Day one.
Amay checked into rehab. He was still woozy from the previous nights exploits. It had been one heck of a night. He only seemed to remember flashes of it. The rehab or de-addiction clinic seemed like a depressing place. It was to be Amay’s home for what he had assumed to be around three months. He sighed at the fact, as it only served to dampen his low spirit. A disgusted feeling had been lurking within, at his behaviour towards Mallika. She on the other hand was determined to set things right in her own way, and she had decided on understanding the psyche of a drunk. Therefore, she was out drinking with Tanu, her recklessly rebellious drama queen friend.
It dawned on Amay, that he did not miss being with her, he was rather cross that, she had not bothered to share her first drink with him. However, the fact that she had been out drinking because he had screamed at her the night before in his stupor, quashed any feelings of envy and hurt which were threatening to build up; soon replaced by a sick feeling in the gut.
He felt wronged, disgusted, scared and nauseous at the same time. Had he known that he would that this kaleidoscopic amalgam of feelings would be all he would talk, hear, think and even introspect on for the next few months, he would have bolted out the door, regardless of the righteousness of the regime. Instead, he forced himself to dwell upon nothing; a herculean task for a person who gives away to temptation almost immediately. For him it had always been practically impossible. He tried to meditate to achieve this mental state many times, but even the Aums and the counting breaths, could not keep him from thinking about almost everything at once.
The indomitable Dr. Gauty finally spoke to Amay, who had been sitting there rubbing his palms together, as if to shrug some crumb left behind by a biscuit he had just had. “So, you look pale?” Dr. Gauty asked, smiling wide. He ploughed on and offered, “Do not worry; a couple of months away from the booze ought to do you a world of good.” It was apparent that Dr. Gauty had enacted this scene many-a-time. Amay was not sure whether he trusted the beaming Doctor, sadly though, there was not much any one could have done anything about. Therefore, Doc, ushered Amay inside the facility and Mash, the Doctor’s trusted sidekick dragged Amay’s bags over to a room, which contained four beds. He dumped Amay’s stuff on the one right opposite the entrance of the room. This was going to be his bed for the next three months.
Amay had always prided himself in being the sort of chap, who could look on the bright side of death, share a joke with the firing squad designated to kill him. It was his signature; he said things normal people would add to their ‘do not say this even if was the end of the world list’. He may have stood outside the principal’s office countless times during his school years, and had been the subject of even self-inflicted police brutality on his day, but this was one predicament, that even Amay had not expected. It had caught him offside. However, a sodden determination to have fun even now was beginning to sow the seeds of rebelliousness in Amay.
The fellow patients were a motley crew. They looked like a handpicked selection, sprung from all corners of the country. Drunkards from Mumbai, addicts from Kashmir, Jabbers from Manipur, even the high-arsed coke-lovers from Delhi, made up the 30 to 40 odd people at the facility. Like any other addict trapped inside, and fast realizing the full weight of his predicament, Amay panicked and looked for ways out, some of them looked up to leer at him, others too despondent and indifferent to care for new additions. Amay’s brain had begun to work in overdrive. However, the severe emotional strain of being stuck inside for ninety days can induce a sigh. Men are usually not aware of the depth or the effect of such a sigh, which if done right, could evoke applause from even the staunchest of thespians. They feel that only down trodden women are capable of such pitiful noises, but soon, Amay found in himself the sigh, he never believed to have existed within.
“Hi! I am Saurabh, I am in here for the drink, what you in for kid?” asked a fat guy in pyjamas. It occurred to Amay that it was rather odd for a full-grown man like Saurabh, to move around in paisley coloured silver pyjamas at any time of the day, let alone inside a rehab. It also occurred to Amay that Saurabh did not look like the kind of man meant for a rehab. The reasons for his family choosing a step so drastic to reform him confused Amay. However, it became apparent over the course of the conversation that Saurabh had been mixing his prescribed drugs with the evening drink, only to go ‘freaking insane’ for around 4 hours. He never went into the details, and Amay did not question him further. The only thing that could be said for sure was Saurabh was one complicated man.
At around 10:00 pm, the pick-up team arrived with their latest catch. There were two ways drunks/dope-heads would accompany the team in the first place. EIther the ill-fated reveller would be a promise of either more or a better quality of substance. The minute these guys realised they were being cajoled into relinquishing their freedom for a few months, things would get ugly. The catch of the day, or rather the night was of the latter disposition. Mr. Biman was an astute man, and he would not in his own words say, “Excuse me, could you squeeze in a bit please” to the pickup team, even if they offered him a drink, on a dry day. He had been maliciously lied to and assaulted, as he claimed.
Amay had been sulking in the courtyard, if it were to be called that. It was a triangular space, which was sealed off from all sides and contained an old rusty bench with some weights and a mirror. It was evidently where the recovering addict could put the pent up energy to fruitful use. It was either weight training or table tennis, there was no other scope of physical fitness in the regime.
Biman had been drinking on that day, he drank up to 45 ml of whisky everyday and at the rate would finish the bottle on the fourth day. He had no reason on the planet to be in a deaddiction clinic of all the places, he claimed. Saurabh tried to calm him down, which jerked onlookers to life. Going into rehab was like going to the zoo, but in this case you were the creature on both sides of the cage. So the platoon of misfits were disturbed and prepared for a night. Biman wasn't a very pleasant drunk. He was downright nasty, but for all his nastiness he looked like he had been hauling rocks at the quarry. He did not look like the man he spoke like, a trait often found quite commonly, among alcs/adds.
