On a cold February morning earlier this year, I was taken out from jail in a police van for my first peshi (presentation) in court, since my arrest in September last year. Inside the van, the cops were having an animated conversation about the farmers바카라 protests. But after four months of captivity, the sight outside was more alluring for me. I could see people going to their offices and children to their schools. There were people in cars, buses and on roads. Some were immersed in their phones, while others were talking to each other. There was no one watching over them. They were free to go wherever, talk to whomever.
It was a fascinating sight바카라the sight of free people. I was reminded of the past when I too, like the people I was staring at, had been free. The words of Iqbal came to me:
바카라Aata hai yaad mujhko guzra hua zamana
Wo baghon ki baharein, wo sab ka chehchahana
Azaadiyan kahan wo ab apne ghosle ki
Apni khushi se aana apni khushi se jana바카라
I had eagerly waited for this day. Till then, owing to Covid guidelines, all our court proceedings had been held virtually from within the jail itself. Shut out from the outside world in the same physical space for several months, I was feeling trapped. I desperately needed some change.
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I think the journey to the court lasted an hour-and-a-half. In court, the proceedings barely lasted 30 minutes. Once the 바카라tarikh바카라 (date) was over, I was put back in the van for our return journey to jail. All through the journey to court and back, I kept staring outside in amazement, as if I were a tourist being taken on a bus ride of a city that was foreign to me.
Photographs: Chinki Sinha
By 2pm, I had been brought back to Tihar and locked up in my cell soon after. The 바카라excursion바카라 to the court seemed to have gotten over like those childhood picnics바카라in no time. Now it was back to the same suffocating and monotonous life within the high walls of Tihar.
***
When I entered Tihar back in September 2020, the first thing that struck me was an eerie stillness. Anybody who has ever been inside the complex will tell you about this eerie stillness. It seemed as if we had entered a ghost town, surrounded by high walls on all sides. As the police car that was shifting me from police station to jail kept moving inside, the sounds of the outside world slowly started to recede and were overtaken by silence.
Umar Khalid바카라s 바카라Prison Diary바카라, first published in Outlook바카라s issue 바카라My Dear Apocalypse바카라, has featured in 바카라For In Your Tongue, I Cannot Fit: Encounters With Prison바카라, edited by Shilpa Gupta and Salil Tripathi and published by Context.
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We had entered the Tihar complex, but were yet to reach the jail where I was to be lodged. Tihar is a huge structure, the biggest prison in South Asia divided into nine different jails. The car kept driving on a totally isolated road before we reached Central Jail No. 2. It was here that the cops were to hand me over to the prison authorities.
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But first, some formalities had to be completed. I stood in a line behind others who were also entering the jail that day, waiting for my turn at a window. Behind it, sat a clerk filling up details.
바카라Naam? Baap ka naam? Kis case mein aaye ho?바카라
After telling him my name and my father's name, to his last question, I replied 바카라UAPA바카라. He had never heard it before, so he thought I had not understood his question.
바카라Nahin kaun si dhara lagi hai?바카라
바카라UAPA바카라
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바카라Kya? Dhang se batao?바카라 he was now visibly impatient.
Now the constable of Delhi Police, who had come to deposit me to jail, replied from behind, 바카라Dange ke case mein Sir, Delhi danga.바카라
The clerk entered it in his register, while looking irritated with me for not having replied properly earlier. It had been 11 days since my arrest, but till this moment, no one had referred to me directly like that. After all these years of speaking out against a politics that thrives on riots, hate and division, I was now entering jail with a slip in my hand that said 바카라Delhi danga바카라 next to the section for charges. It seemed like someone had punched me really hard in the guts.
But this was no time for sentimentalities, as more immediate fears바카라formed on the basis of what I had heard about jails바카라ran through my mind. Where would the jail authorities keep me? I had heard about the dreaded 바카라blade-baaz바카라 in jail, those who cut and slash you with blades if you don바카라t give in to their demands. Would they catch hold of me and make their demands바카라which could range from monetary to sexual? Would I be mistreated in jail due to how the media had portrayed me before my arrest?
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Thankfully, nothing like that happened. Instead, jail authorities took special measures to ensure no harm came to me. In the jail premises, I was 바카라highlight matter바카라바카라people whose cases were reported in the media. Any harm to such prisoners would also make it to the media, and reflect poorly on the prison administration.
I was lodged in a separate cell, away from other prisoners, and two jail wardens were assigned to me for my security. I realised that the very thing that had led to my arrest바카라a televised witch-hunt바카라now ensured me a protective cover inside jail.
But this created new problems for me as I was to realise in the subsequent days. Unlike other prisoners, I was not let out of my cell into the small verandah outside. In the name of security, they would just keep me lodged inside my cell. Many hours of requests would just give me 10-15 minutes of air in the open in the entire day. This confinement which continued for three weeks was quite unnerving. In my next court appearance, I raised it in court. The judge summoned the jail superintendent to court and instructed against keeping me caged like that. This gave me three hours every day바카라two in the morning and one in the evening. It was still far less than the rest, but after three harrowing weeks, it still seemed to be a big relief. A few months later, I negotiated one more hour from the authorities, and then some months later, some more.
