Mumbai: It was my third day navigating the corridors of Mumbai’s Byculla Women’s Prison, as part of my fieldwork across prisons in five Indian states to learn about their pathways to prison, their worries and vulnerabilities, their experiences in prison, and the life they dreamt of post-release.
I found myself on the ground floor of Circle 1 which functions much like a smaller jail within the larger prison compound. Amidst the din and flurry of women rushing about their chores during the eight hours that the barracks remained open every day, I found myself gravitating towards a woman quietly engrossed in a game of chess inside a barrack.
This was my serendipitous encounter with Shoma Sen, 66, scholar and professor of English literature, women’s studies and post-colonialism, imprisoned for close to six years in what is now commonly known as the Elgaar Parishad or Bhima-Koregaon case.
Though I had followed Sen’s case for a while, she was now almost unrecognisable in the harsh confines of the prison. Clad in a simple cotton beige and green salwar and kurta, with a calm and gentle disposition, she was kind enough to speak to me at length before directing me to her co-accused and singer 37-year-old Jyoti Jagtap, who lived in a barrack on the first floor of the same building.
When I approached Sen and subsequently Jagtap—who was dressed in a grey shirt and black pants and spoke with clarity—I was struck by the calmness they exuded amidst a sea of turmoil. They offered me a raw and unfiltered look into their experiences in prison, and the injustices that plague the carceral system more broadly.
Sen is a former professor and head of the English literature department at the Rashtrasant Tukadoji Maharaj University in Nagpur. She was suspended from the university in July 2018, days before she was supposed to retire, due to her arrest. A social activist since her student days, Sen has devoted her life to the cause of marginalised communities.
Jyoti Jagtap is a member of Kabir Kala Manch, a cultural organisation that was formed in Pune, Maharashtra, in the wake of the communal Gujarat riots in 2002. The organisation uses artivism, including through modes of poetry, theatre, and music, to spread feminist, anti-caste, and pro-democracy messages. Jagtap has also received a Master’s degree in psychology.
Their arrests, as an Article 14 investigation in March 2022 revealed, were to become part of a security playbook deployed by the government of Prime Minister Narendra Modi, using security laws, surveillance technology and leveraging potent nation-interest narratives. Many argued that their arrests have eroded the rule of law in India—often in violation of the Constitution, using legal loopholes and grey areas.
The Alleged Bhima-Koregaon Conspiracy
In January 2018, a case was filed in Pune against people associated with the Elgaar Parishad programme held on 31 December 2017, where Sen and Jagtap (as a member of the Kabir Kala Manch) were also present.
The programme was organised to commemorate the Battle of Bhima Koregaon in 1818 in which soldiers fighting for the British Army who belonged to the Dalit Mahar community defeated the Brahmin Peshwa rulers of the Maratha empire. The victory symbolised the defeat of the Peshwas, who were known for imposing untouchability and discriminatory practices against Dalits.
The police alleged that the Elgaar Parishad programme’s performances and speeches were provocative and triggered the caste violence that erupted at Bhima Koregaon the following day.
Following this allegation, sixteen activists, lawyers, scholars, artists, all of whom were human rights defenders were arrested over time under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act 1967 (UAPA), for their alleged role in instigating caste violence at Bhima Koregaon.
They came to be infamously known as the Bhima Koregaon 16 or the BK-16— Dalit lawyer Surendra Gadling, prisoners’ rights activist Rona Wilson, founder of Republican Panthers Sudhir Dhawale, tribal rights activist Mahesh Raut, trade unionist and lawyer Sudha Bharadwaj, criminal lawyer Arun Ferreira, journalist Gautam Navlakha, trade unionist and academic Vernon Gonsalves, Indian poet and teacher Varavara Rao, Jesuit priest and tribal rights activist Fr Stan Swamy, Delhi University Professor Hany Babu, scholar and author Anand Teltumbde, and members of the Kabir Kala Manch cultural troupe Sagar Gorkhe and Ramesh Gaichor, in addition to Shoma Sen and Jyoti Jagtap.
