The rehab

The rehab

I’m silent

Screaming within

Forced

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 

Bipolar 

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 

Guarantees

The right to freedom

Little do I know

There’s a 

Mental Health Act

It just takes

A Psychiatrist 

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 backeards

The pain

It’s unbearable 

They give me medicine

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

Incoherent 

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

Bipolar

All put in 

Together

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 give me a bath

I go out

I rant

About 

The right to freedom

The wizened old man

Tells me

We’re abnormal

Covered under

The Mental Health Act

But I didn’t hit

Physically assault

It was they

Who 

Were physical

They captured me

Dumped

Me here

Without

Even

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

Me

As I am

He doesn’t 

For eight months

He then goes 

Picks up his child

His family 

Compromises

He’s truly free

He has his freedom 

To drink

With his friends 

He’s not

An alcoholic 

There’s this

Supposedly

Prince

Of one of the

Kingdoms

In Africa

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

Anyway

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

Son

A fashion designer 

So fondly

Schizophrenia 

They say

 Never met

 A milder soul

There’s group therapy

The conductor 

Insensitive 

He can’t

Hear her whispers

He’s angry 

I try

To intervene 

Hie ego hurt

I’m tied up 

Again

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 

Attendance

The old

The people

Who can’t bend

Their bodies

Sit it out

We’re not allowed

To  play

Carrom

Or talk

The old teacher

He would ask

The oldies

To sit 

And teach them

Yoga

That they did

Sitting

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 

Starts

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

Homework 

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

Because 

Her retarded son

And she 

Have  no one

Shrey 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!

Rich

But 

Without control

Over her destiny 

Her rotten teeth 

And her sons

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 stayshere

Of his own accord

He has nobody 

In the outside

World

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

Sad

For this kid

The saddest 

Is this young girl

Depressed

In tears 

Sticking to

Her coterie

Of rich friends 

One of them

A film director 

Who stays 

Alone

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

Infatuation

There’s a doctor

Homeopathic

A kind soul

If there ever was one

Her husband died

She depressed

Her brother

A kind soul

Spent so much

For 

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

Later

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 

Skin

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

Compliance 

There is another lady

An Indian from Africa

Shizophrenic

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

Hungry

I give him

My teatime

Snacks

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 

Renovated

We’re told

Atleast I have

My Bible

They allowed me that

There’s 

Breakfast

Lunch

Tea

Dinner

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

Expense

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 

Through

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
Where
They’re coming from
Those horrifying sound?
It’s female
But not from our rooms
I close my ears
And try to sleep

The next day
In the ICU
There are no females
Except
The old
Benign
Parsi Aunty
I ask her
Was someone
Screaming
Yesterday
No she says
You’re mistaken
But I
Can still hear them
In my house
Today

Always

The troublemaker
I

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

The ICU

It’s full

Of other people 

Tied up

They let me go

The good doctor 

He’s all smiles

I want to go

Home

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 

Will

The next week

The good doctor 

He’s all smiles

I want to go

Home

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

AGAIN