At the Bachpan Manao Zone at Manotsava 2025, amidst talks, sessions, and zones full of people, there was a smaller space, barely 8×8 feet in size, that offered something many didn’t realise they needed.
‘Lock Worry, Unlock Joy’, part of the Bachpan Manao Zone, was a walkthrough installation designed to invite adults, parents, teachers, caregivers, and even passing visitors, into a rare emotional movement: from naming what weighs you down, to remembering what lifts you.
It was simple. Unassuming. But deeply felt.
The Experience: From Holding to Releasing
The structure itself was light, bamboo scaffolding, soft fabric, and tactile elements. Nothing about it said “installation.” And yet, it held space.
As people stepped into the space, one more layer held them: sound. Not ambient music. Not guided narration. But lullabies. Old ones. Familiar ones. Sometimes grainy, sometimes tender. These weren’t professional recordings, they were real voices from across India. These lullabies came from the First Songs initiative by Bachpan Manao, a living repository of crowdsourced lullabies contributed by caregivers, parents, and grandparents. These songs were shared for memory. Some were sung softly into phones. Some came with backstories. All were about comfort. They reminded us that soothing doesn’t need fixing. It just needs presence.
Step 1: Entering through Curtains and Cradles
At the entrance, people wrote a worry on a strip of cloth and placed it gently in a cradle, like tucking it into sleep. It was a tender action. No analysis. No catharsis. Just the permission to say: “This is heavy. I don’t want to carry it alone.”
Step 2: Standing Before the Wheels
As you stepped forward, you faced a cluster of large wheels, each holding dozens of these fabric strips, other people’s worries, tied and turning. Some people paused here longer than expected.
The feeling shifted from private to shared. “So many of us carry something. And things do turn.”
Step 3: Choosing a Joyful Act
At the far end of the space was a small invitation. A bubble wand. A pot of colour. A fingerprint station. A hopscotch tile. Nothing dramatic. You were asked to pick one act, playful, symbolic, yours.
No one monitored you. There was no takeaway. Just a gentle re-entry into the world. “Joy still lives in me. I can touch it, even today.”
Not About Dropping Worry. About Making Room Beside It.
Unlike other mental health experiences that focus on letting go, this installation didn’t push people to release anything. It didn’t promise lightness. Instead, it made room. For both.
Worry and joy. Held together. Without shame. Without urgency.
The emotional arc moved like this:Naming → Witnessing → Choosing
From private heaviness. To collective recognition. To playful reawakening
And maybe that’s why so many adults, more than expected, stayed. Returned. Or cried softly without speaking.
One parent shared: “I was sceptical at first because I didn’t know how long it would take, but it was so beautiful. It activated all the senses, from touching the fabric to hearing the music that touches your soul. There was a moment I broke down, but by the end, it felt like I’d spoken to someone. It was deeply healing.”
Designed as a Feeling, Not a Showcase
The installation’s strength lay in its restraint. It didn’t use props for drama. It wasn’t engineered for social media. Its materials were simple: cloth, bamboo, sand, chalk, wheels.
And yet, the care was visible in every layer of design:
- Cradles, not bins, for worries, because worries are not discarded, they’re held.
- Wheels, not walls, for motion, not stuckness.
- Barefoot steps and fingerprint marks, reminding us that the body remembers what the mind forgets.
- Silence, as structure, because not everything needs to be said aloud.
The space didn’t just represent the ethos of Bachpan Manao. It practised it.
Celebrating childhood wasn’t about nostalgia. It was about stance, how we meet the world even as adults.
What It Left Behind
Some people walked through quickly. Some stayed for half an hour. Some came back the next day with their children, or their parents.
There was no signage saying “healing” or “emotional release.” But that’s what happened anyway.
And maybe, in the middle of a mental health festival filled with experts, panels, and research, this small space reminded us of something else:
That care can be quiet. That worry doesn’t need fixing to be seen. That play is not a luxury. That joy can be a decision.
And that mental health, when made tangible, might look like nothing more than a room made of cloth, wheels, and bubbles, gently inviting you back to yourself.
Installation by: Bangalore Creative Circus and Bachpan Manao, as part of the Bachpan Manao Zone at Manotsava 2025
Hosted by Rohini Nilekani Philanthropies, in collaboration with NIMHANS and NCBS
8–9 November 2025 | The Lalit Ashok, Bengaluru
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