From Helpless to Healing: A Mental Health Journey

A story of survival, dignity, and silent transformation at Madad Minar Foundation

He was found near the railway tracks.

Disoriented. Dirty. Shivering.

No name. No memory. No shoes.
Just torn clothes, sunburnt skin, and eyes that had seen too much.

People thought he was mad. Some threw stones. Others filmed him.
No one stopped. No one asked, “Are you okay?”

But one volunteer from our team did.

And that’s where this journey began.

At first, he didn’t speak.

He flinched when we approached.
He screamed at shadows. He smiled at the sky. He tried to run.
But we didn’t force anything. We just offered food. A blanket. A quiet corner. And safety.

That night, he slept indoors — on a clean floor, under a fan — maybe for the first time in years.

Slowly, he began to return.

We brought in a trained mental health counsellor.
He was diagnosed with schizophrenia — most likely untreated for years.

With consistent therapy, warm meals, clean clothes, and human company, something began to shift.

He started speaking — just a few words at first.
Then full sentences. Then laughter.

He didn’t remember where he was from. But he began to remember who he was — a person worthy of care.

We didn’t just treat him — we stayed with him.

Every morning, a volunteer sat with him for tea.
He loved to draw, so we gave him crayons.
He didn’t like noise, so we kept his space peaceful.
He loved chai with extra sugar — and we remembered that, every single day.

Weeks turned into months.

He began helping around the shelter — folding blankets, arranging medicine packets, watering plants.
He had purpose again. Rhythm. Routine.

We saw in him what the world had forgotten:
A life still worth healing.

Today, he’s stable.

Still on medication. Still vulnerable.
But safe. Clean. Smiling. And most importantly — not alone.

This is what mental healthcare looks like at Madad Minar Foundation.

It’s not just doctors and diagnoses.
It’s presence. Patience. Eye contact.
It’s knowing when not to ask questions. And when to sit in silence.
It’s saying, “Even if the world gave up on you, we won’t.”

Help us reach the next one.

There are so many like him — living under flyovers, wandering station platforms, forgotten in their pain.

You can help us find them. Feed them. Treat them.
Restore not just their health — but their humanity.