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***
Over the past 15 months, this is what life has been about바카라daily negotiation for the most basic of things, be it books, warm clothes or just some air in the open. And it has also been wondering about what to do with time which seems to be in abundance. In his prison memoir, Kenyan writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong바카라o writes that contrary to what people think outside, life in jail is not about endless confrontations, it is instead a daily monotony, you wake up, you eat, you defecate, you sleep. Day after day after day. To that, I could add reading, and that pretty much sums up my days and nights over the last 15 months.
In his memoir, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong바카라o also talks about this peculiar predicament that political prisoners face바카라not knowing how long you have to wait till you are free again. In one sense, this makes our situation even worse than that of convicts. They know the length of their situation, and even if it is long, they can prepare themselves mentally for it. On the other hand, we just don바카라t know we could be free in a month바카라s time or in a year or it may even take 10 years.
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This uncertainty which keeps us hanging in a state of animated suspension between hope and hopelessness, is especially difficult to cope with. You always remain hopeful that some judge will see through the absurdity of the charges, and set you free. At the same time, you keep cautioning yourself about the perils of nurturing such hopes. The higher your hopes, the higher would be the distance from which you would come crashing down.
***
The functioning and structure of jails, with frequent transfers of inmates and extended periods of isolation, also prevents the building of any meaningful ties with others. Due to this, jail is also an inexplicably lonely and impersonal experience. Even though you are living amid hundreds of other prisoners, you still feel lonely because you are separated from your loved ones. But certain experiences leave me lonelier even amidst prisoners바카라I am talking about the internalised prejudice and bigotry against Muslims. Jail has brought me face to face with bigotry and prejudice against Muslims like never before. If till now, I was trying to understand the process through which people are brainwashed, here I met the end products of that process.
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A person left me bewildered by asking in front of several people out of nowhere바카라바카라you see all of us kafirs na?바카라 After the recent India-Pakistan cricket match in the T20 World Cup, another said: 바카라Aare, kal toh tumhari team ne hamari team ko hara diya바카라. More than once, I바카라ve been asked how many wives my father has, or how many I intend to have. If they feel you have taken offence, pat comes a defence, 바카라Arey kya galat bola, aap logo mein toh aise hi hota hai na.바카라
바카라Arey aap logo mein to aisa hota hai, na?바카라
바카라Aap ne kyun Owaisi ke baare mien kuch nahi bolte?바카라
바카라Yeh aap logo ne kya kar diya Afghanistan mein?바카라
None of the above comments that I have faced at different times, have come from consciously hateful people, or from people for whom hate is a political agenda. Instead, they come from ordinary and otherwise 바카라nice바카라 people, people who come and share their food with you, who tell you their stories of how they landed in jail and ask for your advice on legal matters. And then, talking about the news of the day, would slip into something like this:
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바카라You can바카라t deny Khalid bhai, Muslims support the Pakistani cricket team when they play against India.바카라
바카라How many Muslims do you know in your life who support Pakistan?바카라 I ask back.
바카라I do not know any Muslims in my life, but I know they support Pakistan.바카라
The prejudice is so deeply ingrained that they believe they are speaking the obvious truth. And it also comes with such moral righteousness that makes any argument extremely difficult after a while. You simply retreat into silence. Is this where the 바카라tryst with destiny바카라 was to bring us after 70 years? Are these the destiny바카라s children?
It is not that I am discovering prejudice, bigotry or even hate for the first time. Over the last 5 years, the regime and its pied pipers in media have constantly reminded me of my 바카라Muslimness바카라, and also of the place of Muslims in 바카라New India바카라. But till now, hate came from a distance, usually from TV and mobile screens. I always had the option of switching it off, if it got too much. My immediate circle바카라the people I spent time with in real life sheltered me from hate.
Jail has removed this distance. Now hate and prejudice are up close and in my face. There is nobody to shelter me, and nobody to confide in.
In my long hours of silence and an otherwise apocalyptic solitude, I keep telling myself not to turn bitter about my circumstances. It is quite easy to succumb to bitterness. But bitterness would not leave me good for anything productive, certainly not for the fight we have set out to fight바카라of reclaiming our country from the forces of hate and divisions. I also keep telling myself to look at the larger perspective.
A friend recently told me the story of a human rights lawyer in Chile who, all through the years of Pinochet, kept fighting cases against him in court. He lost all the cases. But after Pinochet fell, his petitions were used to indict Pinochet for his brutality and crimes against humanity. And now many years later, Chile has elected a left-wing president. So I tell myself바카라no tyrant lasts forever, he cannot trump the truth and hate can never triumph over love forever.
And on cold starry nights, when I miss my beloved, I find strength in the words of Faiz Ahmad Faiz, written from behind prison bars:
Dil se paiham ḳhayāl kahtā hai
itnī shīrīñ hai zindagī is pal
zulm kā zahr gholne vaale
kāmrāñ ho sakeñge aaj na kal
jalva-gāh-e-visāl kī sham.eñ
vo bujhā bhī chuke agar to kyā
chāñd ko gul kareñ to ham jāneñ
바카라Though they may concoct tyranny바카라s poisons
They will have no victories,
not today, nor tomorrow.
So what if they douse the flames
in rooms where lovers meet?
If they are so mighty,
let them snuff out the moon.바카라
(This appeared in the print edition as "Prison Diaries")
(Views expressed are personal)
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Umar Khalid is a student leader and activist
