On February 26, 2026, Khalid Saifi completes six years in jail in a case where the trial has yet to begin. Arrested in connection with the Delhi riots “conspiracy” case (FIR 59/2020), he has been lodged in various prisons across Delhi during this prolonged incarceration.Saifi, a human rights activist, was picked up by the Delhi Police near Khureji Khas at a time when tensions were escalating during the anti-Citizenship (Amendment) Act protests. He had gone there, he maintains, to help disperse a crowd amid rising unrest.Over these six years, the punishment has extended far beyond prison walls. His daughter, Maryam, has grown up missing her father at the school bus stop. Unlike other children, whose fathers walk them to the bus each morning, hers is never there. His sons, Yasa and Taha, have entered their teenage years in his absence, enduring bullying at school in the aftermath of his arrest.At home, his wife Nargis, who did not know the ways of the world, was forced to be a strong woman. Unfamiliar with the intricacies of legal processes and public life, she had to quickly learn the language of courtrooms, speak at public forums, manage household responsibilities, pay bills, and sustain a campaign for his release. To put on a brave front to ensure that her three children at home – and her husband behind bars – do not lose hope.The following are excerpts from Saifi’s jail diary. In them, he reflects on the relentless cycles of incarceration: court dates that come and go, hope rekindled and deferred, judges transferred, brief mulaqats with family, and the quiet, grinding helplessness of waiting for a trial that has yet to begin.September 5, 2025Bail denied, tareekh par tareekhMy first bail in FIR 59/2020 was filed in July 2021. After three of our co-accused got bail from the Delhi High Court (HC), I was hopeful of getting bail from the Sessions Court. After the filing, the hearing started. Date after date, along with me, other co-accused also filed their bail applications.In February 2022, after many hearings and delays, my co-accused, Ishrat Jahan, got bail, and I became more hopeful of getting bail, as in the chargesheet my role was shown as similar to Ishrat Jahan’s. But on the 6th of April 2021, my bail application was rejected by the Sessions Court. I was told by my family and legal team that it was expected to be rejected. Now we were going to the HC, and soon we would get relief (bail).Bail was filed in the HC, and the first hearing took place on 19th April 2022. On that date, the Bench said they were too occupied to hear my plea and posted my matter after the summer vacations, i.e., in July 2022.(India is the only major country where courts go on long vacations.)The next date came, and the arguments began. After a hearing of 20 minutes, the next date was given. Justice Siddharth Mridul was heading the bench, the one who gave bail to Natasha Narwal, Devangna Kalita, and Asif Tanha in 2021.Tarikh pe Tarikh. Then finally, the Bench reserved my bail orders on 21st December 2021. We became hopeful that after the winter vacations, the order would be pronounced. It didn’t happen. Someone said maybe the order would come after Republic Day.It didn’t come till the end of February 2024. By then, I had completed two years in jail. In the month of March, we got some news that Justice Siddharth Mridul had been promoted as Chief Justice of Manipur, and soon he would be going there. At first, it came as a shock to me, but I was told that he would pronounce the order before leaving. I again became hopeful. The process of his getting a promotion letter, notification, transfer letter, and whatnot took a couple of months. Everything was done.Even the summer vacations were over. The Honourable Judge Sahib left for Manipur without giving my bail order. After almost a year and a half, we were back to square one. Anyhow, my bail application was placed before the Bench of Hon’ble Judge Suresh Kumar Kait, who was also a popular name in jail, as he was considered to be following the rule: Bail is the rule, jail is the exception.My legal team also told me that he was a very good judge and that he wouldn’t take any political pressure in his decisions (a rare quality nowadays). First, he gave a very long date, and after that, the silsila of Tarikh pe Tarikh started. But whenever he heard my case in court, he scolded the Senior Superintendent of Police(SSP) many times for various things they had written in the chargesheet. When he was told by the SSP that I had given provocative speeches in court, he asked them to play those speeches in court. After hearing them, he asked the SPP, “What’s wrong with these? What did he say against the country?”On many