For those who have never seen the inside of a prison or have only breathed the free air, it is difficult to convey the reality of life behind bars and the psyche of an inmate.
I have experienced this challenge. The things we take for granted in our daily lives can be extraordinary blessings for a prisoner.
Take, for example, the simple freedom to stand or sit at will—something a prisoner cannot do without restrictions.
Amid the current hustle and bustle of Ramadan, where mosques are resonating with the call to prayer, markets are alive with the excitement of iftar preparations, and the delightful aroma of countless delicacies is adding fragrance, my mind keeps drifting back to the Ramadan I spent in Delhi’s Tihar Jail in 2002.
That year, the holy month arrived in November. After spending seven months in solitary confinement in the high-security ward and later moving through different sections of the prison, I was finally shifted to Ward 11 of Jail Number 3 just a few days before Ramadan.
White Collar Crime Undertrials
This ward was primarily designated for inmates enrolled in distance education programs at Indira Gandhi National Open University (IGNOU).
The ward housed several classrooms and a library, and compared to other sections, it had a higher concentration of educated inmates. While the restrictions were the same, the presence of individuals from the upper echelons of society lent it an almost hostel-like atmosphere.
Mostly, those accused of white-collar crimes were kept here, as they were often vulnerable to exploitation in the other wards, where senior inmates or gang leaders extorted money from them through intimidation and torture. These extortions happened either within the jail or, in cases of larger sums, through their families outside.
Among my fellow inmates were an industrialist implicated in a multi-billion-rupee scam, a high-ranking government official, and a bank director—an unusual but rather fascinating company.
Announcement of Ramadan in Prison
Ahead of Ramadan, prison authorities announced that inmates who wished to fast should register themselves. This was necessary to arrange special provisions for pre-dawn meals (sehri) and to remove their names from the lunch roster.
There was no need for special arrangements for iftar, as dinner was already served across the prison at the same time.
Although religious data was not officially recorded in prison, this registration provided insight into the number of Muslim inmates at any given time. In 2002, I recall that around 30% of the jail population comprised Muslims, even though they made up only about 12% of Delhi’s overall demographic.
As Ramadan began, the superintendent of Jail Number 3, A.K. Kaushal, came to check on the inmates. I requested permission for congregational Taraweeh prayers. He referred to the jail manual, which prohibited collective religious gatherings, though Hindu festivals were curiously exempt from such restrictions.
I reminded him that the prison system was meant for reformation, not just punishment, and asked what tools of reform he had at his disposal. Even the most hardened criminals often found themselves seeking divine forgiveness in confinement.
Religion for reformation
Tihar Jail’s former head and later Lieutenant Governor of Puducherry, Kiran Bedi, had effectively used religion as a means of reform. She had allocated specific areas in each ward for prayer, ensuring that inmates remained engaged in positive activities rather than lawlessness.
Superintendent Kaushal eventually relented. He granted permission for Taraweeh in one of the classrooms, which was used for studies during the day. In Tihar, dinner was served at 5.00 PM, followed by a communal recitation of the song Aye Malik Tere Bande Hum from V. Shantaram’s classic film. This served as an evening prayer, after which inmates were locked in their cells for the night.
On that first night, under strict surveillance, Muslim prisoners were taken out of the barracks, and we gathered to perform Taraweeh in a classroom. An imam from Uttar Pradesh’s Azamgarh district, incarcerated for allegedly aiding gangster Abu Salem, led the prayers. His heartfelt supplications moved us all.
However, by the next day, we were informed that the permission had been revoked due to orders from higher authorities. Some inmates from other wards had demanded similar privileges, forcing the administration to retract its concession. We were, however, permitted to pray in our respective barracks after the night count.
Surprise Imam
Our barrack housed about 50 inmates, of whom seven or eight were Muslims. The space near the door was occupied by an elderly man imprisoned on drug possession charges. Police interrogation had left one of his legs permanently damaged. He ensured that the area was cleared for prayers, neatly arranging shoes and belongings in the washroom.
To our surprise, we discovered that one of our own was a Hafiz-e-Quran (a person who has memorized the Quran). Until then, nothing in his demeanor suggested religiosity—let alone that he was a Quran memoriser.
He was one of the senior and most feared inmates, known for his expertise in creating new profanities and hazing newcomers. He spent his nights gambling and engaging in illicit activities.
The elderly man convinced him to lead Taraweeh. It turned out he had once studied at a madrasa but later fell into bad company, eventually becoming involved in the drug trade. Throughout Ramadan, he led us in prayers, and his recitation of the Holy Quran and expression was mesmerizing.
However, the night the moon was sighted for Eid, the transformation was undone. As soon as the barrack was locked, he discarded his prayer shawl and skullcap, returned to his usual spot, and resumed his nocturnal vices. The gambling and substance abuse that had been temporarily suspended during Ramadan resumed in full swing.
Curious Case of Hindu Fasting Inmate
The prison administration showed exceptional leniency during Ramadan, exempting fasting inmates from routine chores such as cleaning, cooking, and other laborious tasks. Tihar prohibits non-vegetarian meals, so we subsisted on watery lentils and vegetables. However, during Ramadan, the food was slightly better—likely because the cooks were also fasting and felt a sense of duty toward fellow believers.
Among our small group of inmates was Arvind, a Kashmiri Pandit computer engineer, along with Anil Kumar, a Delhi University student, and Ehteshamuddin, a villager from Meerut. Arvind was a food enthusiast. Hearing praise of the pre-dawn meal, he impulsively registered himself as a fasting inmate to enjoy the special fare.
However, by mid-morning, he was miserable without tea. By noon, he was in visible distress, questioning how we managed to go without food and water for an entire day. In between, he got a call from the jail office interested in showcasing to the media that a Hindu inmate was fasting in solidarity with Muslim prisoners. He was projected as a symbol of communal harmony. The authorities ensured his story was widely publicised.
Upon his return from the jail office, he almost collapsed. We convinced him to break his fast and told him it was fine to do it as we used to do this in our childhood.
Now, there was an issue with removing his name from the fasting list, as his solidarity with Muslims had been widely publicised.
He had to struggle to get his name removed from the fasting list so he could be listed again among those served lunch or breakfast. It took him three days and some under-the-table transactions to reclaim his regular meals.
He had to struggle to get his name removed from the fasting list so he could be listed again among those served lunch or breakfast. It took him three days and some under-the-table transactions to reclaim his regular meals. Until then, Ehtesham and I discreetly saved portions of our meals for him from sehri to feed him during the day. Later also we used to save some portions of our 'richer' meal for him till Ramadan was over.
Disappointment of Eid
Despite the administration’s cooperation during Ramadan, Eid was another matter. We had proposed that the prison arrange seviyan (sweet vermicelli) for the occasion. It was decided that inmates would collect money and jail administration would arrange seviyan, dry fruits and sugar.
Since, as per the jail diet, prisoners are served kheer twice a week, it was also decided that milk used in kheer will be diverted to seviyan on Eid and on that week, there will be no kheer served.
Around ₹12,000 was collected in jail coupons—the in-house currency system. However, on Eid morning, we were served plain boiled vermicelli, devoid of milk, sugar or nuts.
The prison authorities had pocketed both the funds and sold milk meant for kheer, leaving us with tasteless strands of disappointment. In jail, one cannot refuse to eat food either and everybody was forced to swallow the tastless strands of disappointment.
It was a stark reminder of our reality—of life behind bars, where even joy came with a price.
For those celebrating Ramadan in freedom, surrounded by family and loved ones, gratitude is the least one can offer to the Almighty.
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