A Day with Archana Emanuel

7:15 a.m. | Kalyan, Mumbai

Archana is already up, hair tied back, a warm cup of tea in hand. The sunlight filters gently into her modest flat. Her phone buzzes once—then twice. A family she’s been supporting has suddenly vacated their home in Govandi. No forwarding address. Another message follows: the child’s testimony hearing in Sessions Court has been deferred, again.

“This is a typical morning,” she says with a small, resigned laugh. “In this line of work, you learn early that no day belongs to you.”

Archana has spent over 26 years walking beside children and families traumatized by sexual violence. She currently leads the Case Work Team as a Manager under the Aagaaz Program at Prerana, a Mumbai-based nonprofit fighting child sex trafficking and sexual violence against children. But she doesn’t call herself a leader. “I’m a field worker who manages a team. That’s all,” she says plainly. 

Her humility is real, but so is her authority. In this landscape, where systems buckle under apathy and red tape, Archana is a rare constant.

What’s even rarer is how, after more than two decades in the field, Archana doesn’t seem weighed down by the work—she comes alive in it. While many understandably burn out in frontline roles, Archana seems most at home when she’s on the ground, meeting children, speaking to families, standing firm in court corridors.

9:30 a.m. | Prerana’s Office, Mumbai

Archana arrives at the office just as the team is gathering. It’s a quiet sort of meeting—everyone knows there’s heavy fieldwork ahead. She pulls out a thick folder. It’s the case file of a 10-year-old girl, K, a victim of sexual violence, whose matter has been in court for the past 18 months—with over a dozen hearings so far.

“This is the third time she’s been called to record her statement,” Archana tells her team. The last two times, the public prosecutor didn’t show up. In a previous hearing, the child froze on the witness stand.

“This is why we don’t just work with children,” she says. “We walk beside them. We help them carry the weight.”

Archana’s belief in hand-holding over handouts was shaped in the early days of her career. She started as a young outreach worker in red-light areas of Mumbai—taught by seniors who never sat behind desks. “My mentors led by example. They walked the lanes, listened without judgment, and intervened with care. I just do what I saw them do.”

10:35 a.m. | On the Road to Court

The taxi bumps along the Eastern Express Highway. In the back seat, Archana sits beside K’s mother, speaking in a low, reassuring tone. The child is not with them today—her court appearance has been postponed again. The family made the journey anyway, just in case.

“They don’t always get the notice,” Archana explains. “So, we show up—because sometimes the system forgets the human in the case number.”

She flips through papers. Her diary is crowded with case notes, dates, bail conditions, and a few scribbled affirmations. One reads: “Protect their dignity, not just their rights.”

11:40 a.m. | Sessions Court, Fort

Outside the court, under the shade of a banyan tree, Archana meets with a local lawyer. They speak quickly, exchanging legal updates and filing timelines.

For a few minutes, she simply watches the people moving in and out of the courtroom. “Some children never make it this far,” she says. “Families withdraw. Threats get worse. Money runs out. Hope runs thin.”

The legal system can be alienating for adults—let alone for children trying to testify about their trauma. She recalls how K once mistook the judge’s robe for a police uniform and refused to enter the courtroom.

“We had to spend weeks working through her fears, gently clarifying her misconceptions,” Archana says. “It’s one step forward, two steps back—always.”

Inside, the hearing is brief. The matter is adjourned yet again, with a new date set for the following month. Archana explains to the mother what happened in simple terms, offering reassurance, and answering her questions with patience.

“Tell K she doesn’t need to worry,” she says softly. “We’ll walk with her till the very end.”

2:00 p.m. | A Quick Bite On The Way 

On the way from court, she and her colleague stop at a small tea stall near the station—a quick vada pav and cutting chai standing in for lunch. “This is how most days go,” she smiles. “You eat when you can.”

3:30 p.m. | Home Visit, Govandi

By late afternoon, Archana is deep inside one of Mumbai’s most vulnerable neighborhoods. They climb up to a third-floor room where a victim’s family has been struggling to cope. The space is cramped, the air still heavy with tension. Since the FIR was filed, the girl’s father has barely spoken—withdrawn, quiet, consumed by guilt and helplessness.

Today, something shifts. For just a few minutes, he opens up.

Archana doesn’t force the moment. She’s learned to sit with silence.

“Sometimes, support means being okay with not having answers,” she says afterward. “It’s a long game. That’s how healing works.”

6:00 p.m. | On Her Way Home

The train ride back is packed. Archana stands near the door, gripping the rail with one hand and her folder with the other. Her phone buzzes again—another case update. She quietly acknowledges. Tomorrow will likely begin just like today did: unpredictable, urgent, unresolved.

And yet, she’ll return.

Because for case workers like Archana, every child they meet is not a case to close but a voice to hear. “I just want them to know that someone stood up for them. That they weren’t alone.”

That, she says, is what keeps her going. Not the success stories, not even the legal wins—just the quiet hope that her presence, her showing up, made a difference.

7:30 p.m. | Back at Home 

Back home, Archana settles in with her notes and a cooling cup of tea. Her day isn’t quite over yet. Emails, casework documentation, follow-ups—they spill into the evening.

A junior team member calls with questions about filing a complaint under the POCSO Act. Archana listens patiently. Instead of offering direct instructions, she revisits a recent case they handled together, guiding her through the process step by step.

“Empowerment begins within the team too,” she says. “I was trusted when I was young and learning. I do the same.”

Another cup of tea. The city quiets down outside her window. Archana opens a notebook and begins writing her field notes by hand—something she’s trying to adapt as a habit these days

“Tomorrow,” she writes at the top of the page.