I went to a crying club, and it was the opposite of what I expected
It’s the only therapy I can afford after paying rent in Mumbai
I stood at the entrance of Monkey Bar in Mumbai’s Khar suburb on a Sunday evening, fumbling with the door while having a full-blown conversation with myself: Why did I agree to do this? What if I overshare in front of strangers and regret it later? Will I end up reaching for my handkerchief—wait, where is my handkerchief? You see I was there to attend a crying club, and as I pushed open the door, I had the same feeling I used to get right before my maths exams.
Entering in, I awkwardly asked a staff member, “I’m here for the crying club. Where exactly is it happening?” The moment I said that, I watched the heads of the few people there turn towards me. For a split second, I thought, should I just run away? But before my brain could reach a conclusion, I was pointed towards a table, and I found myself squeezing into a chair to join four other women, ready to surrender to the process.
The idea of a crying club first popped up in Japan in 2013 with ruikatsu (literally meaning ‘tear activity’), a wellness trend where people gather in safe spaces to intentionally cry together and process emotions. And now, it’s catching on in India too. The Cry Club held its first meeting in Mumbai in June this year. Surat’s Healthy Crying Club, Delhi’s Support Circle, and Bengaluru’s Listeners’ Circle also share the same concept, even though not all of them are officially called crying clubs.
I first heard about Mumbai’s club during a brainstorming session at the Tweak office. I immediately blurted out: “Why would anyone cry in public? Why embarrass yourself in front of strangers?” Seems like that was all my editor needed to hear before assigning me the story. As the team’s voluntary guinea pig for questionable trends, I would have raised my hand anyway, though. Since moving to Mumbai in 2023, I’ve been on a mission to say yes to quirky, offbeat experiences whether it’s attending a Human Library event or challenging myself to a low-spend weekend. I’ve crossed the word hesitation out of my vocabulary.
But crying in public? This one would be stretching even my limits, because it’s something I absolutely dislike. Just last week, I had a fall on the road and injured myself badly. Instead of crying, I got up and walked away hurriedly to avoid embarrassment. Later, when I visited the doctor to get my wound checked, I again held back tears when he gave me a tetanus shot. It was only after I came home and shut the door of my room behind me, that I let the dam break.
The truth is, I love crying. It’s such sweet release. My crying routine usually entails waiting until I’m safely on my own at home in my room, once I’ve made sure no one’s going to come looking for me; putting on my crying playlist that consists mostly of Rekha Bhardwaj songs, and then letting it all out (you can also take your pick from these 15 films). It’s the only therapy I can actually afford in Mumbai after paying rent.
I just hate to be seen crying. Honestly, the only time I’ll let tears roll down my cheeks unabashed is while eating extra-spicy triple schezwan at Sagar Chinese. As an introvert, attracting attention to myself is the last thing I want. So you can see why being at a crying club had my hackles up.
Joining the club
With all my doubts, I signed up for The Cry Club’s second meet, which was held in July. The club was founded by Saurav Arya, founder of Small World, which organises real-life social experiences, such as Japanese Kintsugi workshops, rage sessions, and pizza-making workshops, among others in Mumbai and Bengaluru. The entry fee was ₹540, which doesn’t cover food and beverages.
And now, here I was sitting in a brightly-lit restaurant, anticipating that the five of us ladies, of different age groups, were going to cry together. We made our introductions, and small talk saved us from the awkward silence that followed. Some of us were in our 20s and 30s, while a couple of women were older. From a tarot reader to a marketing professional, each one of us came from a different career path as well. One young woman, Shivani*, had brought along her mom—she wanted to encourage her to feel comfortable expressing emotions, she explained.
The organising team, consisting of two men, briefly introduced the concept to the group. They had no instructions for us except to share openly and to leave judgement at the door. Then they posed the first question: Why did you decide to come today?
I went first. I admitted that being vulnerable in front of people terrifies me, but that I’d been feeling overwhelmed lately. A huge fight with my parents, catching the flu, and an acne flare-up… the list of stresses was long. I just wanted to try something different to maybe get away from my problems. Interestingly, three of the other women shared similar feelings. They were all on career breaks, trying to figure out their next steps, and were simply looking for a space to talk it out.
Then there was Swati*, Shivani’s mom, who introduced herself as a tarot card reader and vastu consultant. “I just came to be with my daughter,” she smiled, “…and I might make a new friend?” That instantly warmed the room. Maybe we were all looking for a friendly face to connect with and release our anxieties to.
The fellowship of tears
As the conversation progressed, more unfiltered stories started pouring out. One woman spoke about her experience of a miscarriage years ago, and how she’d learned to make peace with it over time. I wanted to hug her, but held back. Strangers or not, our vulnerabilities had already tied us together.
Shivani shared her toxic workplace story: credit stolen by her boss, constant harassment, until she finally chose mental health over a paycheck. Her courage stirred something in me. It reminded me that while our struggles feel overwhelming, none of us are really alone. We’re all fighting our own battles, trying to heal one problem at a time.
The organisers actively shared prompts whenever the group would go a little quiet: What superpower would you want? When was the last time you really cried? Do you think men need more spaces like this to express emotions? There were tears, laughter, and even debates on things such as how it’s still easier for a man to climb the corporate ladder than a woman.
About an hour later, just as the session was wrapping, it took the most unexpected twist. Someone asked Swati about her practice, and suddenly, she was doing readings for the whole group. From “When will I get rich?” to “When will I get married?”, we all asked our questions and walked away with free predictions—and a lot of giggles.
As we bade goodbye to one another, Instagram handles were exchanged, shoulders felt lighter, and the room had this shared sense of release.
It’s cool to be vulnerable
I actually didn’t end up crying at the session. But for once, it was not because I was holding back—but because I was letting loose. I laughed, I connected, and I stepped out of my comfort zone to be vulnerable. For someone who usually guards their emotions, it felt surprisingly freeing to share. Perhaps because the environment was welcoming of vulnerability. The emotions flowed naturally. I realised that sometimes it’s okay to be like rasmalai, soft all around, instead of always a samosa, with crunchy edges.
This crying club turned out very different from what I’d read online. Some articles describe sessions where people watch sad movies or read letters designed to make you bawl. But here, it was the conversations, confessions, and even a few tarot readings that did the real work. That said, while some vulnerabilities did come to the surface, I didn’t see anyone in the group completely bare their soul and experience catharsis. I also felt that if there was a woman in the organising team, it would have made us even more open about our experiences.
But a start is a start. Sometimes, it’s more about meeting people whose stories resonate with you, and it was that for me. If you’re new to a city and looking for a community, events like these are a great starting point to meet people and build connections.
Turns out, you don’t always need tears to feel unburdened.
*Names changed to maintain anonymity
