Mental Health Is Not Shameful: Winning My Father’s Battle with Schizophrenia

I’ve had a personal journey, one that began in childhood but only truly came into focus when I was around 22. It revolved around my father. My father was the gentlest soul you could ever meet. From my earliest memories through adulthood, he never once scolded me not even raised his voice. He was deeply empathetic, had a tremendous sense of humor, and could find something funny even in the most serious situations. He always had a joke ready, no matter the context. He was also incredibly intelligent—academically accomplished, a sportsman, and captain of his cricket team. A well-rounded personality, loved by everyone simply because of his kindness. I never saw him criticize anyone or speak ill of others. That was just who he was. But there was something we didn’t understand growing up. Sometimes, he would drift into another world right before our eyes almost like a trance. He’d disappear, and I’d have to go looking for him. I’d find him sitting alone in a restaurant or some quiet place, completely blank-faced. These episodes happened often, and we misinterpreted them as behavioral quirks or stress from his business. He never burdened us with his problems, even when his business was failing. He made sure we had the best education, despite the financial strain. As time went on, these episodes became more frequent. I remember one incident from my childhood when my uncle had to search for him and eventually found him in a hotel room, where he had been sitting alone for days. That was when we first took him to a neurologist. After an initial examination, the doctor recommended a brain scan and referred us to Nibans Hospital, where we could get it done free of charge. As part of the intake process, a psychiatrist met with him—possibly for the first time in his life, at age 55. I was sitting beside him during that conversation. He began to speak about hearing voices in his ears, seeing people who weren’t there. These voices were tormenting him, coming and going, and causing severe headaches. That’s when we realized his issue wasn’t neurological it was psychiatric. Eventually, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. He was prescribed a simple, inexpensive medication—something that cost barely a quarter of a rupee. The psychiatrist explained that schizophrenia is caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain, and the medication helps correct that. The transformation was incredible. It was like meeting a new version of my father. The symptoms disappeared, and he became fully present with us. Of course, whenever he stopped taking the medication, the symptoms would return. We could tell instantly—his eyes would glaze over, and he’d retreat into that world again. It felt like we got our father back. Not that the old version was ever a problem, but now he was consistently with us. And it wasn’t just him who had been suffering—we all had. That’s the thing about mental health: it affects everyone around the person, not just the individual. We went through nightmarish situations. As a 14-year-old, I once had to search for him in a city I’d never been to, fearing the worst. It was like being a detective, trying to piece together clues to find him. Eventually, I did—he was in a room, completely glazed out. I truly understood what he was going through when I watched A Beautiful Mind. I cried through that film. It helped me grasp what my father had been experiencing. Because even when someone tells you they’re hearing voices or seeing people, it’s hard to comprehend. The movie portrayed that struggle so powerfully. Mental health is complex. No matter how empathetic you are, you can’t fully understand what someone is going through. Their pain is often beyond imagination. Looking back, I realize how many challenges we faced as a family because of this. If he had received help earlier, he would have suffered less—and so would we. Mental health is just like physical health. If untreated, it can start small and become chronic. Catching it early makes all the difference. Unfortunately, when my father experienced a traumatic event, no one around him helped him seek psychiatric care or counseling. That’s something that still bothers me—the stigma around mental health. People often stereotype those with mental illness as dangerous, violent, or unpredictable. Yes, some conditions can lead to those behaviors, but most people with mental health challenges are deeply afraid of their own condition. Many are incredibly gentle and harder on themselves than they are on others. That’s certainly been my experience.