The rehab

The rehab
I’m silent
Screaming within
Into the car
I know not where
We’re heading
But it’s far enough
For hours we go
Outside the city
The fields around
I wish I could
Cease to exist
This isn’t fair
I harmed no one
I’m labelled 
I have no choice
No escape
We’re there
The gates open
I’m on a bed
They tell me
Your husband
And his brother
Are talking
To the doctor
They will come
I know they won’t
I never see them
They tell me 
To  lie down 
On a bed
Enclosed with curtains 
It’s claustrophobic 
No one
Talks to me
To my horror
I see them
Other patients
Tied up
To their beds
With chords
The curtains
Drawn around
No ventilation 
Fear strikes
I yell 
I scream out
Who wouldn’t
You cannot
Do this to me
The Constitution 
The right to freedom
Little do I know
There’s a 
Mental Health Act
I’m glad now
It’s revised
It just takes
A Shrink 
To sign
To certify you
A mental patient
The Act
It’s modified now
You cannot be 
Tied in chains
It’s inhuman
How does it matter
You can still be
Restricted with chords
I cry out
You’re doing evil
This is illegal
They untie me
And tie me again
My hands
Twisted backwards
The pain
It’s unbearable 
They give me meds
I refuse
You inject I say
You’re not my doctor
So they comply
Morning comes
The pain unbearable 
You keep your quiet
We will untie you
This goes on
For two days
The medicine acts
I’m drowsy
I’m in a room
I don’t realise
My bed is soiled
And my clothes 
I walk down
There are people
Mostly addicts
A few alcoholic
A few depressed
A schizophrenic
A couple like me
All put in 
All abnormal 
Some defect or other
The Maushis
They’re after me
Have a bath
No say I
I’ve no idea
I’m covered with urine
They carry me
I don’t resist
The poor Maushis
They bathe and clothe
I go out
I rant
The right to freedom
The wizened old man
He tells me
We’re abnormal
Covered under
The Mental Health Act
But I didn’t hit
Physically assault
It was they
Were physical
They captured me
Me here
Meeting my doctor
There’s an alcoholic 
Brought by force
By his family 
Eight months it’s been
He’s father
To a little girl
He’s ultra rich
He’s a social drinker
He says
My family
Can’t accept 
At this rate 
I think
Half the Catholics
Should be in too
He’s stubborn 
I won’t go till
They accept
As I am
He doesn’t 
For eight months
He then goes 
Picks up his child
His family 
He’s truly free
He has his freedom 
To drink
With his friends 
He’s not
An alcoholic 
There’s this
Of one of the
In Afri
He’s Catholic
No one
Speaks to him
I try
I don’t know 
What’s wrong with him
He comes and takes
The only book I have
The Bible
And returns it
The next day
If he can read
I don’t know 
This is one story
I won’t forget 
He’s tied up 
Next to me
Untie me 
He pleads
What are you 
Here for
I ask
He’s mum
I untie myself 
I know how
And him too
And we are quiet
Till morning 
We’re fine
I tell the doctor 
You needn’t 
Tie us up 
Any more
He lets us go
That young boy
Out he goes
Slaps an old lady
He’s in
For Anger management 
Bad decision
On my part
Or would he be angry
In the first place
If they hadn’t 
Tied him up
This grand old lady
So soft spoken
Mentions her
A fashion designer 
So fondly
They say
 Never met
 A milder soul
There’s group therapy
The conductor 
He can’t
Hear her whispers
He’s angry 
I try
To intervene 
Hie ego hurt
I’m tied up 
The yoga instructor 
This lady full of innuendo
He joins
It’s vulgar
Their comments
With every pose
He teaches foreigners 
They say
With nimble bodies
I try
My old back ache
Acts up
I opt out
The yoga
It’s mandatory 
You get called
Out of your room
If you’re not there 
It’s all about 
The old
The people
Who can’t bend
Their bodies
Sit it out
We’re not allowed
To  play
Or talk
The old teacher
He would ask
The oldies
To sit 
And teach them
That they did
On their chairs
Not content
I approach
This new teacher
He says
The oldies 
They won’t come
I’ll bring them I say
If you do
I’ll teach them
He smirks
They are my friends
These old people 
They turn up 
Next morning
He casts a glance
At me
And them
And promptly 
His class as usual
 Im not
One to give up
I start my OM
The guards appear
I’m tied up
I’m non Compliant
The interns
Every day 
They’re writing down
The prescriptions
All over again
I call it
I make a mental note
Some excel sheets
Will help them
And reduce mistakes
The nurses
They’re filling up medicines
The two of them
For seventy five people
I insist
I want to check 
What they’re giving me
Those overworked souls
They manage the ICU too
They’ve made a mistake
I don’t recall 
What it was
An extra dose
Or a pill forgotten
Now every day
They read out
My medicine
Pill by pill 
On my palm
They’ve played badminton 
For their state
This brother and sister
They need the money
For studying further
The old lady 
On the bed
Her toe eaten 
By a rat
Not healing
She stays
They say
Her retarded son
And she 
Have no one
She stays in bed 
Most  of the time
Only moved out of the ICU
To the TV place
A few hours 
In the afternoon 
When she’s tired
Her back hurting
She cries out
Twenty times
They take her back
To her bed
She cannot go 
To the recreation area
They don’t have
A slope
For her wheelchair
Her son
He rarely comes 
To her
Her bills they 
They rumour
Are paid for
By her brother
She’s rich
After all
She’s Parsi!
