In our last installment, we got a glimpse of the addiction treatment centers operating along the borders of Haryana. Today, delve into a family's pain that lost their young son in one such facility. Despite the incident occurring a year ago, the center remains operational. Victims claim these rehab centers lack doctors and medicine, while the operators are exasperated with administrative crackdowns.
In the second week of May, early morning at Hebatpur village, Sarpanch Rishipal Singh's phone buzzes. A distress call from Seva Dham Rehabilitation Center asking, "Did your nephew Sumeet have episodes before?"
Half-asleep, the Sarpanch is jolted awake - 'No. He never did. What happened? Is Sumeet having seizures?'
'The call abruptly ended. By the time I reached the hospital, my boy was gone, perhaps hours before I arrived.'
Read the first installment here -
We spoke to the Sarpanch from Jind over the phone. Despite a firm voice, it grew somber and teary at the mention of his child. Reminiscing - on May 2, we left him at the center, crammed with over thirty children in a room. We didn't have much time to investigate thoroughly. Our only relief was knowing another boy from the village was there.
Although generally they wouldn’t allow visitors for over a month and a half, they couldn't stop me. I visited three times in ten days.
During the visits, Sumeet never indicated anything was wrong!
They never allowed solitary visits, each time a center representative accompanied. Something seemed off, but nothing was clear. It was this confusion that killed my boy.
We wandered through several centers and met doctors across a day and a half. Encountered many familiar faces claiming even "drug-free" villages were submerged in addiction. Rehab centers are no different. Many have died from withdrawal symptoms, yet no one speaks out.
Source: aajtak
There is danger, disgrace...”Why scratch the wounds...” They join us in the argument with Sarpanch Rishipal Singh.
They killed my kid... On 12 May, loud music played at the center while patients danced. Claimed as therapy to reduce withdrawal symptoms, though doctors normally prescribe medication. Allegedly, by dancing or working, they promote a natural recovery. After dancing in a confined hall, the patients retired late that night, triggering Sumeet’s health to deteriorate.
He was seized with violent tremors, teeth clattering. Fellow patients rushed. They called out to the staff, but no one responded. After a while, Sumeet's body went limp. The others returned to their beds.
The next attack came soon, followed by a third. Staff arrived, administering some pills, but the boy was already gone. It occurred around 4:30 in the early morning. It took about three hours before they called me, not explaining, rather questioning…
I hastened to the center, then rushed to the hospital. Inquired and discovered no patient by the name Sumeet had been there. Returning, I saw a stretcher being loaded into a van. I ran. By the time we reached the doctor, Sumeet was pronounced dead on arrival.
How did you learn what happened at the center that night?
Another boy from our village was there and revealed everything later. We filed an FIR and ordered a post-mortem. But a year has passed without a report or action.
At admission, concocted stories were told - "doctors are present round the clock," "good food and counseling are provided."
The child was addicted to chitta, and breaking free is deadly. Every child here knows this fact, yet the center didn’t care. Big-bodied men ran the center, inebriated and neglected of whether kids lived or perished.
Staff was so scarce that they had patients cooking meals, cleaning, even scrubbing bathrooms.
Shortly after we hung up the phone, a stream of documents followed from the Sarpanch's number - death certificates to the deceased's identity cards. Along with a request—please see if something can be done.
Source: aajtak
Post-Sarpanch chat, we contact Seva Dham Rehabilitation Center for enrolling our hypothetical patient.
Though evening has just fallen, a sleepy and husky voice answers as if in deep sleep.
Admission? Yes, it's possible. The monthly charge is 17,000, with six-month enrollment ensuring your patient will be fine. Husky voice turns professionally brisk.
Seventeen is quite steep, could you reduce it, Sir? I've checked several places offering lesser charges...
Before the words were fully spoken, the voice interjects - I know. If they charge less, so goes their service. It’s business to them. We are doing good, but there are many expenses. Doctors, nurses, counselors, cooks, cleaning arrangements are necessary. Spend like this and patients will return utterly free from addiction.
Will a doctor be available 24/7?
No need for that! Doctors will visit daily. Also, there’s a phone for emergencies.
Alright, where is your center... I inadvertently fumble amidst calls...
Where are you speaking from? The voice now sounds alert as if scrutinizing. Softening suggests - So, at this center, we aren’t taking new admissions; our license is sent for renewal. However, we have two more centers, different names, same work, based in Karnal and Narwana. Same charges apply. Tell us, and we’ll even pick up the patient ourselves.
Source: aajtak
Will we get CCTV access?
No, providing that intrudes others' privacy. We can send you recorded videos if you wish.
The voice lacked any sense of pain, even after a young death a year ago.
Rehab centers have witnessed several suspicious deaths but seldom makes it to media, never in government data.
In Sonipat, years ago, Dharmajeet was beaten to death by several running a center. After CCTV footage acquisition, police booked some for culpable homicide, but no further updates followed.
