Inside Sakhi One Stop Centres, survivors of domestic violence find medical care, legal aid, counselling, shelter and police support all under one roof. With 11 centres across districts, the aim is simple: ensure women do not have to move from office to office while dealing with trauma. From abuse to survival, four women share their painful journeys and the fragile steps toward rebuilding their lives.‘What do you need right now?’From just one building, survivors can access police assistance, medical treatment, legal aid, courts, emergency shelter, psycho-social counselling.
- There are 11 Sakhi One Stop Centres in Delhi, one in each district
- 2 more centres likely with the addition of new districts
- The idea: A survivor should not have to carry trauma from office to office
Inside SAKHI ONE STOP CENTRE
- Officials sit with thick registers — each entry carrying someone’s story
- Case workers’ room: A live screen flashes incoming helpline cases district-wise Phones ring constantly as staff coordinate responses in real time
- Room of the centre administrator: Usually the first person to listen to the survivor’s story
- Kitchen: Meals are preparedfor survivors stayingtemporarily at the centre
- Shelter room: Around 8–10 beds forwomen, sometimes withchildren, during short orovernight stays
- The dignity kit: Survivors staying at thecentre receive clothes,sanitary napkins,toothbrushes, toiletries
Case studies‘Dande se maarne lag gaya tha vo mujhe’Case 1 When Suman arrives at the One Stop Centre after calling the women’s helpline, her one eye is swollen and bruises mark her face and arms. Married in 2024, she says the abuse began almost immediately. Her husband was alcoholic, violent and secretly recorded intimate moments to blackmail her later. He isolated her from others by taking away her phone and repeatedly assaulted her before returning with apologies and promises to change. “Har baar lagta tha shayad iss baar sach mein badal jayega,” she says. But the last assault broke something inside her. “Dande se itna maara… ab body mein kuch nahi bacha,” she says softly. Alone and exhausted, she finally decided to seek legal action and divorce. “There is no going back now,” she says. Then after a pause asks quietly, “How do you trust someone again after this?”
After a woman makes a helpline call the reality unfolds
‘Do hi toh jhaapad the’Case 2 Sonia says it almost apologetically: “Do hi toh jhaapad the.” Before marriage, everyone spoke of moving to America with her husband, who lived abroad. Her passport was ready before the wedding. But soon after she conceived, her husband said a baby would ruin those plans. The abortion happened secretly, she says, and afterwards the marriage changed. There were drunken nights and insults. Her mother-in-law made her repeatedly mop floors, and one Karva Chauth ended with her neck being pressed during a fight. Yet she stayed. During her second pregnancy, things briefly improved. After childbirth, the humiliation returned. One evening, upset over how dinner was served, her husband slapped her. Now living at her parents’ house, she still hesitates about legal action. “If he lives separately from that house, I may go back,” she says. The disturbing part is not only the violence, but how normal she has learnt to make it sound. ‘It took one-and-a-half years, a bleeding hand and self-harm to finally make one phone call’Case 3 By the time 33-year-old Ritu called 181, her hand was already bleeding from a shard of glass she picked up during a family argument. Married for one-and-a-half years, she says daily taunts, constant fights and tension at home slowly became unbearable. “I felt very tired,” she says. “Even another argument felt heavier than my body.” The conflict eventually pushed her toward self-harm. At the One Stop Centre, officials ask her whether she wants legal action or divorce. She immediately refuses. “Divorce is not an option, ” she says quietly. It is her second marriage, and beneath her hesitation sits fear of judgement and starting over. The first counselling session turns chaotic, with husband, wife and mother-in-law shouting over one another. But when she returns later, she seems calmer. “I hoped things would improve,” she says. “For now, they have.” ‘I stopped drinking tea twice a day because biscuits cost money’Case 4 “I stopped drinking tea because biscuits cost money,” Anjana says with an embarrassed laugh. The 35-year-old earns around Rs 400 a day making rotis. After her mother-in-law’s death, the family’s finances worsened. Small comforts disappeared first — extra tea, biscuits, daily necessities. Across the room sits her husband during another counselling session. Anjana breaks down while describing the situation. “He drinks, beats me and gives no money for the house,” she cries. Their 13-year-old daughter, sitting silently beside her, suddenly speaks up: “Yes, he beats my mother.” The husband stares down and mutters, “I only bring one quarter bottle home. I want to quit.” Nobody discusses divorce. Survival itself has consumed the family’s energy — rent, food, school fees, alcohol, daily wages. The centre administrator is now trying to address the husband’s drinking problem. The daughter spends most of the session holding back tears — like a child who has already learnt that some nights are safer spent somewhere else.All names changed to protect identity
