The Resilience To Fight Back: The Path From Healing To Empowerment

Now in her 40s, Thiruselvi had lived many lives: that of a teenager, eagerly involved in socio-political issues in Gudalur, Tamil Nadu; a college student in the bustling city of Coimbatore; a mother abandoned by her partner; and, a resident at The Banyan’s Emergency Care and Recovery Centre in Chennai.  Now she is in The Banyan, not as a resident, but as the Lead for Aftercare in the west zone of Tamil Nadu, as a point person to many survivors who seek her help in their bid to rebuild their lives. 

Thiruselvi’s parents were tea plantation workers in Sri Lanka. They returned to India and settled in Gudalur, long before she was born. The socio-economic situation around the tea estates in Gudalur shaped Thiruselvi, before strained marital relations tore it apart. 

Thiruselvi’s parents, after returning from Sri Lanka, purchased some land outside of town and secured employment in the local tea estates. Thiruselvi excelled in her studies. “I was an above-average student in school and was active in all the extra-curricular activities available in the school,” says Thiruselvi. 

Before delving into her past, Thiruselvi, with an unambiguous clarity, says: “Now, I want to send my son to a foreign university for higher studies. He is now working in a private company after graduating. After that, he may find a partner for himself. I could do all this due to the help and support I got from The Banyan. I am enjoying the work that has been assigned to me.” 

Thiruselvi was an activist during her student days. Her political conscience developed while she was studying in the primary classes in Gudalur. She recounts an instance that eventually led her to get involved in student politics. 

“There was a marriage function at my friend’s home. We were all celebrating the special occasion. People from all castes also attended the function. But I noticed that those from my caste were not eating food from her house. Food, for them, was arranged in another place. When I asked my father about this, his reply was ambiguous, but it was then that I realised that caste prejudices are the primary determinant of social relations. It stayed with me, and I gradually started associating with the Communist groups in the area and allied with them in their fight for the rights of tribals and caste-related issues.” 

The awareness of the rights of the most disadvantaged remained with Thiruselvi throughout her tumultuous life. 

Her life took a decisive turn when she came to Coimbatore after her secondary education. She was active in student politics. She acquainted a ‘comrade’, and that relationship would then develop into a marital relationship. But after Thiruselvi gave birth to a child, her partner vanished. This was more than Thiruselvi could take. The absence of her partner completely devastated her. She searched all around, hoping she would find him. A distressed Thiruselvi took her child and left for Chennai, hoping to find her partner. For two days, she was homeless on the streets of Chennai. 

“I was spotted by someone in Marina Beach and taken to the nearby police station. The police called The Banyan, and social workers from the organisation took me to their facility. At that time, children were not allowed to stay at the facility with their mothers, though the policy has changed since. That was heart-wrenching. But I survived and started doing tailoring work.” 

Later, Thiruselvi sent her son to Gudalur, where her sister looked after him for a while. 

After some months of stay in Chennai, Thiruselvi was convinced that mental health survivors have rights in a democratic society. She, along with her peers, organised a press conference and demanded that voting rights be provided to them. This peer group succeeded in getting many of their rights. They went on to live independently by renting homes in Kovalam, a fishing village near Chennai, and living as an affinity group while going out for employment. 

After some months, she returned to Gudalur, rented a home, and stayed with her mother and son. She recalls facing stigma both from her family and the villagers at that time, which dissolved over a period of time as they witnessed her working in tea gardens, caring for her son and elderly mother and more importantly, supporting others like her to access care. “I volunteered to help counsel people who sought mental health care at the outpatient clinic of the Ashwini Hospital in Gudalur. I went to several villages in and around Gudalur to generate awareness among the public about mental health illness. The Banyan Academy of Leadership in Mental Health provided me a fellowship. I took people who required mental healthcare to the hospital and ensured they took their medicines according to the doctor’s advice. I also completed my post-graduation in psychology during this period” 

After her son completed secondary education, she came back to Coimbatore. She got her son admitted to a prominent college for his undergraduate studies. 

“Since I had worked with The Banyan in various capacities, I was prompted to pursue post-graduation in psychology. Sitting here in Coimbatore, I still speak with the people in Gudalur and assist them in any way I can.” 

“Thiruselvi not only supports mental health survivors in multiple ways, but also contributes to our research initiatives,” says Lakshmi Narasimhan, Director-Research, at The Banyan. 

Seetha (name changed), now living in a town bordering Kerala, was not as confident as Thiruselvi was. She is one among the many service users Thiruselvi works with to ensure that they remain well and do not re-enter homelessness. But she narrated her story with candour. “I had a decent life till my marriage. I was the only one in my family who received education. But everything changed after my marriage. We fought everyday. Some months after the birth of my first child, I was taken to a psychiatrist for treatment. They tried to separate my child from me at that time. It made things worse.” Seetha was born in Ambala, Punjab. Her father was working with the Indian Army at the time. 

One day, when she was living separately from her husband―though in the same village―she left home after a fight and walked for two months until she reached Chennai. There she was brought to The Banyan’s centre in Kovalam. “After regaining my confidence, I returned to my home. At the hospital, I missed my children. The younger one was so close to me. The thought of them added to my pain. Hence, when I thought I could manage independently, I went home,” she says. Seetha is still taking her medicines, and if she feels any issues, there are people to help her. But her confidence stems from the fact that she is now running a family, which included her husband. “My husband works in the security sector, and I too contribute to the family’s income,” she says.  She wakes up early in the morning, grinds rice and makes 30-40 kg of dosa or idli batter. Using her two-wheeler, she supplies it to many families in the surrounding villages. “They all wait for me. I am enjoying this job. Even if they can’t pay on time, I do not stop delivering them,” Seetha says. “I am doing this for my children. Their love knows no bounds. It keeps me floating” 

“A common theme we see in many stories such as Thiruselvi’s and Seetha’s is that disruptions in relationships precede their homelessness,” says Narasimhan. However, they are now integrated into their family on their terms, having become financially independent. 

But that is not the case for many others.   “There are multiple reasons why people are put up in psychiatric hospitals for a long time, including the family’s financial and social status,” adds Narasimhan. “The inability to trace and reconnect with families is another reason for their extended stay in mental health facilities.”