The Pune police arrested Sen in June 2018, accusing her of conspiring to incite the Bhima-Koregaon violence and charged her with about twelve sections under the Indian Penal Code, 1860 (IPC) and the UAPA, ranging from promoting enmity between different groups to charges of terrorist activity.
Jagtap was arrested in September 2020 and charged with about 15 sections under the IPC and the UAPA, ranging from making statements causing public mischief to waging (or attempting to wage or abetting waging of) war against the Indian government.
Over the last nearly seven years, investigation agencies have made several, changing allegations of conspiracies related to the case: an assassination attempt against Modi to a Maoist conspiracy and, later, to accusations of inciting caste-based unrest.
No Relief For Ill-Health
A 14 October 2024 Supreme Court ruling allowing even those held under laws that make bail difficult to be released on medical grounds, has brought renewed attention to the health crises within prisons.
The interviews with the two women revealed the extent of ill health amongst prisoners, and how the prison environment exacerbates pre-existing ailment, an argument recently supported with the 2 October 2024 death of disabled former Delhi university professor, G N Saibaba.
Before he died, Saibaba said his decade-long stint in jail—before his exoneration—weakened his heart and body.
Another member of the BK-16, Fr Stan Swamy was 84 years old and suffering from Parkinson’s disease when arrested. His health eventually deteriorated, and he died in prison.
Sen suffers from arthritis, high blood pressure, and early onset of hyper glaucoma. Despite her arthritis, she was required to sleep on the floor in Byculla Women’s Prison. At Yerawada Women’s Prison, where she was previously incarcerated, she had secured a plastic chair for daytime use after a legal battle, but she was not allowed to avail the same benefit at Byculla.
“Healthcare within the prison was dire,” said Sen. “Those who fell ill often had to wait until their conditions worsened significantly before receiving adequate medical attention.”
“The lack of a proper hospital facility meant that even contagious illnesses were dealt with by isolating individuals in separate cells, with no consideration for proper care,” said Sen.
This situation was exacerbated during the Covid-19 pandemic, where rules seemed arbitrary and selectively enforced, leading to an atmosphere of unpredictability and anxiety. Jagtap contracted malaria while in prison. Limited access to water and hygiene products, which exacerbated her challenges during that time.
After six years in prison, Sen was granted conditional bail from Byculla in April 2024 by the Supreme Court, which cited delays in framing charges, period of detention, “nature of allegations against her vis-à-vis the materials available before this court at this stage”, her age and medical condition.
“We do not think she ought to be denied the privilege of being enlarged on bail pending further process subsequent to issue of chargesheet against her in the subject-case,” said the Supreme Court.
Jagtap, like many of the other BK-16 members, continues to be in prison.
On 22 August 2024, a division bench of the Supreme Court dismissed her application for interim bail, instead consolidating her bail petition with that of a co-accused.
Yerwada To Byculla
Sen was first imprisoned in Yerawada Women’s Prison in Pune. With the change in the Maharashtra government in February 2020, she hoped to be released.
Almost immediately, the union government took the case away from the Pune Police and handed it to the National Investigation Agency, and with that Sen was shifted to Byculla Women’s Prison.
When I asked Sen how she initially digested the shock of life in prison and how the transition to Byculla was, she said, “The first impression that I had as I settled into the phansi yard (the death row) at Yerawada was how peaceful and beautiful life was without a cellphone. There are many trees within the Yerawada jail, and being incarcerated there gave me a chance to be one with nature.”
The transition to Byculla was a mixed experience for Sen.
“Unlike Yerawada, there are no trees and gardens within the Circle, and the prison itself is more of a concrete structure nestled within a busy area in Mumbai,” said Sen.
“This move (from Yerwada to Byculla) was in some ways welcome, as I was finally lodged in a barrack with several other women,” she said. “I was glad to be in community with other women, although the barracks here were significantly overcrowded, in stark contrast to the isolation I experienced in the cellular arrangement at the phansi yard in Yerawada.”
At Byculla Women’s Prison, each barrack housed more than twice its intended capacity. Women's belongings were stacked against the walls, and at night, they slept on mats placed side by side with barely any space in between.
