Some months ago, I became painfully aware of the deteriorating mental health of a childhood friend. Divorced, estranged from her close family and unemployed after Covid, she was in crisis. Yet I soon realised there was nothing that I, as just a friend, could do. As per Indian laws only the person or immediate family can directly intervene to help those with mental health problems. So, all I could do was provide her family with relevant contacts and hope they did the needful.
This week, India was aghast at the suicide of three teenage sisters in the National Capital Region, who had been drawn in to the dangerous world of online games. The three, the oldest of whom was only 16, had immersed themselves in what the media has described as "Korean culture" and stopped going to school and even interacting with their parents. Oddly, that seemed to raise no red flags in either their wider family or among the neighbours in the condominium they lived in.
Some may not think that the girls had mental health issues at all. But why should three young sisters become so totally immersed in a fantasy-scape when there was a real world for them to interact with? It indicates a profound disconnect with their surroundings even in the midst of a crowded residential complex. That is not normal by any standard and merited serious action by parents or even concerned neighbours. But neither set of grownups did anything to address the issue.
When the sisters dropped out of school, why did no teacher, counsellor or administrator raise queries, fearing abuse, trafficking or child marriage if not any mental health problems? Did these girls have no classmates alarmed by their withdrawal from the world? Have notions of "privacy" and individual "space" reached western proportions even in India? Or like me, did everyone desist because authorities would not listen as they had no legal locus to intervene?
In various notes and messages the girls left behind, the word 'loneliness' stands out. Feelings of isolation and abandonment are closely linked to it. These three words are at the heart of even my childhood friend's crisis. Sadly, the government has no safety net for mentally stressed people with no personal support systems, irrespective of the strata of society they come from. There is no mechanism for suo motu intervention. Middle-class Indians appear to be the most vulnerable.
With eerie prescience, the Economic Survey presented just the week before these suicides identified mental health as a major concern, highlighting social media addiction among Indians aged 15-24. It said anxiety, depression, low self-esteem and stress linked to cyberbullying are rising and digital addiction among adolescents is impacting academic performance, social interactions and sleep. Being mentioned in the Survey indicates just how widespread the problem is.
Finance minister Nirmala Sitharaman announced that North India will finally get a National Institute for Mental Health and Neurological Sciences (NIMHANS) like the one in Bengaluru, and that Ranchi and Tezpur will be upgraded to regional apex institutions. While this will be a boon for treatment and research, what about prevention and pre-emption? For that, the basic intervention protocol needs to change. And there has to be a safety net for those who have no one to turn to.
Simon & Garfunkel's Sound of Silence poignantly encapsulated the emotional and social isolation of America over 60 years ago. The opening line, "Hello darkness, my old friend" reflects the mindset of far too many Indians today. "Fools, said I, you do not know/ Silence like a cancer grows / Hear my words that I might teach you/ Take my arms that I might reach you..." it goes. I can hear my friend's silent cry in those lines; she and I sang that so often as schoolgirls.
This week, India was aghast at the suicide of three teenage sisters in the National Capital Region, who had been drawn in to the dangerous world of online games. The three, the oldest of whom was only 16, had immersed themselves in what the media has described as "Korean culture" and stopped going to school and even interacting with their parents. Oddly, that seemed to raise no red flags in either their wider family or among the neighbours in the condominium they lived in.
Some may not think that the girls had mental health issues at all. But why should three young sisters become so totally immersed in a fantasy-scape when there was a real world for them to interact with? It indicates a profound disconnect with their surroundings even in the midst of a crowded residential complex. That is not normal by any standard and merited serious action by parents or even concerned neighbours. But neither set of grownups did anything to address the issue.
When the sisters dropped out of school, why did no teacher, counsellor or administrator raise queries, fearing abuse, trafficking or child marriage if not any mental health problems? Did these girls have no classmates alarmed by their withdrawal from the world? Have notions of "privacy" and individual "space" reached western proportions even in India? Or like me, did everyone desist because authorities would not listen as they had no legal locus to intervene?
In various notes and messages the girls left behind, the word 'loneliness' stands out. Feelings of isolation and abandonment are closely linked to it. These three words are at the heart of even my childhood friend's crisis. Sadly, the government has no safety net for mentally stressed people with no personal support systems, irrespective of the strata of society they come from. There is no mechanism for suo motu intervention. Middle-class Indians appear to be the most vulnerable.
With eerie prescience, the Economic Survey presented just the week before these suicides identified mental health as a major concern, highlighting social media addiction among Indians aged 15-24. It said anxiety, depression, low self-esteem and stress linked to cyberbullying are rising and digital addiction among adolescents is impacting academic performance, social interactions and sleep. Being mentioned in the Survey indicates just how widespread the problem is.
Finance minister Nirmala Sitharaman announced that North India will finally get a National Institute for Mental Health and Neurological Sciences (NIMHANS) like the one in Bengaluru, and that Ranchi and Tezpur will be upgraded to regional apex institutions. While this will be a boon for treatment and research, what about prevention and pre-emption? For that, the basic intervention protocol needs to change. And there has to be a safety net for those who have no one to turn to.
Simon & Garfunkel's Sound of Silence poignantly encapsulated the emotional and social isolation of America over 60 years ago. The opening line, "Hello darkness, my old friend" reflects the mindset of far too many Indians today. "Fools, said I, you do not know/ Silence like a cancer grows / Hear my words that I might teach you/ Take my arms that I might reach you..." it goes. I can hear my friend's silent cry in those lines; she and I sang that so often as schoolgirls.
