Voices From Prison: Hope Remains A Stubborn Thing Even In Captivity, Says Umar Khalid

Much had changed in Tihar as I returned after my interim bail this time around. Nearly fifty more prisoners had been placed in our barracks, which was already saturated in capacity. This meant that there was even lesser quiet than before. This dearth of peace pinched even more after the bail rejection by the Supreme Court. While I was still trying to recover from the media storm after the judgement, more prisoners knew me now than ever before, owing to the incessant reporting on television news and in newspapers. Now, everyone wants to talk to me for a while—whether out of curiosity or awe, it is difficult to tell. What I, on the other hand, crave more than anything else, is to be left alone.

My cell has been feeling different too. When I left for home after the interim bail, there was still hope somewhere that maybe, the judgement would be made in our favour. This is why I had bundled up all my books, notes, letters, pictures, cards and carried them home with me. Now that the bail has been rejected and there’s no chance to leave this place at least for another year, the space I created within my cell feels like an empty slate. Perhaps, this is a good thing. It’s a new innings, after all.

The first few days after a judgement comes are always difficult to cope with. In fact, the day I was denied bail by the Supreme Court, I was transported back to 2022, when my bail was rejected the very first time in the trial court. The suddenness of the news hit me in the gut in the same way. But after spending more than five years here, after my bail has been rejected five times by three different courts, I’ve almost gotten used to bouncing back from the feeling of helplessness. The weather, however, does add to the gloom. I’ve been sleeping wrapped in my shawl and several layers of warm clothes, because the sharp winds that come through the iron bars in my cell at night, make it really difficult to sleep on the cement slab that serves as a bed. The mornings are still fine, when we are allowed to walk around and there’s sunlight. But after 3 pm, when the time to return to the lockup approaches again—that’s when the mind space starts to go downhill. My mind starts spiralling into a bottomless darkness and I begin to wonder whether I will ever be able to step out as a free man. And what happens, even when the bail comes our way? The restrictions that have been placed on those who have been granted bail by the court are so harsh that life outside will perhaps remain as curbed, their freedom as gagged, as it is within prison. It is often a struggle to find my way out of this darkness.

This time around has been a challenge also because my hand-me-down television has finally given up. While most films that come on TV these days are quite toxic, the news even more so, what kept me going was the in-built radio and the songs that I could listen to, however limited. Music and silence have been my constant companions through my incarceration. Hopefully, I will try to get another one for myself soon—not a fancy one, just one with a radio.

I have also found solace in the animals of Tihar. I used to feed two cats—Shilpa and Shyamlal. Eventually, Shilpa had two kittens, whom I named Black Panther and Stuart Little. It’s both amusing and heartwarming to witness their daily shenanigans and be party to them. It also makes me realise that I’ve come to prefer spending more time in their company than the company of fellow human beings.

It is peculiar and interesting at the same time how those, who may be accused of various crimes on the outside, spend their time feeding a range of animals inside jail—from cats, to birds and even lizards and ants! There is a running superstition here that feeding animals brings sawab, which may eventually translate to freedom. This is why it is not uncommon to find tiny bits of roti or sugar strewn across the floor of the barracks, so that the ants remain well-fed. The cleaner in our barracks often complains, but the prisoners remain incorrigible. Once, a prisoner, who had been watering a tree in our barrack for a few weeks, got bail. The next day, when he left, three others took up the mantle to keep the tree watered, in the hope that they too, would be released. You see, hope remains a stubborn thing, even in captivity.

I’m planning to get back to my reading, even though the recovery from the bail rejection derailed me a bit. There’s a list of books I already have in mind, which I must get cracking on. The wait for freedom seems longer than ever at this time. So, I must do what I can to keep myself going, especially in an environment, where doubt has been made to turn into certainty in public perception, regarding the allegations levied against me. The operative word in mainstream media’s discourse for me is no more “anti-national”; it’s “terrorist”.

How those, who believe the State’s version, perceive me, I cannot change. But what I really want those, who express solidarity with me, to understand is that I reject the victimhood that I’m often identified with by others. There is pain in this seemingly endless wait, indeed; but there is also a beauty to this pain. I’m content where I am, in spite of what I’m being subjected to, because there is beauty in knowing that this is not about me alone. My incarceration is not merely to target me as an individual; it is to teach my fellow comrades a lesson that anyone who dares to ask uncomfortable questions to the powers that be can, and will be, forcefully silenced without respite. Therefore, this battle that I’m fighting, too, is larger than me as an individual. This is why the language in which those, who believe in what I have to say, speak of me and others in this case needs to change. Ours is a battle for a vision—of a time in our society when some will not be more equal than others. This conviction is what makes this pain bearable. It’s almost Christ-like, or Bhagat Singh-like. Both sacrificed their lives for causes of the oppressed and there is beauty in knowing that this is the lineage of which I’m a part, in a history that shall be penned for the future.

This is why I wake up every day to the lines of Bhagat Singh that I’ve etched on my prison wall:

"Every tiny molecule of Ash is in motion with my heat

I am such a Lunatic that I am free even in Jail.”

(This article is part of the Magazine issue titled Thou Shalt Not Dissent dated February 1, 2026, on political prisoners facing long trials and the curbing of their rights under anti-terrorism laws for voicing their dissent)

(As told to Apeksha Priyadarshini)