.”

Zehtabchi and Kakar, after dozens of interviews, secured subjects whose anger and strength shine through the film. Central to the narrative is Sneha, an aspiring police officer, who would like to be saved from the prospect of marriage, and like the other women, remains fearful of the reactions that the film might get, especially from the men in their lives. This fear was dispelled only after a joyous first screening. “It was hard enough to film in a foreign country, but harder to film a painfully taboo topic, in a village,” Zehtabchi observes. “We were often surrounded by a crowd, mostly men, obviously interested in what we were doing. It was important to protect the women and yet navigate this intimate topic. Mandakini was a wonderful producer, and that was key because we were making such a low-budget film and didn’t have much time to film in the villages. For me, after a certain period of time and spending time with the women and talking to them through Mandy, things began to fall into place. I could put myself in their shoes—times in my life where I’ve been afraid of something and it’s held me back. It was heartbreaking to see that the thing that was holding them back is really the thing that gives them strength and should be empowering them.”

Zehtabchi and Davis returned to Los Angeles to edit their film in true low-budget style—in their apartment. This was a period of collaboration with the Oakwood students and Berton, who watched cuts and provided feedback, both positive and dissenting. For a final version, another Oakwood parent came on board, editor Doug Blush, who is also credited as an executive producer on the film. (Another Oakwood parent and producer on the film is prominent publicist and Oscar campaign strategist Lisa Taback.) Berton describes the film’s journey as “kismet-y”: “Everybody was inspired by her or his daughter. Gary Schiff came on because he was moved by his daughter; Lisa Taback, by her daughter; Guneet Monga , by Stacey Sher’s daughter. I think it’s been the students’ bravery and their willingness to be front-and-center about a topic that’s still touchy in the United States. Here were a bunch of high school students saying that girls and women should be free to talk about their period. I think they were so irresistible that their parents came on board to help. One of the parents was our accountant.”

The film is a beginning of a universal, extended conversation that one hopes that Zehtabchi and the Oakwood students will utilize their reach and access to continue, both in the rural and urban context, across countries. The Oscars are a leap towards some of that awareness, and the girls of Oakwood, the women of Hapur and Zehtabchi will attend with their team. Notes Yenser, “It’s like Suman says in the film: ‘Everything in the patriarchy takes time.’ I’ve always loved that line because I feel like the same thing can be said of the United States, or really any society.”

Period. End of Sentence will screen as part of IDA’s DocuDay, a daylong showcase of the Academy Award-nominated documentaries, taking place at the Writers Guild of America theater in Beverly Hills.

Nayantara Roy is a writer and producer based in Los Angeles. During the day, she works in unscripted development at AGBO Films.

A ‘Period’ Movie Won The Oscar! So Why Are Some Menstrual Health Experts Ambivalent?

Producer Melissa Berton (center) and director Rayka Zehtabchi (right) accept an Oscar for their documentary ‘Period. End of Sentence.’ Kevin Winter/Getty Images hide caption

toggle caption Kevin Winter/Getty Images

Producer Melissa Berton (center) and director Rayka Zehtabchi (right) accept an Oscar for their documentary ‘Period. End of Sentence.’

Kevin Winter/Getty Images

The moment the Oscar for best documentary short was announced, Marni Sommer’s email account started blowing up.

The award last Sunday night went to Period. End of Sentence, a 26-minute film that profiles women in an Indian village who band together to manufacture affordable menstrual pads.

Sommer, a professor at Columbia University, is one of a small group of public health scholars who for years have been trying to convince fellow researchers and policymakers that the fact that many poor women lack access to menstrual products and hygiene is a serious problem. (For a sense of how lonely Sommer’s crusade was during the early years you can read this NPR piece.)

Now Hollywood was giving their often taboo subject the star treatment.

So Sommer says the tone of her colleagues’ emails was largely “just utter delight that had achieved this level of awareness-raising and attention.” And on that point, she adds, “I one hundred percent concur. I’ve got a colleague who for two decades has been saying, ‘We’ve got to break the silence around menstruation.’ And I wrote her, ‘Well, I think we’ve smashed it.’ “

But the joy has been tempered by some nagging concerns – particularly around the movie’s catch phrase – proclaimed by producer Melissa Berton as she signed off her acceptance speech: “A period should end a sentence — not a girl’s education.”

“As beautiful as that quote is,” says Sommer, with a sigh, “in terms of the evidence, I don’t think we’re that far along.” That’s because to date no one has actually done a rigorous study demonstrating that girls’ difficulties managing their periods are leading them to miss class — let alone drop out of school.

