Lifeline: Tele-Manas Is Leading A Quiet Revolution In How We Understand Mental Health Disorders

Trigger Warning: This story contains mentions of suicide. Reader discretion is advised. If you or someone you know is struggling, please contact these numbers.

Helpline: iCall (9152987821) or AASRA ‪‪‪(+91-22-27546669‬‬‬) — Available 24/7.

On the other end of the line, a 15-year-old boy sobs softly, his voice brittle and broken between silences. He doesn’t know how to explain the sadness pressing down on him, only that it feels like a weight lodged in his chest, making it hard to breathe, harder still to speak. Another caller, just sixteen, poured his heart out. He spoke with startling clarity about his addiction to pornography and the shame it brought him, things he had never dared to say aloud until that moment. “He said everything at length,” recalls Karuna Jadhav, a mental health professional at the Thane Centre of Tele Mental Health Assistance and Networking Across States (Tele-MANAS).

Then there was a teenage girl who dialled in one evening, whispering into the phone about her menstrual pain. For her, the physical discomfort was compounded by the silence at home and the ridicule in school, a reminder that something so natural still carried stigma. “She said she didn’t know whom to tell, because whenever she brought it up, it became a subject of mockery,” a counselor recalls. What began as a conversation about cramps soon unraveled into deeper layers of shame and isolation.

A man in his mid-40s spoke about another kind of burden, the relentless pressure of work. “I’ve been the sole earner for my family for two decades,” he told the helpline, his voice trembling under the weight of exhaustion. “Some days I feel like I can’t go on. There’s no space to even admit how tired I am.”

This is the quiet, unseen work of 14461, Tele-MANAS’s toll-free, round-the-clock helpline. It's more than a voice on the other end, it’s a tether for those drifting through emotional fog, a lifeline for those who feel like they’re sinking. In a world where silence around mental distress still reigns, the helpline offers something rare: not just understanding, but presence. A kind of companionship that asks nothing of you but to stay on the line, and, in doing so, reminds you that you’re not alone.

Amidst constant calls that counsellors attend and the lush-green campus of Thane’s Regional Mental Hospital lies the Tele-MANAS centre. A spacious and clean complex, with posters on the wall saying ‘Be Flexible And Bow Till Alive,’ Jadhav sits on a chair, waiting to outline the details about the nature of work. “We have 20 counselors here,” she explains, and adds that a normal day has three shifts, eight hours each, with an average of five-six counselors on a shift. “We have three MHPs who take up calls which require urgent attention. There are also two clinical psychologists at duty during all hours who advise medication and in-person consultations to calls transferred by MHPs,” she says. On an average, the Thane centre sees one in-person consultation every day, a clinical psychologist says, who wished to remain unnamed.

Jadhav explains that they receive calls from people of all age groups, with maximum of them from people in mid-teens and mid-20s. “School and academic pressure, stress and insomnia, suicidal thoughts, porn addiction, loneliness, grief, burnout, parental conflict, social anxiety, cyberbullying are some of the most common issues we receive from callers,” she says.

Tele-MANAS, launched by the Union Ministry of Health and Family Welfare in October 2022, aims to provide free tele-mental health services all over the country round the clock, particularly to people in remote or underserved areas. According to parliamentary documents, Maharashtra has received a total funding of Rs 2.8 crore, wherein the state’s Tele-MANAS cells has received Rs 2.21 crore, the mentoring institute has received Rs 23.31 lakh, and the rest is allocated to the District Mental Health Programme (DMHP) units in the state. According to the Tele-MANAS website, Maharashtra has four cells: Regional Mental Hospital in Thane, Regional Mental Hospital in Pune, Geriatric Health and Mental Illness Center, Ambejogai District Hospital in Beed and Nagpur Tele-MANAS Cell. The state also has a mentoring institute under All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS) in Nagpur.

Since its launch, Maharashtra has received around 1,81,347 calls till July 2025, data accessed by Outlook India showed, a number that lays bare what experts are calling a quiet, deepening emotional crisis, one amplified by the isolation and anxiety of the pandemic years, but rooted in long-standing neglect of mental health infrastructure, especially for children and adolescents. The Regional Mental Hospital in Thane, which is the busiest Tele-MANAS centre in Maharashtra and one of the busiest in the country, receives 500-600 calls on a daily basis.

