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Life in confinement is marked by pain and desolation.
In custody: Women in Tihar A slow climb over the Janakpuri flyover in West Delhi, gives a visitor the first glimpse of the fortress that is Tihar Jail. Surrounded by lofty eucalyptus trees, barbed-wire fencing and circular watch bays at every few metres, it is the largest prison in South Asia. Once you enter the pale pink complex through the guarded gate, there are only a handful features, such as the steel gate and high wall, to convince you that this is a penitentiary. In more recent years, the jail has acquired fame for being one of the leading reformist prisons in this part of the world, with its innovative programmes for rehabilitation of prisoners.
Sprawled over 400 acres, the prison has the capacity to house 4,000 inmates, but at the time of our visit, it had as many as 13,781 inmates packed in the seven jails on its campus. Jail Number Six, which was opened exclusively for women in the year 2000, houses 600 inmates, when its total capacity is for only 400. Eighty per cent of the women at Tihar are under-trials. Of those convicted, sixty women are serving life sentences. No one at the women’s jail has received the death sentence yet. The common crimes here are dowry-related crimes, murder, drug trafficking, prostitution and financial crimes. Jail Number Six is the first in the row of Tihar’s seven jails. A narrow road with high concrete walls on either side leads to an enormous steel gate, which is bolted and guarded on both sides. It is opened only twice a day; first to let the van with under-trial inmates depart for city courts in the morning and again, when they are brought back in the evening. It is the world behind these steel gates that reveals stories of desolation and pain, but also of hope. Once inside the gates, the jail transforms into a place that is completely the opposite of what it projects from the outside. Eight wards are situated in cottage-like houses with red roofs and large courtyards, set in a large circular design that resembles a resort. Each ward has individual cells and barracks where the inmates stay. Lush green lawns and trimmed hedges line the buildings. The pavements are clean, the floors are sparkling and an antiseptic smell is omnipresent. In the distance, spirals of smoke shoot up to the sky, signalling that lunch is being prepared. There are no prisoners in uniform and no barbed-wire fencing or iron bars. Nothing about the place feels like a jail. It is just the iron grills outside every cell, which upon a closer look, give the secret away. No woman in Tihar confesses to her crime. The objective of telling their stories here is not to sympathise with or question their cases. Nor are these stories about praising the efforts being made by the prison in assisting the inmates with their reform process. Instead, these are mere observations of how women endure their time spent at the jail, survive through their darkest hours, and find a deep-rooted strength, both individually and collectively. There are few women who would say that their time spent in jail has not been bad. And even fewer would openly and comfortably admit that theirs has been a positive experience. But Mary D’Souza (name changed), a literate, middle-class businesswoman, is an inmate who says she has not disliked life in prison. Completing nearly 10 years in and out of the confines of Tihar, Mary, at 48, is still fighting many charges of cheating, bouncing of cheques and other financial crimes involving international money transactions that have been made against her. And yet, she candidly admits to truly enjoying her time in jail. ‘I woke up this morning and started wondering about what I should wear today. I need to put away my summer clothes and take out my winter ones. Just things I would do on an ordinary day if I were at home. I know if I were to tell someone that I feel at home in jail they would think I am crazy", she says, refusing to be photographed. Mary shares the floor space in jail with the rest of the inmates. Though she belongs to the minority of literate people in the prison, this does not give her any extra civil liberties. Dressed on the day of our meeting in a pair of blue trousers and a beige cardigan, she says that her life, even with all her troubles, seems fine: "Human nature can really surprise you and I have learnt so much about myself here. Out here, you are at the bottom and there is no lower place to go." And while she consciously does all she can to adjust herself to this world, it’s the craving to see her children that makes her efforts weak sometimes. "My eldest daughter has just written to me from the US and her first baby is due this Christmas. When I miss my children, I sit down and make cards for all of them out of cartoon strips from old newspapers." She goes on to explain how she has tried to help her family battle the stigma of her being in prison in her own way: Most of the inmates find her approachable, and since only five per cent of all the women in the jail are literate, Mary is often requested to write letters and bail applications for them. Even the jail authorities have decided to put her abilities to better use. So when a caretaker was required to look after three mentally handicapped inmates, Mary was an obvious choice. And so, in her small way, Mary is making her contribution towards a better life in prison — for others and herself. Published with
permission from In Custody: Women in Tihar
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