To be sure, as girls in poor countries reach puberty, substantial shares leave school – either by choice or because their families pull them out. Also, in a series of small, focus-group style studies in a range of countries, girls have reported that they lack adequate menstrual hygiene supplies. And says, Sommer, girls have reported “that this is one of many issues that makes engaging in and participating regularly in school problematic.”

But that’s a far cry from proving that the barriers to menstrual hygiene are causing educational harm – for example that, as a result, girls are forced to skip class or that they drop out altogether.

And Sommer notes that there are plenty of other possible explanations for why so many girls stop their schooling at puberty. Their families may believe it’s now time for them to get married. Or the parents might worry that once a girl reaches her teens, spending time outside the home could lead her into a relationship in which she gets pregnant. Or, often the girl drops out because she has gotten pregnant.

It’s also possible that the challenges around menstrual hygiene are one of a constellation of factors that combine to end a girls’ education. That, as Sommer puts it, “it’s one more thing that makes going to school difficult” – and therefore can tip the scales in favor of dropping out.

Which explanation is correct? “I would say it’s an excellent question,” says Sommer. Unfortunately, when it comes to mounting research studies that could answer it, “the funding just hasn’t been there.”

Sommer has been trying to change that. In fact, she’s organizing a meeting in Geneva in March for scholars and policy makers from disciplines ranging from adolescent health to education to sanitation infrastructure. They will review the existing evidence around menstrual hygiene challenges and lay out specific gaps that researchers could fill.

She’s also looking forward to the results of a study currently underway in Kenya led by Penelope Phillips-Howard of the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine in the United Kingdom. That study is testing whether providing girls menstrual cups (an alternative to a pad) can extend the number of years they stay in school. (A similar study in Uganda suggested it can – but those findings also came with significant caveats. For instance, more than half of the girls in the study turned out to be too young to get their periods.)

Yet even as Sommer argues for the necessity of such studies, she’s ambivalent about what they imply. That’s because of a second quibble she and some of her colleagues have with the “a period should end a sentence – not a girl’s education” trope: It suggests that menstrual hygiene is only worth addressing to the extent that it impacts education.

Sure, says Sommer, if studies do end up showing a link, that will be helpful in making the case to governments and donors that they should address menstrual hygiene barriers. But even if it turns out there isn’t much of a connection to educational outcomes, being able to manage your period “is a human right,” says Sommer. “We shouldn’t have to justify that girls are deserving of an environment where they can just meet their basic bodily needs.”

Lastly, Sommer is disappointed that the recent surge of interest in menstrual hygiene – as exemplified by the documentary — has “this intense focus on pads as the solution. This idea that if we just provide pads we’re going to solve the problem.”

She points to many other barriers to managing periods in school that could be equally or possibly more serious: Many schools lack running water to wash your hands and toilets with doors you can lock for privacy.

“The studies out there are not looking at toilets,” Sommer laments. “Somehow, no one finds toilets sexy.”

Then there’s the problem of teachers who are unaware and even insensitive to girls’ needs. And the dearth of education for girls about menstruation and how to manage it.

“Providing girls with a product can only get you so far if you don’t have the enabling environment in the school, supportive teachers and information about what’s happening to your body,” says Sommer.

Also crucial to address, she adds, is the way many cultures stigmatize menstruation to the point that girls are unable to talk about it and even forced to isolate themselves when they are menstruating. “I was just in Nepal and seeing the way girls are not able to go into temples, not able to cook, was really profound,” she says. “There are these immense restrictions around girls’ lives that have become normalized.”

Period. End of Sentence does at least touch on this last point, says Sommer. And she’s hopeful that the result will be to prompt deeper examination and unpacking of the prejudices animating such attitudes.

“The benefit of this movie is that it opens the conversation,” she says.

And who knows, maybe someday someone will even make a movie about toilets for girls. “Well, probably not,” adds Sommer, laughing. But a researcher can dream.

Period. End of Sentence Review: The Oscar Winning Documentary is Aspirational in Principle, Impactful in General

Period. End of Sentence

Director: Rayka Zehtabchi

Editor: Sam A Davis

Cinematography: Sam A Davis

The world of Period. End of Sentence is one of uninhibited dreams, of clear skies and open fields. The film, however, is about hope that gets stifled in the wake of patriarchy. But as one of the protagonists says, “We will work hard still,” that sums up the irony.

Rayka Zehtabchi’s short directorial is aimed at unwrapping stigma, fear, insecurity, ignorance and bad education, inherent in a woman’s life. Her tool–a humble looking sanitary pad. The film opens inside a room, two girls in their adolescent years, shying away when asked to talk about menstruation.