Without control
Over her destiny 
Her rotten teeth 
And her son’s
Haven’t visited
A dentist
She befriends me 
This lady
She talks
Mostly about her son
She listens to my stories
About my children
At one point
I know
I have to go
I distance myself 
From her
Maybe I’m cruel
My best friend
And old Parsi
He’s studied philosophy 
He stay there
Of his own accord
He has nobody 
In the outside
His one liners
One a day
Keep me going
There is this guy
Handsome and young
Sent here
By his girlfriend
He own restaurants
At this young age
He’s taking drugs 
He’s under detox
He says he’ll tackle her
When he gets back
She comes one day 
To take him back
She’s so pretty 
He goes to her
Hugs and kisses
And they’re out
This is all
The story I know
About the two
The strangest story
Is about this young girl
Full of goodness 
And joy
She goes about
To hug every Maushi
Greet every guard
She’s one day
For four days
She’s bipolar
They’ll take her
To their hospital
Inject truth serum 
To confirm
She’s stopped
Seeing her boyfriend
She lives she says
In a bungalow 
Theve found nothing
So off she goes
Back again 
In the evening 
And she’s gone
If we can send
Our kids
To boarding school
Without permission 
We can send them
To rehab as well
I suppose
Speaking of kids
This teenager
Built like a rock
Plays lawn tennis 
They’re rich
His parents
They want to build
A court for him 
On the new building
In his village
Which has now 
Become a city
I smoke he said
I won’t be surprised 
If there were drugs
In that smoke 
I’ve missed my
Boards he says
Couldn’t they 
Put me in
After my exams?
I don’t know
Their part of the story
But I feel
For this kid
The saddest 
Is this young girl
In tears 
Sticking to
Her coterie
Of rich friends 
One of them
A film director 
Who stays 
Also depressed 
In a cottage 
She’s from Kenya
They say
Was in love
With someone inappropriate 
Locked in here
By her father
Seventy five grand a month
Two years
She looks old enough
They say
To make her own decisions
There this woman 
Whose fallen in love
With a Christian 
A rickshaw driver
She says
Her rich brother
Well intentioned
Has spent his money
To help her see
Through her
There’s a doctor
A kind soul
If there ever was one
Her husband died
She depressed
Her brother
A kind soul
Spent so much
He brought her
To this calm place 
To recover
She’s fine now
Out of the place 
After two years
Two years
She cries out
When I happen
To meet her
There’s this boy
Should be in college
Forced in here
Without his consent
With borrowed money
Been there two months
They put me in
By force
I’ll drink again
He say
And right enough
Taken back home
Comes the next day
Stone drunk
The most forlorn
Of this lot
A misfit 
Amongst teens
And adults
Is this boy
Who should be
In school
Here for 
Anger management
He throws things 
When he’s angry
He broke the TV
And his father’s laptop
His parents they work
He’s alone all day
He’s clothes few
His shorts too tight
He shown me his 
Near his underwear 
Fungal infection 
I wonder why his anger
Couldn’t be controlled 
By medicine
He’s sent here 
As are others
To be taught
There is another lady
An Indian from Africa
She talks of wealth
Of mansions in UK
Special treatment 
She’s allowed
Bose speakers
And a laptop
The kid on medicine
Putting on rapid weight
I give him
My teatime
The ice is broken 
His mother called them
She’s a widow
Not much moneyi
She shelled out
For this expensive place
The bouncer
He injected him
And bought him here
But now they’re not sending 
Him out yet
He begs me
To speak 
To his mother
When she comes
I do
Nothing changes
There’s the alcoholic 
He paid to be in
To get rid of his habit
He couldn’t deal
With his ADHD son
Took recourse
To alcohol 
Lost his job
Lost his wife
