Life is an intriguing thing, so much of which is often dictated by the whims of chance and fortune. Would I be the same person as I am, had I been born a thousand miles away in a different continent, wrapped and immersed in a different culture? Often, our experiences shape who we tend to become, but with no power to choose where we are born and raised, in what household, with what ideologies, in what economic levels; our experiences tend to find us as much as we find them.
It’s precisely why I’ve often restrained myself from casting judgment at most people, thinking long and hard about a quote from Plato on the need for compassion – “be kind, everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle than you”.
And it is this thought process which has often made me wonder about the people who find themselves unfortunate enough to land in prison. The whys and hows are always at the forefront, but I gather the courage to believe in hope – hope that a prison doesn’t remain a house of misery but rather a home for rehabilitation, and the bedrock on which foundations are laid for a second chance.
When contacted by a Journalist from “The Week” to photograph a group of inmates in Hyderabad, I was eager, filled with this hope, and I’m happy that I went and even more so to be able to recount for you my little journey.
The Chanchalaguda prison appears to be a place dedicated to not shunning the shunned but raising their dignity and trying their best to put them back upon their feet, so that they may once more walk their own path, and this time, make better choices.
While not allowed to visit the internal portion of the institution, we were shown three places that highlighted the practices and ideology of the prison wonderfully. The entrance was filled with plants and trees and was gorgeously green; by merely looking at the landscape, it would be hard to believe that this was, in fact, a jail.
Walking a bit further, we met Mr. Ravi (name changed for reasons of privacy), an ex-con, who is now working as a receptionist within the building.His polite greeting and demeanor, I think, told a better story than words possibly could have.We were then guided to the Ayurveda center where the prisoners were being trained to become professional masseurs, in the confidence that when the time comes for them to leave the facility, they will not only have paid their debt to society but will be ready to begin a fresh life, with the skill needed to earn an honorable living.It was heartwarming, and perhaps reassuring, that in these sordid times of hate and distrust, those in charge of this facility for rehabilitation still held firm on the principles of change, acceptance, forgiveness, and second chances.From there, our trip took us to the “Anand Ashram”, where beggars from all over the city were being brought in and were being given a basic level education, being taught early grade maths and language.From there, our trip took us to the “Anand Ashram”, where beggars from all over the city were being brought in and were being given a basic level education, being taught early grade maths and language.Along with this free education, they were provided with food and accommodation.The last leg brought us to the Telangana State Women’s Prison operated petrol bunk, where the entire staff was comprised of former prisoners. Getting a chance to speak to them, we heard their story told in their voice. It was hard and even a bit sad to hear of some situations, some circumstances, some moments of rage and violent impulses, but when they finished their tales, Plato’s quote rang loud in my ear.Ultimately though, I walked away with a modicum of peace knowing that they were now happy people who had left the past behind, and dedicated themselves to the present and the future by working in respectable jobs, and earning an honest living.
A final portrait that I took was that of Mr. Dhanunjay, who patiently guided us around and explained to us the inner mechanism of the entire institution. I am deeply grateful to him for the time he gave us.
A view to see. 