Despite the overcrowded and claustrophobic conditions, the women found ways to coexist and foster a sense of community.
Yerawada prison allowed women to wear only sarees and kurtas, requiring both convicts and undertrials accused of murder wear green sarees.
Although Sen primarily wore kurtas herself, she appreciated that Byculla did not moral police women’s attire choices. At Byculla, women had the option to wear trousers and shorts, and undertrials were not required to wear uniforms.
Sen also enjoyed the food better in Yerawada.
“Women in the open prison (at Yerawada) cultivated fresh vegetables around the prison grounds, some of which were used to prepare meals for the incarcerated women,” said Sen. “Consequently, the food in Yerawada was tastier and healthier than the food we receive in Byculla.”
Many women at Byculla expressed their dismay to me over the quality of the food, describing it as “primarily water with a small portion of lentils or vegetables”.
The last meal of the day was served by 4 pm, which they could choose to eat at any time. This meant that by late evening, when people typically have dinner, the food was cold, tasteless, and lacked nutrition.
Many struggled to protect their food from insects, rodents, and vermin that frequented their barracks.
Abysmal Hygiene, Scant Resources
Having spent many years within prison, Sen (about six years) and Jagtap (four years and counting) detailed the myriad issues that plague the women's barracks at Byculla.
The overcrowding was immediately apparent, with barracks housing more than double the number they were designed for. They brought to my notice the abysmal hygiene, with scant resources for cleanliness.
Basic necessities, such as sanitary napkins and diapers (for children) were provided by non-governmental organisations, making clear the lack of government support for the most essential needs of incarcerated women.
I asked Sen if she was uncomfortable living in squalor, but she replied saying she was “not entirely uncomfortable”, since much of her work as an activist involved meeting with people who lived in bastis (urban slums).
It made me reflect on how many of the women here once released would return to spaces that were equally or more crowded, dingy, unhygienic, and lacking in privacy as the prison itself.
Inside the prison, despite its shortcomings, the State provides prisoners with some basic facilities—a roof over their head, essential amenities, and daily meals, albeit of questionable quality—that many of them might not have access to outside of prison.
Sen said that despite the hardships of prison life, fear was never a concern. With a strong belief that she was fighting for a just cause, she felt a sense of empowerment, she said.
The Lack Of Education
“Many women who are in prison are from marginalised backgrounds, and many of them have never had access to primary education,” said Jagtap.
According to 2022 National Crime Records Bureau data, the latest available, about 25% of those incarcerated are illiterate, with about 68% of these from scheduled castes, scheduled tribes, and other backward castes. These figures emphasise the link between socio-economic disparities, lack of educational opportunities and incarceration patterns in India.
More than 80% of the women at Byculla were uneducated and would remain so after release, according to Jagtap. Despite prison rules requiring access to a teacher for incarcerated women, this was rare. Sporadic classes led by NGOs barely address educational needs.
“Education is integral to rehabilitation, a stated objective of modern prisons”, said Jagtap, who has been teaching basic literacy classes to incarcerated women for the past year and a half. At the time of our conversation, she was teaching nine women.
Sen taught English to prisoners and oversaw the prison's library, which she said had an “outdated” collection of books, a sentiment shared by others interviewed.
To compensate for this dearth of reading material, Jagtap moved a special NIA court to seek five educational or general books a month from her relatives and advocates. In September 2022, the court allowed this plea, subject to the books passing certain restrictive conditions.
Hierarchies & Sisterhood
Jagtap said that systemic issues perpetuating poverty and inequality outside the prison system continued within its walls.
“Despite all women being subject to the same formal rules, their ability to thrive varied significantly based on external familial support and financial resources,” said Jagtap.
“Poor women face barriers in accessing basic items such as canteen food and essential commodities, which were often sold at inflated prices,” she said. “This economic divide sometimes led to wealthy prisoners exploiting poorer prisoners by making them perform chores in exchange for canteen items, further deepening inequality and inequity within the prison environment.”
Despite the hierarchy within, there appeared to be a strong sense of solidarity, dignity, resilience, and community among women, guided by empathy for each other's hardships.
