Could Mumbai's New 'Crying Club' Change The Way Society Sees Mental Health?

The other day, I read that Mumbai now has a “crying club.” Yes, a space for people to just come together and shed a tear. My first reaction? 'What is this, a parody of urban life?' But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. We cry in cabs and wipe our faces before the driver notices. We cry in office bathrooms, fixing our makeup before returning to meetings. We cry on trains behind sunglasses. Crying is something we do in hiding, as though our feelings are contraband.

A crying club says: Don’t hide. Bring your tears here.

The idea took root in Japan under the name ruikatsu—literally, “tear-seeking.” It began as organised gatherings where participants watched sad films, listened to moving stories, or simply sat together in silence, allowing themselves to cry. The premise was simple yet radical: crying is not a weakness, but a natural and even therapeutic human response.

Science backs this up. Research shows crying can lower cortisol (the stress hormone), release mood-regulating endorphins, and improve emotional clarity. Emotional tears, unlike those caused by chopping onions, contain higher levels of stress-related chemicals—suggesting our bodies are literally purging tension when we cry.

Why It Feels Radical

We’ve inherited strict, unspoken rules about tears. Men are told to “man up.” Ambitious women are told not to be “too emotional.” Everyone is told to keep it private.

A crying club tears up that rulebook. Strangers—men and women, young and old—sit together and allow themselves to feel without apology. There’s no hierarchy of pain, no need to explain why you’re crying. 

From a sociological lens, spaces like this don’t just change individual habits — they challenge cultural scripts. Modern life teaches us to hide our feelings under the mask of professionalism.

Patriarchal norms dictate who can cry, when, and how much. And we’ve built emotional walls so high that even in the busiest public spaces, people can feel oceans apart. A crying club may look like a quirky wellness trend, but it’s also a quiet rebellion against all those unwritten rules.

When I mentioned the idea to friends, reactions ranged from curiosity to deep relief.

“I think it’s brilliant,” said Aarti, a 27-year-old architect. “We have gyms for our bodies, apps for our minds, but where do we go to release everything we’ve been holding in?”

Raghav, a 26-year-old consultant, was more hesitant. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable crying in front of strangers. But maybe that’s the point. We’re conditioned to be uncomfortable.”

Even Kavita, a mother of two, saw value in the idea. “As women, we’re told we’re ‘too emotional’—but we also have to be strong all the time. I love that this gives permission to just… be human.”

Could Crying Clubs Be A New Norm?

Of course, the concept isn’t without its sceptics. Some dismiss it as yet another commodified “self-care” fad, capitalising on our emotional struggles. Others worry about replacing long-term mental health support with quick fixes. And they have a point. Crying alone can’t address deeper systemic or personal issues. But perhaps that’s not what it’s meant to do.

What crying clubs offer isn’t a cure, but a pause. A communal exhale in a culture that demands we always inhale more—more work, more ambition, more resilience. They remind us that vulnerability is not an interruption to life, but part of it.

In a way, crying clubs are the antithesis of hustle culture. Where productivity spaces measure output, these spaces value release. Where social media rewards the performance of happiness, crying clubs celebrate the authenticity of sadness.

Maybe the most radical thing about them is not the act of crying itself, but the act of crying together. It’s an acknowledgement that pain, like joy, is a shared human experience. And when we stop hiding it, we start dismantling the loneliness that thrives in silence.

Because perhaps the real wellness revolution isn’t just about green juices, meditation apps, or 10,000 daily steps. Maybe it’s in reclaiming the most human of acts—the tear—as something to be honoured, not hidden.

Views expressed by the author are their own.