Inside Mumbai’s first crying club where tears turn into catharsis

This is Mumbai’s first “crying club", a concept inspired by Japan’s ruikatsu, which means “tear-seeking" sessions, popular across Tokyo over the past decade. The premise is radical in its simplicity: create a safe, non-judgmental environment for adults to weep in company. The organisers at the Mumbai café begin by inviting participants to introduce themselves and share a bit about why they came—the entry fee is ₹500 and a group can vary from 10-15 people at a time. Conversation prompts are thrown in when things get quiet: questions like “When was the last time you really cried?" or “What’s weighing on your heart?" There is no pressure or rigid technique.

To understand the draw of such a club, it helps to know why crying feels so oddly good. “Crying is the body’s natural release valve," says Taylor Elizabeth, an emotional intelligence coach based in Dubai. “Cortisol levels drop, the rest-and-digest system activates, and people often feel lighter, freer, clearer after a good cry". Neuroscience backs this. Emotional tears carry stress hormones like cortisol. Shedding them literally drains tension from the body. At the same time, oxytocin and endorphins, the same chemicals released after a hug, flood the system, easing both emotional and physical pain.

Mumbai-based psychotherapist Rizwana Nulwala says crying releases endorphins and oxytocin, which makes the body relax from the fight-or-flight response. “Psychologically it provides release in difficult emotions such as grief, sadness, anger. That’s why it feels cathartic." But not every tear heals. Psychologist Shambhavi Kumaria from Mohali, Punjab, notes that crying after joy may uplift. “But after sadness, it often only gives temporary relief, which is enough clarity to face the problem, not solve it."

Here’s where opinions split. “Crying clubs create belonging," says Namrata Jain, psychotherapist and relationship expert based in Mumbai. “In India, where emotions are masked at work or home, shared tears can normalise vulnerability and banish shame." Shevantika Nanda, a clinical psychologist based in Gurugram, agrees: “A group crying session may leave individuals feeling comforted, light and supported. It can be valuable for reducing stigma and normalising emotions."

But the same dynamic carries risks. “Catharsis without closure is dangerous," warns Jain. “Tears may open emotional wounds but without professional containment, people risk leaving more raw and overwhelmed than when they walked in." Nulwala is blunt: “Untrained facilitators can create more harm than good. One session cannot be called therapeutic. Unresolved trauma needs a trained therapist, period."

Kumaria adds, “‘Therapeutic’ is a big word. Group crying might soothe some, but it cannot substitute structured therapy or support groups." While the concept of crying clubs seems foreign, India has long traditions of communal weeping. From Rajasthan’s rudalis, professional women mourners who weep on behalf of grieving families, to the collective lamentations of Muharram. “These rituals show how collective grief can foster solidarity and oneness," says Nulwala.

NOTHING TO MOURN

The crying club, however, detaches tears from death or ritual. “It’s not about mourning the dead," says Elizabeth. “It’s about validating the living and creating a safe space where vulnerability isn’t shameful." “Crying clubs create belonging," says Jain. “In India, where emotions are masked at work or home, shared tears can normalise vulnerability and banish shame." The first sessions have drawn a mix: young professionals, grieving parents, even retirees. For Ankita Lele, 28, a marketing professional, it was simple: “I’ve been living away from home, dealing with break-ups and work stress. I didn’t want advice; I just wanted to cry without feeling weak. Seeing others cry too made me feel less ashamed."

For Raj Sethi, 38, a software engineer, it took coaxing from a friend. “At first, I thought this was silly, grown-ups paying to cry. But halfway through, I broke down thinking of my father’s death. I realised I hadn’t cried properly in years." Not everyone left feeling lighter. Saif Ali Jetha, 24, who is pursuing his MBBS, says, “I walked in laughing, walked out with puffy eyes. On the way home I felt calm, but also strangely drained. It was intense, almost like an emotional hangover." One retiree said she came out of curiosity. “My husband passed away three years ago. I cried a lot then, but less now. At the club, I cried remembering him, but also felt comfort in the company of strangers who didn’t ask me to stop."

Whether Mumbai’s crying club becomes a city-wide phenomenon or remains a niche curiosity is uncertain. But its very existence signals change: a generation more willing to experiment with vulnerability, to rethink emotional honesty. As Saif put it: “It felt strange, but also human. For once, no one told me to ‘man up.’" If anything, the crying club is a cultural experiment in a society that teaches restraint. “Indian society equates emotion with weakness, especially for men," says Nanda. “Crying clubs reframe vulnerability as strength."

Globally, the wellness industry is experimenting with spaces for emotions long considered private. India, with its tension between tradition and modernity, may be the next frontier. But not all will embrace it. Kumaria doubts older generations will attend: “Other than younger people, I don’t see many adults openly crying in public. Emotional vulnerability is still stigmatised." Yet urban India may be ready. With nuclear families, migration and digital lives creating isolation, Nulwala argues, “People are reaching out for connection, even if it’s with strangers in a room full of tissues."

SAFETY FIRST

For those tempted to try a cry, therapists offer guidance:

1. Set your intention: “Check in: are you seeking release, connection, or healing?" says Jain.

2. Know your limits: “Go only as deep as you can handle," advises Nulwala. “Ask: would I share this with a shopkeeper I barely know? If not, maybe hold back."

3. Pair with grounding: Journaling, movement or meditation after sessions can prevent overwhelm.

4. Don't substitute therapy: “Unresolved trauma should never be unpacked in a crying club. Therapy is the place for that," says Kumaria.

Divya Naik is an independent writer based in Mumbai.