At the helpline center, every counselor’s shift begins with a grounding reminder: You’re not here to fix anyone. Just be present. And for many callers, that quiet presence, free of judgment, free of solutions, is the most profound support they’ve ever received. The counselors, rigorously trained in empathetic listening and escalation protocols, field a wide spectrum of emotional states, from everyday anxieties and persistent unease to acute crises and suicidal ideation. “There are both online and offline training modules conducted by the National Institute of Mental Health and Neuro Sciences (NIMHANS),” explains Jadhav. “They help counselors stay updated on evolving mental health strategies while deepening their core training.” What counselors hear on the other end of the line is rarely easy. But it also rarely fits the stereotype. Contrary to popular belief, the helpline isn’t just a last resort for those in acute psychiatric crisis. A significant number of callers are first-time help-seekers, people who may not even realise they’re struggling until the emotions begin to spill over. They’re not always in the throes of a single traumatic event. More often, they arrive worn thin by the slow, steady accumulation of emotional weight, feelings they’ve been taught to suppress, rationalize, or simply ignore.

“There’s an emotional backlog we’re witnessing,” says one counselor. “Especially among the young. A generation has been carrying around unspoken feelings for so long that they’ve lost touch with what it means to feel okay, to feel regulated, calm, at home in their own minds.” It’s not dramatic pain that brings them to the phone, but a persistent inner disquiet, like background noise that’s grown too loud to ignore. They struggle to name what’s wrong, but they know something’s off: the joy is muted, the world feels distant, and they’re exhausted in a way sleep doesn’t fix. For many, speaking to a stranger on the helpline is the first time they’ve ever given themselves permission to feel heard.

Originally conceived as a temporary measure during the pandemic, the helpline was meant to offer immediate psychological relief in a time of collective crisis. But over time, it has quietly transformed into something far more enduring, a crucial first point of contact for people grappling with emotional and mental health concerns across socio-economic divides. What began as a stopgap has become a steady lifeline, offering support to those who might otherwise have fallen through the cracks of India’s overburdened mental health infrastructure. 

The helpline’s journey is part of a larger story. Suicide helplines in India emerged in the 1980s, pioneered by non-profits and volunteer-driven organisations in response to rising suicide rates and the absence of mental health infrastructure. Over time, they became a bridge between silence and survival, offering anonymity, compassion, and immediacy. Today, along with Tele-MANAS, services like AASRA (91-22-27546669), Snehi (91-9582208181), and the Vandrevala Foundation Helpline (1860 266 2345) continue to serve people in crisis across the country.

India faces one of the world’s highest suicide rates, with over 1.6 lakh lives lost each year. Behind these numbers lie countless stories of isolation, stigma and silence. Mental health struggles often go unspoken due to fear of judgement, cultural taboos and limited access to professional care. For many, especially in rural or underserved areas, affordable and immediate mental health support is nearly absent. This vacuum makes suicide helplines essential, offering anonymity, empathy, and a lifeline in moments of acute distress.

Suicide helplines in India emerged in the 1980s, pioneered by volunteer-driven organisations such as Snehi and AASRA, at a time when mental health was largely invisible in public discourse. These helplines provided what was missing from formal healthcare: a compassionate ear, available without delay or stigma. Over time, the model expanded, supported by NGOs, hospitals, and later, government initiatives. The pandemic further underlined the need for accessible mental health care, leading to the nationwide Tele-MANAS service launched in 2022.

A Boost For Mental Health 

Dr Netaji Mulik, Medical Superintendent, Regional Mental Hospital Thane, says there is still a dire need to address mental health issues and the stigma around it. “We see the Tele-MANAS mental health number as a success where we are able to provide assistance to those in need. Most of the calls are from semi-urban and tier 2 towns, where we feel there is dire need to increase awareness about tackling mental health issues,” Mulik says. Alongside his staff, Mulik explains that they conduct several on-ground awareness programs, in villages and other rural areas to get rid of the stigma around mental health. “We expect more calls every day. And there is a need for more calls so that people can tackle their mental health,” Mulik says.

Something is shifting, quietly, unmistakably. The rising volume of calls to the helpline is no longer just a statistic; it has become a collective cry for help, a powerful declaration echoing across age, class, and geography: We are not okay. And we’re finally ready to talk about it.

In Maharashtra, still navigating the long shadow of the pandemic, this toll-free mental health helpline has grown into more than just a service. It has become a symbol, of changing attitudes, of long-suppressed emotions finding voice, of a society beginning to unlearn its silence around suffering. What started as a crisis-response mechanism is now facilitating a cultural reckoning, one call at a time. This isn’t just about access to care. It’s about reframing the act of seeking help, from something shameful or indulgent to something brave and wise. In a country where mental health is often relegated to whispers and stigma, the helpline represents a small but deeply significant shift. A quiet revolution in how we understand vulnerability, not as weakness, but as the first step toward healing.