It’s cricket season! After a long hiatus, Pakistan is hosting the ICC Championship, but its own team is almost out of the tournament — defeated humiliatingly by its arch-rival, India. This situation reminds me of a rather unusual cricket tournament held inside Delhi’s infamous Tihar Jail.
Tihar Jail in Delhi is not just a single prison but a vast complex of eight different jails, with Jail No: 3 being the largest. In many ways, it functions like a small township, housing between 15,000 and 17,000 inmates at any given time.
Every October, Tihar Jail hosts an inter-prison sports competition known as the "Tihar Olympics." Preparations for these games begin as early as August, with jail authorities actively involved in selecting players, arranging coaching, and organizing practice sessions.
Each jail has a particular sporting specialty.
Famous Cricket Team of Jail No: 3
During my time there, Jail No: 3 was famous for its cricket team and had been consistently winning the championship for several years. Similarly, Jail No: 1 was known for volleyball, while some other jail excelled in football.
The cricket team of Jail No: 3 had five Pakistani inmates, which led to it being unofficially dubbed the "Pakistani Team." The prison administration even brought in professional coaches from outside to train the players.
On one occasion, none other than cricketing legend Sachin Tendulkar visited the jail to offer his guidance. In his honor, a barrack in the jail’s observation ward was named after him.
In August 2002, as preparations for the Tihar Olympics were in full swing, the Union Home Ministry issued an intelligence alert, warning prison officials that Pakistani inmates might be plotting a disturbance or even planning an escape.
The administration responded swiftly, transferring all Pakistani prisoners to the high-security ward — a prison within the prison.
Search ‘Committee’
This decision dealt a heavy blow to the cricket team. Losing five key players in one go meant their chances of winning the championship were slim. In Tihar, winning matches is a matter of prestige for the particular jail, and the authorities go to great lengths to secure victory.
Finding replacements for the missing players was a daunting challenge.
Just like in Bollywood’s classic film Sholay, where jail informants keep the authorities updated, similar characters exist in real life inside Tihar. One such informant tipped off the administration about a Kashmiri inmate, Latif Ahmad, who had been languishing in the high-security ward for seven years.
The informant revealed that Latif was an exceptional fast bowler.
The jail authorities immediately sprang into action, compiling a report on Latif’s conduct and rehabilitation record. They forwarded a recommendation to senior officials, suggesting that he be transferred to the general ward.
Once approval came through, Latif was moved to Ward No: 11 — a section usually reserved for inmates enrolled in Indira Gandhi National Open University (IGNOU)’s distance learning programs.
Unlike other parts of the prison, this ward had a less tense atmosphere, resembling a hostel more than a jail. It housed classrooms, a library, and relatively educated inmates. Whenever VIPs or foreign delegations visited the prison, they were taken to this ward, leaving them with the impression that the entire jail operated in similar conditions.
After extensive paperwork and approvals, Latif was finally transferred to the general ward. In Tihar, as long as a team remains in the competition, players receive special privileges. For instance, their breakfast menu includes eggs, bread, butter, and milk, while lunch and dinner feature special rice and soybean dishes from the prison’s community kitchen.
New Surroundings for Kashmiri Inmate
After seven years of solitary confinement in the high-security ward, Latif found himself overwhelmed in his new surroundings. The sudden exposure to crowds unsettled him.
He was no longer accustomed to the noise and conversations around him. He pleaded to be taken back to the high-security solitary cell and attempted to bribe an assistant superintendent.
But the jail authorities were more concerned about their team’s performance and the prison’s reputation. They arranged counseling sessions for Latif and assigned a few inmates to look after him and help him adjust.
I, along with a Kashmiri Pandit engineer — whose name I deliberately choose not to mention, was assigned to counsel Latif. The engineer was in prison due to his wife’s suicide case.
During this time, Latif, who received special meals from the prison’s communal kitchen, would generously share his food with us. After months, we also saw an egg and some better cooked meals. When one is accustomed to watery lentils or bland vegetables floating in broth every day, a meal of a bit oily lentils, rice, and soybeans felt like a five-star restaurant’s menu.
