Belonging: The Pillar of Mental Health

When I was twelve, after an argument with my mother, I made a dramatic declaration that I could no longer tolerate her autocratic ways.

“I’m done. I’m leaving!”

Without even looking up from her chores, she replied calmly,  “The door and the gate are open.”

I marched out, convinced she would soon rush behind me with panic, persuasion, or perhaps even tears. Nothing happened. I peeped through the door. She was still busy.

“I’m leaving!” I shouted again.

“You’re still there?” she replied casually. My grandmother whispered anxiously, “He may do something.” My mother said with quiet certainty, “Don’t worry. He’ll be back.”

I stood outside the gate shaking my head like a tragic hero. Pride at that age is a powerful thing.

After half an hour of dramatic sulking, my grandmother gently pulled me inside. I resisted just enough to preserve my dignity. Then I slumped dramatically on the stairs and announced loudly, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening, “I’ve come back only because Dadi insisted, alright!”

Half an hour later my mother passed by and said calmly,  “Pakoras are on the table. Eat if you’re hungry.” Within seconds, I was heading straight for the pakoras.

Crisis over.

A Safe Space Called Home

Looking back today, it is a humorous memory. But hidden within that small domestic episode are powerful lessons about parenting, resilience, and the emotional foundations of mental health.

My mother did something remarkable without ever calling it a strategy. She did not panic, plead, threaten, or dramatize the situation. She trusted that emotions rise and fall. Her calm authority created space for me to cool down.

The home remained what it always was — a place where storms could pass without destroying the structure. The message was simple but powerful: You may rebel. You may storm. But you belong here.

That sense of belonging is perhaps the strongest pillar of a child’s mental health.

A Bygone Ecosystem

Earlier generations of children grew up within natural ecosystems of support.Parenting did not exist in isolation. Extended family members, neighbours, friends, and familiar shopkeepers collectively formed an informal emotional safety net around children.

Homes were rarely islands. Children ran from one house to another. Summer evenings were filled with street games. If a child misbehaved, any elder nearby could gently correct him long before the matter reached home.Resilience was built quietly within this ecosystem, without anyone consciously designing it.

Today, the structure of family life has changed. Nuclear families have become the norm. Both parents often juggle demanding professional schedules.In many homes today, a nanny replaces the aunt, tablets replace storytelling, and digital notifications replace doorbells. Parents, often out of guilt or time scarcity, try to compensate with gadgets, toys, and expensive activities.

But children do not primarily need abundance. They need assurance.

The Technology Paradox

Technology itself is not the villain in this story. In fact, it offers remarkable opportunities for learning, creativity, and connection. The challenge begins when technology replaces emotional interaction instead of supporting it. A child who spends hours scrolling through digital worlds may remain constantly stimulated yet emotionally undernourished.

Educators increasingly observe rising anxiety among students, shorter attention spans, emotional volatility, and reduced resilience. Social media amplifies comparison. Constant notifications disrupt sleep. Reduced outdoor play weakens natural emotional regulation.

Despite being constantly connected digitally, many children quietly experience loneliness. In many ways, the simple “pakora moment” is missing.

Rebuilding the Village

Another silent loss has been the disappearance of neighbourhood bonding. Earlier, communities functioned almost like extended families. Festivals were collective experiences. Food travelled from house to house. Conversations flowed across balconies and courtyards. Children grew up knowing that many adults cared about them. 

Today, apartment doors remain closed. Children often know their Wi-Fi passwords better than the names of their neighbours. 

Yet the answer to the mental health challenge of modern childhood may lie in rebuilding such connections. If large joint families are no longer practical, we can create micro-communities. Residential societies can organise neighbourhood festivals, potluck evenings, and sports days. Schools can facilitate parent circles, storytelling sessions, and mentorship networks.

Grandparents within communities can be invited to share stories, traditions, and life experiences with children.Such simple interactions restore something deeply human: belonging.

The Role of Schools

Schools play a crucial role in strengthening the emotional scaffolding around children. Teachers today are not only academic guides but also emotional anchors. Classrooms that encourage dialogue, teachers who listen patiently, and school cultures that value emotional well-being create powerful protective environments for children.

Equally important is calm parenting. Children do not need adults who panic at every emotional outburst. They need adults who remain steady through their storms. Sometimes the strongest message a parent can give is quiet confidence.

“The gate is open.”

Yet when the child returns, warmth is waiting inside.

Keep the Pakoras Ready

Mental health is not built through lectures. It grows through everyday experiences of safety, acceptance, and connection. When a child truly knows that even after rebellion, mistakes, or emotional turbulence, the home remains a place of belonging, resilience begins to take root.

This World Health Day, as we discuss student mental health in the age of technology, solutions may not lie only in counselling cells or digital detox programmes. They may also lie in rebuilding what earlier generations had almost effortlessly — secure families, supportive communities, and calm parenting. Because when a child knows, truly knows, that even after anger, failure, and dramatic declarations of running away…

The door will still remain open.

And somewhere inside, there will always be pakoras waiting