Both Sen and Jagtap described a support network among prisoners, which had helped them through their own challenges.
Jagtap said, “During harsh winters when resources like blankets were scarce, there was an unspoken agreement among prisoners to prioritise the elderly. When I was sick with malaria, my fellow prisoners helped me without hesitation.”
Women prisoners who had their children with them in prison informed me that they appreciated the support they received from fellow prisoners. Child-rearing is a full-time responsibility for mothers within prison, and they would be unable to complete their daily tasks and chores, if it were not for their barrack-mates who help care for a child as if it were their own.
Such sisterhood is also important to counter the isolating and hostile prison environment with companionship and care. Women have found ways to connect beyond their social circles of class, caste, nationality, and background.
Jagtap recounted heartwarming incidents, such as celebrating lawyer Sudha Bharadwaj's 60th birthday with a makeshift cake made from Marie biscuits, Britannia rusks and Bournvita. Bharadwaj in her book, From the Phansi Yard: My Year with the Women of Yerawada, describes it as one of her most memorable moments in prison.
Mental Health Stigmas
Sen and Jagtap spoke of the prevalence of mental health issues and trauma amongst women prisoners.
The women prisoners I spoke to expressed deep feelings of guilt for having their children with them in prison, worries about leaving their children outside, and concerns about how society would judge them upon release. They shared anxieties about their partners’ infidelity, family cutting off contact and being unable to cope with the changes outside upon release.
As omnipresent as mental illness was the stigma attached to mental illness.
Though there was a mental-health clinic in the prison, many women were unaware that they had mental-health issues, and those who did, were worried about their perception for availing such services.
Sen and Jagtap spoke about how those who were prescribed medication for mental illness stood in lines obediently every day to receive their pagal dava (medicine for the mad).
“There is a critical need to destigmatize mental health issues and advocate for prisons to provide comprehensive mental health support for all prisoners,” said Sen.
“The lack of sports or recreational activities for women to stay active and divert their minds within the prison environment is deeply concerning,” said Jagtap.
“I have been advocating for theatre and storytelling performances as a means of engagement,” she said. “These activities would not only distract women from the daily realities of confinement but also provide them with a healthy outlet to express their repressed emotions.”
LGBTQ+ Awareness & Experiences
Jagtap told me there were many queer individuals in prison, but many of them had not yet stepped out of the closet.
“Even if their fellow prisoners are understanding, there is a pervasive concern that this information could reach their families, whom they are not prepared to share this aspect of their identity with,” said Jagtap.
“This creates a double bind for these prisoners: to seek protection, they would need to publicly come out, but doing so exposes them to the social stigma and potential harm associated with their sexual orientation or gender identity,” said Jagtap.
This situation underscores the complex challenges faced by LGBTQ+ individuals within the prison system, where safety, identity, and social acceptance intersect in precarious ways.
I spoke to the only openly transgender woman prisoner at Byculla, who was housed in a separate cell within the women's prison. She was only allowed outside when the other cis-women prisoners were locked-in, and vice versa.
“The strict segregation has not only left me feeling like a pariah but also subjected me to constant scrutiny from other inmates,” she said, speaking on condition of anonymity. “I feel like I am on display in a zoo with no means of escape.”
“I am also excluded from accessing the rehabilitation programs offered to cis-women prisoners, and the only reason that is cited for this, is that I could be a security threat to them,” she said.
She faced harsher conditions than other prisoners because of her identity, and was excluded from the broader prison community, despite a 10 January 2022 home ministry advisory directing state prison authorities to ensure that transgender people should not be isolated and have access to rehabilitation programmes offered in prisons.
Both Sen and Jagtap expressed hope for change. They called for a reevaluation of the prison system, emphasising the need for better healthcare, education, and opportunities for rehabilitation.
Asked what they wanted to convey to readers, Sen said, “Please communicate our heartfelt gratitude for the support we have received from the national as well as international community. Their solidarity has been invaluable to us.”
The interviews in this article were conducted in a mix of English and Hindi. Excerpts have all been translated to English for the purpose of this article.
(Stuti Shah is a doctoral candidate at Columbia Law School in the US.)
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