In the summer of 2020, during the Covid lockdown, we were imprisoned alongside Gulfisha Fatima and Safoora Zargar for our involvement in the movement for equal citizenship against CAA-NRC-NPR, which led to allegations of UAPA violations. Initially, we were cut off from the outside world due to Covid restrictions. It was difficult not to feel overcome by despair. The question of how long this would last would never leave us.
As we became immersed in the routines of prison life, creating spaces of love and camaraderie, the heaviness of time became a little more bearable. But the weight of uncertainty lingered. As Covid restrictions were relaxed, we started receiving newspapers. In February 2021, we read about the Supreme Court order in Union of India vs KA Najeeb, where the Court highlighted that notwithstanding the stringent provisions of Section 43(D)5 of the UAPA, delay in trial violates the right to life and liberty under Article 21. This gave us a glimmer of hope. Maybe, at least after five years, we would stand a chance at getting bail, we sighed. Gul had scolded us then: “Are you mad? Do you know how long five years is? I cannot survive in this wretched place for that long.” This April 9 marked five years since Gul went to Tihar Jail No 6 as an undertrial prisoner — without trial having yet commenced in the case.
A first-generation learner from Seelampur in Northeast Delhi, Gul had many dreams: To do a PhD, to teach, to build a just world. She would always tell us to “be positive”. Now, when we meet in court, she tells us that she does not dare to hope anymore. Her bail application has been pending in the Delhi HC since May 1, 2022. This long incarceration has taken a severe toll on her health. She frequently falls ill and has developed thyroid issues.
Despite such despair, glimmers of her joyful, generous and resilient self come through, shaping bonds with fellow inmates and the children in prison. Gul often laughs and complains about having no free time. Co-inmates are always rushing to her cell. There are applications to be written, legal orders to be read out, greeting cards to be made, lipstick to be applied. She is a confidante for many, opening her heart to those who seek solace in her warmth. For the last three years, Gul has been teaching adult literacy classes for fellow inmates through the Padho Padho (Read and Teach) programme. Her students adore her — an 80-year-old inmate recently learnt to write her name. Every year on March 8, Gul directs a play with women prisoners who have never acted. This March, as a special concession, Gul managed to stay outside her cell till 8 pm. For the first time in five years, she marvelled at the Moon under the open skies.
Recently, we met a child who was in prison with us. She is 10 now and lives in a shelter home. When we asked her what she prayed for on Christmas, she replied: “I prayed to Jesus for Gul’s bail”. Gul’s four-year-old niece, who has only ever met her in court, scolds her grandmother anytime the house is too messy, because Gul is “coming home tomorrow”. Her abbu’s health has been deteriorating. He often has bouts of anxiety, wondering if he will live to see his daughter walk out of prison.
Gul had cheered the loudest at the news of our bail in June 2021. After our release slip arrived two days later, the authorities gave us no time to say our goodbyes. We could only half hug Gul before being rushed out. It was heartbreaking to leave her alone, but we consoled ourselves — she, too, would be free soon! The HC order that granted us bail had brought so much hope. Four years on, we still await the reunion. Time has stood suspended — Gul’s life marked from one date to another. We leave you with one of her searing poems from prison, ‘Forgetting’: “For the history exam/ everything I would learn by heart/ but would always forget/ the dates/ I forget now almost/ everything/ but remember/only the dates”.
Kalita and Narwal are feminist activists and doctoral students at JNU and the University of Warwick, respectively