Yes that is what we are initially offered with–reality misconstrued and bitter truths that surround menstruating women. Then it slowly starts to unravel the myth.

As is revealed, we all know of it but we don’t talk about it. “Menstruation is the biggest taboo in India”, points out Arunachalam Murauganantham, the social activist from Coimbatore, who is leading the crusade of making India into a 100 per cent sanitary napkin using country.

Zehtabchi presents us with a series of carefully placed interviews, of both men and women, who essentially travel to the heart of the problem/s that come by virtue of being born a woman. Ladies have to walk inside farmlands, or cover long distances during late evenings to dispose off used clothes (makeshift sanitary napkins), and worse still, have to face embarrassment when the said clothes are brought back on streets by stray dogs.

Since serious problems are brewing on surface, a definitive solution needs to be arrived at immediately.

We meet characters that champion the filmmaker’s cause. We are introduced to Sneha, Rekha, Shabana and other unnamed heroes of the film that are entrepreneurial, self-sufficient, smart and empathetic. Here, they are not dealing with issues limited only to their village, but are shouting out at the ones that are much bigger than them.

The capitalist economy is their target, one that is making big bucks by selling the second best thing, only on the basis that their product is backed by some MNC, functioning under the garb of women emancipation. These venturing women want to market their product and in the process, reach out to others like them so that the community grows and benefits.

The technique used by the director in shooting the film is what makes the participating women a significant voice in the narrative. The subject is never placed in front of the camera, while they talk, not unless they want to address us directly. This way, the interviewer gets them to talk about sexual health, safe hygiene practices and their life, freely.

When aspirations are unfazed by reality, yet are grounded in it, the only way is onward and upward. The film clarifies this belief in company of tenacious women, united in shame, joy, love and period.

Period. End of Sentence is currently streaming on Netflix and is nominated for the 91st Academy Awards in the Short Documentary category.

Stars: 3.5/5

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Oscars: India-Set ‘Period. End of Sentence’ Tackles Taboos Around Menstruation

The Oscar-winning documentary short is shot in a village near Delhi and revolves around women battling patriarchy to manufacture cost-effective sanitary pads.

“I’m not crying because I’m on my period or anything! I can’t believe a film about menstruation just won an Oscar,” 25-year-old Iranian-American director Rayka Zehtabchi said in her acceptance speech after winning the Academy Award for best documentary short Period. End of Sentence. Her speech highlighted how the taboos around periods are a global issue, and not just in India where the film is set.

The film, which is streaming on Netflix currently, was created by The Pad Project, an organization established by students at the Oakwood School in Los Angeles and their teacher Melissa Berton, who also served as producer, while India’s Guneet Monga served as executive producer via her Sikhya Entertainment banner, which has produced such breakouts as The Lunchbox and Masaan.

Period. End of Sentence revolves around a group of women in Kathikera village near the town of Hapur — about 70 miles away from India’s capital Delhi in the state of Uttar Pradesh — who battle patriarchy to set up a cost-effective pad making machine pioneered by Arunachalam Muruganantham, who is considered India’s “Pad Man.” Muruganantham, who makes an appearance in the film, invented the machine after he realized the troubles his wife was facing due to the lack of affordable sanitary pads for rural women. His story also inspired the Bollywood film PadMan starring Akshay Kumar which was co-produced by Sony Pictures Entertainment India.

The taboos around menstruation in India and the lack of hygienic sanitary products leads to almost a third of Indian girls missing school during their periods.

Dedicating the award to her school, Berton said the project was born because her students in L.A. and people in India wanted to make a “human rights difference.” She added: “I share this award with the Feminist Majority Foundation, the entire team and cast. I share this with the teachers and students around the world — a period should end a sentence, not a girl’s education.”

The film’s Oscar win has seen the likes of Reese Witherspoon to Priyanka Chopra pouring in congratulatory messages on social media.

Reese Witherspoon tweeted “A period should end a sentence, not a girls education” – best quote of the night ✨#OSCARS @NoShamePeriod #bestdocshort.

“One of the most special moments of the evening…a film based on the taboos around menstruation wins BEST DOCUMENTARY SHORT! Congratulations to the entire #PeriodEndOfSentence team, and my fearless friend @GuneetMonga!! #Oscars2019”, tweeted Chopra.

Director Mira Nair (Monsoon Wedding) also lauded Monga and added, “Hurrah for women taking action!”

“Much needed topic of discussion and well deserved win,” tweeted Kumar to his 29.6 million followers.

Speaking from L.A. soon after the ceremony at the Dolby Theatre, Monga told The Hollywood Reporter: “Now that we won the Oscar, let’s go change the world! This is the reason all of us girls got together to make this film.”