occasions, he raised very serious questions about the police and the chargesheet. I used to read all this in the newspaper. Many of my fellow inmates would come to me and say, “Khalid Bhai, zabardast sunwai hui kal aapki. Yeh judge aapko zaroor bail dega.” (Khalid Bhai, the court hearing was terrific. This judge will definitely grant you bail.)I again kept hope that once the hearing was completed, he would give a bail order. Once again, my order was reserved, and the waiting time started.Illustration: Pariplab ChakrabortyMeanwhile, a few very good orders came from the Supreme Court regarding our case, which made me eligible to get parity with my co-accused who were out on bail and also to get the benefit of the delay in the trial.All this made me more hopeful, and I thought it was just a matter of a month or two; I would get bail from Justice Suresh Kumar Kait. I was proven wrong again.Then a bomb exploded, and Justice Suresh Kumar Kait Sahib was promoted as Chief Justice of J&K. My lawyer went to court on the next date and requested him to pronounce the bail order of Khalid Saifi, to which he replied, “I don’t remember whether I have even heard Khalid Saifi’s bail plea or not.”When I came to know his words, I said, “Wah! Judge Sahib, wah!”After a few weeks, news came that he was being appointed Chief Justice of his hometown HC, i.e., Madhya Pradesh. He also left the Delhi HC after giving a beautiful speech regarding the Rule of Law and the beauty of the Indian judicial system.After two and a half years, we were back to the starting point. Then, after a few months, a new special Bench was constituted to hear the bail pleas in FIR No. 59/2020. This time, it was a Bench of Justice Naveen Chawla and Justice Shalinder Kaur. Again, we were put in the chakki of Tarikh pe Tarikh—yeh vacation, woh vacation, kabhi kuch aur, kabhi kuch.Getting frustrated by this torture, two of our co-accused went to the Supreme Court(SC) in October 2024 and December 2024. The Honourable SC did not entertain their pleas under Article 25 (Right to Liberty) of the Constitution of India but said, “We request the Honourable Delhi HC to expedite the bail hearing.”Anyhow, the hearing kept going in the HC, one after another. We were all hoping that the orders would be reserved before the summer vacations and that the bail orders would come in July.On 21st June 2025, SPP Amit Prasad requested another date, as his senior Additional Solicitor General (ASG) Tushar Mehta wanted to say something. On his request, July 1, 2025, the first working day after the summer vacation, was given. ASG Mehta was not available on that day, so it was pushed to July 9.Finally, he came and said what he had to say. He said something that should not be accepted in any Banana Republic, let alone the world’s greatest democracy.He said, “People like these should remain in jail till the trial ends. They should either get convicted or acquitted, but no bail.”After all this, our orders were reserved for the third time. We all knew that Justice Shalinder Kaur was retiring on September 7, 2025. Everyone was saying that they would pronounce the orders before that. I had my own doubts, but my lawyer told me that this time it wouldn’t happen like before. As this Bench was a specially constituted bench, they were duty-bound to give an order before retiring.He also informed me that this order would be challenged in the Supreme Court. If it was in our favour, then the prosecution would go; if it was against us, then we would go to the Supreme Court. From July 9, 2025, every day I would wake up with the hope that today I would get bail and walk free. And I would sleep after praying for bail the next day. Almost a month went by like this. Then, on August 8, 2025, I got interim bail for ten days as my son Taha was hospitalised.I stepped out of jail after five and a half years. After spending ten days with my family and friends, I forgot almost all my sufferings of the last five and a half years.On August 8, 2025, I came back to jail all happy and smiling, as I was (over)confident that it was just a matter of 15–20 days and I would be a free man. At times, I used to sing my college-time favourite song with a little modification:I want to get free,I want to get free from Tihar…I would fool around with my friends in jail, show off the new clothes I bought, flaunt my new itr, and all the time I was narrating stories about what I did during those ten days – how much and what all I ate. It was like I was having the easiest period of my jail life, as I was living as if I were there for just a few more days, and then I would be gone for good.On September 2, 2025, at around 9:30 am, I came to know through a