Published on: May 27, 2025

Varsha Panicker Writes:

I first met Rudra (name changed) by chance — a whirlwind of energy who darted into the staff room to fetch Zarna didi. I had an appointment with Mansi Shah, the founder of Happy Feet, and I met her with her colleague Zarna Jain. We had been speaking for nearly 45 minutes, and I was learning about their work in paediatric palliative care. Mansi had just stepped out for a quick lunch — a rather late one — and Zarna had momentarily stepped into the washroom.

Left alone, Rudra struck up a conversation, eager to tell me all about the dance practice he and his friends were busy with as I arrived. He couldn’t quite remember the song, “It’s my best friend’s favourite,” he said as he leaped from the diwan to a chair, brimming with animation. I smiled, watching him, unable to reconcile the reality I had been told: Rudra is HIV positive. And so are many of the 25 or more children I had seen playing, laughing, and dancing that afternoon. 

What you can’t see from the outside is the grief many of them carry in their small frames — grief of being abandoned, or misunderstood, or simply not accepted. Rudra’s story, like many here, is tender and complicated. His mother passed away some years ago, and though she remarried, the stepfather rejected both Rudra and his older brother, who is also HIV affected. They now live full-time at Happy Feet.

For Rudra, the memory of a man he grew up calling ‘father’ now refusing to acknowledge him is confusing, perhaps even devastating. And like many children in pain, it surfaces not as sadness but as hyperactivity, aggressiveness, and restlessness.

I had come to Happy Feet as part of my volunteer training in palliative care, facilitated by Pallium India. The centre, having recently shifted from Sion to a modest four-storey building in Chembur tucked at the end of a quiet lane, welcomed me with warmth — a gate opened by a smiling young girl, children practicing choreography under a shaded parking area that doubles up as an activity zone.

Inside, the floors are simple but purposeful. A kitchen on the first floor, an open hall where the children gather, and upstairs, the staff room where I met Mansi and Zarna. The fourth floor has rooms for the girls who live here. I had so many questions, but the one I truly wanted to ask came tumbling out early: How did this all begin?

Mansi starts reminiscing about her work with several NGOs, where she started out as a teacher moving on to more social work and how she had often come across children with life-threatening illnesses who were overlooked — deemed ‘lost causes.’ That label, that cruelty disguised as resignation, stayed with her. She resolved to build a space where no child would feel like a burden — and Happy Feet was born in 2014.

Today, the centre runs four key programs: Day Care, Hospital Outreach, Community Outreach, and Home Care. Children come from all over Mumbai, and even from Alibaug, to access the care and comfort offered here. The children here suffer from a range of life-limiting conditions — from being HIV+ to illnesses like Thalassemia and even cancer. These children require far more than basic shelter — they need constant medication and medical monitoring, proper nutrition, psychological and emotional therapy, and educational or vocational training to help them lead dignified, hopeful lives.

I asked the inevitable question — How do you manage to fund all of this? Zarna chuckled, but behind the laughter was the weight of reality. With over 20 full-time staff managing four arms of care, plus the responsibility of housing children who have been abandoned by their families, finances are always a challenge. They rely heavily on a mix of corporate CSR, philanthropic individuals, and good old-fashioned goodwill.

Then came a moment of serendipity — one that made me smile. Mansi shared that in 2016, she and Zarna attended the screening of the film Hippocratic — a documentary on Dr. M R Rajagopal and his pioneering palliative care work — at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences. I had attended the same screening. I even remembered Mansi standing up during the Q&A, sharing about Happy Feet and asking questions. It was Dr. Rajagopal, she told me, who gave them much-needed validation and encouragement. He later spoke about Happy Feet at several forums, and his team at Pallium India welcomed Mansi and Zarna to their Trivandrum centre, where they saw first-hand how an integrated model of palliative care works. That experience helped Happy Feet get recognised as a palliative care centre themselves — a milestone that brought structure and visibility to their work.

I learned that it’s not just stigma that keeps people away, but systems. Schools often refuse to admit HIV-positive children, despite antiretroviral therapies making them completely non-contagious. Still, success stories shine through — like the young photographer now working with an agency, or the fashion designer who is stitching her dreams into reality.

After our conversation, Mansi invited me to join her for a session with the children. We gathered in the first-floor hall, where she sat on the floor among the children, a circle of trust around her. The whiteboard bore the word ‘Kindness.’ Mansi asked them what it meant.