Srinagarm, Oct. 17 -- In the quiet, hallowed halls of my clinic - amid the sterile scent of antiseptic and the distant hum of the city - a different kind of pain is often confessed. It is not a pain that shows up on an X-ray or can be measured by a blood test. It is a silent, festering ache of the spirit, carried by men who, in the public eye, appear to be the very pillars of strength and composure.

They are husbands, fathers, professionals - the supposed architects of their own domains. Yet, in private, they share with me stories of profound and unspoken misery: a life of quiet compromise and emotional desolation. They come not seeking a prescription, but a voice - pleading that their untold stories be heard in a world seemingly concern...