Shahnaz Faced Homelessness And Mental Illness: Now She's Fighting For Her Children's Future

In Shahnaz’s memory there are many holes, but she has stitched parts of her life together for the sake of a narrative. That narrative is stronger than fiction or fact. It is the story of a woman’s resistance against forgetting. Once, she had surrendered to the foggy landscape that allowed an escape into oblivion. No sorrow. No pain. Just listless wandering. Like so many others here. That is why they look out for each other. Abandonment can be a strong bond.

But then, it all came back. She found herself in an ashram and asked to be released so she could find her children. They refused, so she jumped over a ditch and ran away. It was around 3 am.

She found her way back to her four children in Mumbai. All four had been living a hard life. She fought for them. Now they are studying and one day, they plan to bring back their home—the one they will find again.

“Call my son. Call my daughter. They will speak with you,” she says.

She remembers their numbers by heart. That is the memory of love, even for those whose tethers to reality are perhaps too frayed to be fully repaired. But in their brokenness, there is that resistance to the Sisyphean myth. Sisyphus must be happy. Otherwise, such endurance can be a lonely, loopy journey. 

Shahnaz’s Story

My name is Shahnaz and I am from a small village in Karnataka. I came to Mumbai first, then went to Hyderabad and then returned to Mumbai. I lived with my parents, sisters and a brother, in a small house in my village which didn’t even have a fridge. I was married off and moved to a small house in Goregaon, Mumbai, with my mother-in-law, two brothers-in-law and my husband, Aslam. My mother-in-law troubled me a lot. My husband’s brothers would return from work at 2 am and I would have to stay awake until they had eaten. We lived in just one room, you see. I was six months pregnant when I said I wanted to move out, and my mother-in-law threatened to chop off my legs. But with four very young children and my husband, I did move out. Then my husband died and it was a huge shock for me. I worked for a while at the company where he had worked but lost the job. My children ate rice with water and sugar. In those circumstances, in shock, I lost my memory.

In the ashram, I escaped one rainy night, jumping fences. A man left me at a dargah in Ramzan; strangers raised money, and I boarded a bus in filthy clothes. I reached my village, but my parents had died and my brothers did not let me step inside. They abused me a lot. My sister-in-law had placed my parents’ house on rent. I told them I had a share in that house too but could not fight them by seeking police help or through courts. I returned to my children in Mumbai, living alone in a rented room and being taken care of by a woman. My husband’s savings paid the rent.

All my children became domestic helps. Even the youngest one was washing utensils at only four. The families that ‘owned’ my children refused to let them go with me, so I went to the police, then the court, and even threatened those families. Eventually, I won, and my elder children completed their education on scholarships. My elder daughter and son work part-time and are studying. The two younger ones are living in an organisation and studying. I live at The Banyan facility in Ratnagiri. Once my children are well settled, we will all live together again.

In its August 21 issue, Every Day I Pray For Love, Outlook collaborated with The Banyan India to take a hard look at the community and care provided to those with mental health disorders in India. From the inmates in mental health facilities across India—Ranchi to Lucknow—to the mental health impact of conflict journalism, to the chronic stress caused by the caste system, our reporters and columnists shed light on and questioned the stigma weighing down the vulnerable communities where mental health disorders are prevalent.

This profile is part of a narrative set of lived experiences the residents of The Banyan shared with Outlook’s editor Chinki Sinha. They were published in print as 'One Day, We Will Find Our Home ... Again.'