Men’s mental health crisis in India

A disturbing truth is finally surfacing: men in India are dying at alarming rates, and we are not talking about it with the seriousness it deserves. A recent National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) report revealed that in Karnataka alone, 29 men die by suicide every day. Between 2018 and 2023, the state recorded 63,539 suicides, over three-fourths of them men. In 2023, of 13,330 suicides, 10,232 were men. Rural men are dying at even higher rates, making this not only a personal tragedy but also a social and structural crisis.

The reasons are varied but clustered under the deceptively plain term ‘family problems’: debt, illness, substance abuse, infertility, extramarital affairs, and domestic conflict. In a society where family honour carries enormous weight, men are expected to provide, endure, and stay silent. When relationships fail or finances collapse, the pressure becomes suffocating. Women may have culturally permissible ways to seek support; men often do not. Vulnerability often becomes a liability. Help-seeking becomes a risk.

The case of Bengaluru techie Atul, who ended his life last December, laid bare this silence. His detailed note, describing alleged mistreatment in his marital relationship, shook many precisely because such stories rarely come out. Men hesitate to speak of emotional abuse for fear of ridicule or disbelief, though family courts hear numerous petitions citing mental cruelty. This is not to deny violence against women but to acknowledge that patriarchal expectations harm men too. Misuse of legal protections (something even the Supreme Court has flagged), false accusations, extended litigation, and social shaming can deepen emotional distress. The challenge is gender justice without gender stereotypes.

This crisis is stark in rural India. In 2023, 4,553 of 4,690 farmers who died by suicide were men. Among farm labourers, 5,433 out of 6,096 men
died not just because of debt and crop failure but because of cultural expectations that they shoulder economic responsibility without complaint. In rural areas, isolation, weak support systems, and stigma can quickly turn financial problems into emotional breakdowns. 

Research confirms how these pressures accumulate. Childhood trauma, unmet emotional needs, and mental illness strongly predict suicidal behaviour. In the absence of early intervention, emotional literacy, or access to care, these wounds harden into lifelong silence.

Unfortunately, India’s mental health infrastructure does little to break this silence. Helplines like Tele MANAS exist, but access is uneven, and gender-sensitive support is almost nonexistent. The stigma is so strongly ingrained that even as men make up nearly 70% of suicide victims in India, only a minuscule number seek professional help. Therapy is perceived as weakness; breakdowns as personal failure. Even in public discourse, stereotypes persist. When a tragedy occurs, the temptation is to generalise, as in actress Kangana Ranaut’s remark that men are usually at fault, instead of listening to individuals dispassionately.
It is telling that it took a Kerala High Court judge to remind
us that men, too, possess dignity and honour, and that dismissing their suffering is neither fair
nor humane.

So, if we truly care about gender equality, we must also care about men’s mental health. Awareness alone may not solve the problem. Real change is needed in families, communities, institutions, and policy. Firstly, families should learn to normalise men expressing emotions. Schools and workplaces must impart emotional skills and help students challenge the idea that masculinity means silence. Communities must promote men’s circles, peer groups, and counselling networks. These are safe spaces where men can speak without judgment. Trained counsellors who understand the cultural pressures on men are needed to reach out to rural men, labourers, students, fathers, and husbands. Lastly and importantly, our economic policy must address the chronic debt and insecurity that make rural male suicides so prevalent, with legal systems ensuring fairness so that neither women’s safety nor men’s dignity is compromised.

Above all, as a society, we must learn to listen instead of waiting till men reach a breaking point. We must learn to view their emotional pain seriously. Pain in men is not an anomaly but a fundamental human experience. We need to understand that the tragedies unfolding across Karnataka and the country are not just personal losses. On the contrary, they are a collective indictment of how we construct manhood, how we distribute social burdens, and how often we fail to offer compassion where it is most needed.

(The writer is a former professor and dean at Christ University, Bengaluru)