The poor soul now
Has to deal
With the money
And cope 
With her ADHD son 
All alone
They do give them detox
They write letters of gratitude 
When they leave
I just pray
They don’t relapse
All we get
Is a pen and pencil
When we beg
No books
The library 
It’s being 
We’re told
Atleast I have
My Bible
They allowed me that
All made by a cook
And his helpers
Who march about 
The kitchen 
In their slippers 
Now the stories
About the people
are done
The stories
About the place 
The TT table you can use
But if you smash the ball
And it dents
You’re done for
All your friends
Berate you’re
The supervisor 
Will not give
Another one
The counsellor 
She is sweet
Gives me scientific 
Books to read
On the physical
And chemical
Aspects of
Bipolar disorder
I don’t understand 
Half of them
Or more
I’m no scientist
Then the meditation
I try hard 
To close my eyes
And still my mind
This is not
My kind of relaxation
My brain  ties out
For stimulation 
Maybe a book
Thre therapists
They come out
With vague stuff 
Like role play
Or moulding clay
Anything that 
Does not involve
An expense
I mould a crude rose
My daughter 
Could do much better
They applaud 
At my creativity 
All of them
That’s the keyword
You have to beg 
For carrom powder
Or a pen
Or a notebook
Or slippers
When yours are stolen
Never mind
They change for them
The bouncer it is his job
To handle people
Who need to be brought
A God fearing man
Sincerely believing
He’s doing good
I spend time
Talking to him
As he has time
To talk to me
Unless that rare
Call comes
The Maushis
Nine thousand a month
They slog
Wash clothes
Seventy five inmates 
No washing machines
The beds often soiled
No rubber sheets 
My room is non A/c
I cannot take the pigeon droppings
That float in 
The air conditioning 
The fan 
It’s not working
Two days
Not repaired
It’s May
I take off my clothes
Wet my body
And try to sleep
In my
Luxury Rehab
And then
The screams
They go on and on
High pitched
Like someone tortured
I dress
Am out
But can’t tell
They’re coming from
Those horrifying sound?
It’s female
But not from our rooms
I close my ears
And try to sleepThe next day
In the ICU
There are no females
The old
Parsi Aunty
I ask her
Was someone
No she says
You’re mistaken
But I
Can still hear them
In my house
The troublemaker
Make an
Improvement list
And hand it over
To the counsellor 
To be handed
To the owner
The gold medalist 
She smiles 
A benevolent smile
Takes it
Does nothing
She knows
Things won’t change
The next meeting
I take it back
Barge into
The owners office
It’s out of bounds 
For patients
And our place
Out of bounds
For her
The guards
They threaten
To tie me up
I don’t budge
I want to see her
She comes
She’s young
A gold medalist
With a rehab
Who doesn’t interact
With her patients 
Is it because
She doesn’t 
Want to see?
She listens
For some time
Then says
She’ll return 
She doesn’t 
For a very long time
A wicked idea
Strikes my head
There’s Holi colours 
Lying  there
And a big fat syringe
I open the packet
Let the syringe
Suck in the colour
The guards
They promptly come
As expected 
The haul me out
To be taken
To be tied
I let them
But sit down
On the floor
Gandhi style
They try their best
It’s full
Of other people 
Tied up
They let me go
The good doctor 
He’s all smiles
I want to go
I tell him
Don’t worry 
He says
The next time
Your husband comes
Ask him nicely
If he says yes
You go!
I’m pretty sure 
My husband 
The next week
The good doctor 
He’s all smiles
I want to go
I tell him
Don’t worry 
He says
The next time
Your husband comes
Ask him nicely
If he says yes
You go!
Stories true
Or untrue 
I don’t knoe
But one thing
Is for sure
That’s not a place
I want to go

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