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A shelter beyond survival

 A Shelter Beyond Survival

By Nidhi Guglani


There exists a space far removed from the chatter of malls, the comfort of homes, and the hurried pace of everyday life. It is a space occupied by the forgotten, the abandoned, the mentally fragile, and the physically broken—where 500 souls reside, stitched together by pain, memory, and the quiet rhythm of survival.


In this home, people are not admitted—they are found. Lying naked on the streets. Covered in wounds and worms. Often barely alive. They are brought in from where humanity tends to look away.


Some are blind. Some have polio. Some are mute. Some speak, sometimes even in English. Others live in a world entirely their own. Their expressions shift from joy to vacancy, from laughter to indifference, like clouds passing across an unsettled sky.


There was once a man whose hands were rotting, alive with worms. And yet, each worm was taken out. With care. With patience. Today, his hand is healed. His life—perhaps still fragile—is touched with dignity.


The shelter, run by around 70 caretakers, manages these 500 residents day after day. Each morning, those who cannot bathe themselves are bathed. Each wound is cleaned. Each dose of medicine is administered. Each body is clothed in the same uniform—maybe for hygiene, maybe to avoid hierarchy, maybe to erase the remnants of the streets they came from.


But there’s more here than routines and necessities.


There’s a man who peeks through the office window, trying to talk, hoping to connect. There’s another who insists he wants to go home—but when taken back, his family doesn’t recognize him anymore. The home becomes his only option again. For many, it becomes both haven and prison.


They are alive, but to what end? Some remember their families. Others have forgotten even their names. Some dance. Some refuse food. Some quietly stretch out their hands—not for alms, but for attention.


Every single one of them is a story that society misplaced.


And yet, here they are. Fed, clothed, cleaned. Seen.




But even as we witness these stories, the real questions begin to emerge:


Where are these people going next?

Are we only saving them to confine them again—this time, within walls instead of streets?

Can’t they—once physically well and mentally stable—be employed meaningfully?


There are so many among them with untapped potential. Why not initiate small steps—give them a room to weave, paint, sort, or learn? Why not organize regular workshops inside the shelter—basic skills, music, art, or gardening? Why not give them not just food, but purpose?




To every reader—this is not a story to just read and feel sorry for.

This is a shoutout to every human being capable of contributing something—whether through time, ideas, effort, or finances.


Go to a nearby shelter. Not just to give a meal, but to give a moment of your time. Talk to someone. Understand their need.

If you can, organize a workshop. Take friends. Start small. Take art supplies, books, or even music. Offer joy, even for a day.


We have enough people seeking spiritual growth in isolation. But true work is when we stay in the society—care for our families, our friends, and also for the forgotten around us. That is the real essence of being human. Not escaping the world, but elevating it.


I know that today I speak more than I do. But may I be given the strength to convert this emotion into action.

Not tomorrow. Not someday.

Now.


Let’s stop turning our heads.

Let’s not just save lives. Let’s restore their meaning.


The Thought Balcony

A place for silent reflections and voices that must be heard.


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