In Sirsa district, rumors claim daily deaths. Balram Jakhar of Abu City claims 30 to 40 die yearly in these so-called "drug-free" areas due to overdose. Those left, fall victim to AIDS. Married young girls bring illnesses unknowingly. This shame deters families from speaking publicly or even reporting deaths, leading to quick disposal of the deceased without police intervention.
Where are the drugs coming from?
They come from borders. Even if unavailable, medical store owners dole out medications. See for yourself.
Source: aajtak
Accessing medical addiction is alarmingly easy. Visit a hospital and try yourself. This widespread sentiment echoed in Sirsa led us to Bansal Hospital.
During a phone call, a so-called "valid" hospital’s doctor prescribed me depression medication for ten days. Without a prescription, the hospital's onsite chemist dispensed medication with the only instruction not to panic if excessive sleep occurs!
Just last month, Haryana's government instructed all district deputy commissioners to ensure CCTV installations at drugstores to prevent prescription-less medication sales. Though this plan aims to tighten regulations on medical addiction, pharmacies within hospitals are guilty of the same offense.
Now in Fatehabad, near the hospital, a neighborhood once cold to outside affairs.
Kargil Mohalla, alternately called Guru Nanak Pura, morphed into a military-like base. Residents swallow spit when hinting at suppliers 'ruining' everyone.
Small houses interspersed with multistoried buildings resemble a film set. All equipped with CCTV, alerting against police threats. After ruckus, forces sat across each corner, sealing the alley. Neither emergency nor routine entry permitted without scrutiny.
Source: aajtak
New faces face scrutiny. So did we.
Deserted roads. Nearly all doors stayed shut. Faces peek through windows or one or two stray kids seen outside.
Simple detective note - "Who'd enjoy living in such heat? Now on duty, we inspected days back. A dog squad joined, yet found nothing. Do they disappear?"
Does that mean you broke the supply chain?
We can’t claim that. Task is to follow orders.
The street showed one visible family. "You, too, supplied drugs?" came nervously.
A quick retort, "If I did, would I live in such a house?" Pointing at the half-built house, Makkhan, previously complained multiple times about drug selling.
Then, who's distributing drugs?
Excluding us and one other family, all do. Men, women, children. Kids distribute drugs sneaking out to landmarks, parents talk on phones. Police never frisk kids, everything proceeds smoothly.
Makkhan’s semi-built house - a venue of numerous police complaints. Documents inundate us: letters to CMO and Chief Minister. In each, genuine grievances concerning drugs, supported by receipts attached.
Source: aajtak
Why do you take such risks?
The question lingers longer. Perhaps old wounds still fester. His face stroked, Makkhan reflects - Father's home. Lived here for 20 years. Where else to go? Women are here. Little girls. Destroying drugs assures us. Complaints delayed brought police threats. Passing through, stones fly from these angry folks.
Makkhan pulls additional bundles of documents before we make our exit.
Almost every electric pole sports drug rehabilitation center ads in Kargil Mohalla. Walls too are billboards.
One call elicited this - "No dealings over the phone. You don’t seem from Haryana! Where’s your patient from?"
Another viewpoint considers drug de-addiction centers are run by "other stakeholders." Many lament government’s stern measures.
Discussing with Karamveer Sehwal, a peer educator for nearly 30 years.
Too many guidelines impossible to follow. Government rulebook dictates monthly costs of 12-13 lakh INR for rehabs with 15 patients. Only NGOs run them, lacking government funds. How do they manage? Says expenses of over a million INR split among 15 addicts costs 90k INR per patient monthly, each for six months. Imagine - would already struggling families afford this?
Source: aajtak
Low admission rates, or the wrong hands receive them. An anxiety-laden voice.
So, one center's cost is between 1.2 to 1.3 million INR monthly!
No. That's if for a 15 patient capacity center. More patients, more staff, and subsequently more expenses.
Private ones suffer, even civil hospitals have centers but lack staff. Withdrawal symptoms lead to nighttime brawls and no management plan.
But centers we visited showed management neglect, showing why guidelines might’ve been necessary!
Yes. Mismanagement exists. Following the crowd, many opened centers, lost on rehab vs de-addiction difference. Lacking professional training.
When patients turn violent, soothing words transform to violence. Staff caught in brawls, some perished. My head received stitches once detailing the chaos of patients, using weapons at times.
We wish for good, but are treated like terrorists by administration. Departments carry inspections monthly. Always finding faults. When unable, they blocked licenses. Our Rohtak branch was closed.
As patients hang between care and alleged administration harshness, centers lock them away from the world, where they look forward to the day they’ll be free to embrace the sky.
A young man, recently released on condition of anonymity, shares: "Often tasked to count sugar granules - a kilo's worth.\If I protested, punishment awaited. Same with cleaning situations during withdrawal vomiting. This was their counseling!'