Headless Team
During this period, another problem arose for the team. The captain, Amit Kumar, had been imprisoned for the past eight years on charges of robbery. His trial had concluded a year earlier, but the judge had reserved the judgment.
As fate would have it, just a day before a crucial match, Amit received summons from the court — it was time for his verdict to be announced.
That morning, as he was being escorted to court, both prison staff and fellow inmates silently wished for his sentence, so that he stays in the jail and plays the match. But destiny had other plans. The sessions judge, Shiv Narayan Dhingra, acquitted him of all charges and ordered his immediate release.
Amit, the team’s captain, made a desperate plea in the courtroom, requesting to stay in prison for a few more days. The judge, in a particularly foul mood that day, was infuriated by this unusual request.
He immediately ordered Amit’s release from the courtroom itself, suspecting that the young man was part of some prison gang and wanted to return for his share of illicit dealings. The judge went a step further, instructing prison authorities to send Amit’s belongings to his home and ensure he didn’t come even near the prison premises.
For the prison cricket team, this was a disaster. Five of their best players were already absent, and now, just a day before the decisive match, they lost their captain.
"Mystical" Coach's Plan
Amidst this chaos, an elderly inmate from our barrack, imprisoned for possessing hashish or marijuana, made an unusual offer. He claimed to have a mystical chant — a sacred incantation — that could help the team win.
If the team took him along to the match, he would recite it from the spectators’ stand, ensuring runs for the team. He even suggested that if he chanted it while the bowler took his run-up, the opposing batsman’s vision would blur as if a veil had been placed over his eyes.
This old man had a limp, dragging one leg behind him — a result of police brutality during custody. In prison, only a limited number of spectators — 20 to 30 prisoners — were allowed to watch the matches, and even then, strict criteria were enforced. Because this meant taking prisoners to another jail, as cricket ground was in Jail No: 1.
It was mandatory that spectators should not have a history of drug-related offenses, terrorism, or gang violence, and their conduct in prison had to be impeccable. Hot-tempered inmates were also barred from attending.
Winning the match was a matter of prestige for the prison authorities. So much so that the administration of Jail No: 3, in a desperate move, officially registered the elderly inmate as the team’s "coach," so he is allowed to sit in the pavilion and chant his incantations.
Jail No: 1, where the cricket ground was located, is connected to Jail No: 3 internally.
Upon arrival, during the security screening of the players and selected spectators, the staff at Jail No: 1 stopped the old man at the fence.
Despite fervent pleas that he was the team’s coach and the match couldn’t proceed without him, the authorities were unmoved.
They suspected something was amiss. Moreover, since he had been imprisoned for drug-related charges, he automatically fell under the restricted category.
With no other choice, the team and the assistant superintendent of Jail No: 3 accompanying the team instructed him to stay near the fence gate and chant his incantations from there. While he complied, he was deeply resentful about missing the match and not being able to recite his prayers from the stands.
Humiliating Defeat in Cricket Match
As expected, the team, playing without its captain, suffered a crushing defeat. They were knocked out of the tournament in a humiliating fashion.
When they returned from Jail No: 1, they faced an onslaught of taunts and ridicule. Even the Indian and Pakistani national teams wouldn’t have endured such disgrace after a loss.
To add to their misery, they were paraded through different prison wards, where they were locked in enclosures while fellow inmates hurled shoes, slaps, and kicks at them.
Their special meal privileges were revoked, and within two days, all players were scattered across different wards — harshly reminded that they were prisoners first and cricketers second.
In the eyes of the jail authorities, the players had tarnished the prison’s honour, and they were going to pay for it.
The old man, who was branded as coach, kept insisting that had he been allowed to sit in the stands, his mantras could have won the match single-handedly — even without the players.
(Iftikhar Gilani is a journalist based in Ankara, Tukiye. He was arrested in 2002 in a fabricated case and spent 9 months in Tihar jail before his case was withdrawn. He is author of the book "My Days in Prison" published by Penguin.)
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