In a statement issued shortly afterward, Monga thanked the Academy for “recognizing the efforts of the young girls from Oakwood school in L.A. to Kathikera in Uttar Pradesh in helping us shatter the glass ceiling.” She added: “Periods are normal and in no way do they stop us from achieving anything.”

Monga also said that “this has been more than 10 years of work by Action India run by Gauri Chaudhary on educating reproductive rights on the ground in many villages. Feminist Majority Movement and Girls Learn International have been pushing this cause in the U.S…. Here’s to more girl power…I really want every girl to know that each one of them is a goddess.”

Local media outlets reported how the family of Sneha, one of the women in Kathikera village who was featured in the documentary and who also traveled to L.A. for the ceremony, celebrated the Oscar win.

Period. End of Sentence. is the second Oscar-winning documentary short set in India, along with Smile Pinki (2008) which revolved around a five-year-old girl in rural India who undergoes an operation to correct her cleft lip.

THR had predicted the Oscar win for Period. End of Sentence describing it as “the sole nominee with a local connection and/or that leaves viewers hopeful.”

“I’m not crying because I’m on my period or anything. I can’t believe a film about menstruation just won an Oscar.” So began the funny, emotional acceptance speech of director Rayka Zehtabchi, who claimed the best short documentary award for Period. End of Sentence, a 26-minute film about attitudes to menstruation in rural India, at last night’s Oscars.

The film focuses on the lives of women and girls in a village outside Delhi, where stigma about menstruation is high. Access to sanitary products is so limited that women often have to miss school or even drop out of education entirely as a result of getting their period. The documentary follows the village as it is given equipment to manufacture sanitary pads, with the help of funds raised by an American school.

The Oscar win is notable because it brings the subject of menstruation to the fore—not just for the benefit of India’s culture, but Western audiences as well. The documentary details an extreme situation in which women are ostracized for bleeding and both genders are barely educated about the realities of monthly periods. But the speeches by Zehtabchi and producer Melissa Berton are a reminder that the film’s subject matter is still a taboo in the West. Tampon advertising might be commonplace, but people still don’t talk about periods much in the public domain, and certainly not in Hollywood. American Honey, Andrea Arnold’s 2016 coming-of-age movie, in which protagonist Sasha Lane removes a bloody tampon during a sex scene, was a rare instance of film including this near-ubiquitous fact of human life.

Despite its efforts to catch-up with Hollywood’s diversity issues, the Oscars still present a view of humanity that’s sanitized and highly groomed: Most women in expensive dresses and elongating high-heels, most men in suits. Julia Roberts’ display of underarm hair at a film premier back in 1999 is still cited as subversive of the norm.

A win for Period. End of Sentence. is good news for public discourse about menstruation, but we’re still nearer the beginning than the end of that discussion.

The creators of “Period. End of Sentence” opened up about how stigma associated with menstruation limits women around the globe.

Friday on “The View,” director Rayka Zehtabchi, producer Melissa Berton and co-executive producer Claire Sliney of “Period” open up about the film and the impact shaming menstruation has on women.

The Netflix film–focused on how menstruation limits women’s education and prosperity in India–received a lot of buzz after being awarded best documentary short subject at the Oscars this year.

“I’m not crying because I’m on my period or anything,” Zehtabchi said at the Academy Awards. “I can’t believe a film about menstruation just won an Oscar!”

On “The View,” Zehtabchi told the co-hosts about the limited access women have to sanitary products, and how they’re often “treated like contraband.”

Furthermore, for these women to believe there is something inherently wrong with them during their cycle “really holds women back in other aspects of their lives,” Zehtabchi continued.

The idea for the film was sparked when producer Berton, who was a high school English teacher in Los Angeles, was approached to be the faculty sponsor for the school’s Girls Learn International organization. At the same time the group learned about women abroad dropping out of school after they began menstruating, they also discovered a new machine that was created to make low cost sanitary pads.

Co-host Abby Huntsman pointed out how she, like many women in America, take the accessibility of sanitary products for granted.

Remembering an embarrassing story from her past, co-host Joy Behar reminded everyone that women in the U.S. feel that shame as well.

“I thought I was going to die!”

Claire Sliney, 20, is an executive producer of “Period” and co-founder of “The Pad Project.”

She believes the film is not only about “providing pads in a place where they’re stigmatized and there’s not a huge amount of access,” but “also allowing women to engage in the economy and making wages for themselves”.

Every episode of ABC’s award-winning talk show “The View” is now available as a podcast! Listen and subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, TuneIn, Spotify, Stitcher or the ABC News app.

Period end of story

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