friend that our bail order would be pronounced at 2:30 pm. I made a call to Nargis at around 10:00 am. I thought that today I would call her after 3 o’clock, and I started imagining how happy and excited she would sound. My mulaqat was booked for the next day, and I asked Nargis to send a particular T-shirt with my sons, Yasa and Taha to the mulaqat, which I wanted to wear while coming out of jail.I was thinking about millions of things about what to do after going out; it felt like I was waiting to get a new life. I had butterflies in my stomach, and as the clock neared 2:30, my heartbeat increased. I tried my best to distract my mind, but nothing helped. I kept my TV on the news channel from 2 o’clock. Slowly, the time reached 2:30, 2:35, 2:40. Then there was a news flash: “HC denied bail to Tasleem Ahmed.” I got shocked but thought his bench was different, and I kept hope for something positive from our bench.At 2:48 pm, it flashed: “Delhi HC rejects bail of Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam.”“Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un” came out of my mouth. (Indeed, we belong to Allah, and indeed, to Him we shall return.)I was still hopeful that something good would happen, but all hopes crashed in the next few seconds when my name also flashed on the TV screen, saying, “No relief for Khalid Saifi too.”I went numb. I smiled and said, “Lag gaye ‘L’, Khalid Miyan!” Actually, I couldn’t understand how to react. I kept quiet for a while. Tears were in my eyes, waiting to fall. After the gates opened, I went to Vodafone to call Nargis. I was very nervous to call her, as I could guess her reaction. She didn’t pick up on the first attempt. Then she picked up the call, and after Salam, she started crying loudly, saying, “Humari bail cancel ho gayi” (Our bail has been cancelled). For the next four and a half minutes, we were both trying to calm each other and telling each other to take care and not to worry too much.I could hear my son Taha weeping and my older son Yasa asking Nargis to relax. After the phone call, I sat down on the ground, holding my head in my hands. Inmates were coming to me to express their concern, and some were asking me to be patient. Some were giving advice; a few came up with abuses for the judges and the government. I was listening to them, but nothing was going through my head.Illustration: Pariplab Chakraborty.One of my friends took me with him to my cell and offered me a smoke. I couldn’t understand anything – how to react, what to say, what to do. I literally didn’t know what to do. I wanted to cry out loud and weep my heart out, but I couldn’t. I wanted someone to hug me tight, but no one was there. I wanted to talk about this, but there was no one to talk to. I just went into silent mode.Later in the evening, I felt very uneasy, as my blood pressure or sugar had gone up. I went to the OPD to get things checked. My sugar was normal, but my BP was high, and my heartbeat was very fast. The jail doctor also knew the reason; he suggested that I get admitted. I said no and came back to my cell after taking medicine.The whole night I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about Nargis. How would she deal with this? This order came as a big shock to all of us. We had been waiting for a bail order for the last three and a half years. I was very hopeful for a positive order, mainly because of all the comments made by the judges during the hearing and many bail orders given by the Supreme Court on the grounds of delay in trial. I was like a person who saw an oasis in the desert and gave all his strength and energy to reach it. But when he reaches it, the oasis turns into a mere illusion. I was feeling the same, as if it were the end of everything, as I couldn’t find any more strength to move any further. Feelings of helplessness, powerlessness, loneliness, frustration, anger, anguish, and all negative emotions were there at the same time.My brain was about to explode. My heart was sinking. I slept for some time, then woke up for namaz. I wanted to make dua and cry in front of Allah, but I couldn’t. My heart was getting heavier and heavier. I was not able to understand why I was unable to accept this order. I have faced many tragedies in my life before, but I had never faced this kind of difficulty in overcoming something. I just wanted to talk to someone who could give me some positivity, but there was no one.I made one mistake: I did not follow the advice given by my friend Buno. In 2020, when she came to meet me in Mandoli Jail and we were discussing my bail, she said, “Khalid Bro, hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”Her words were ringing in my ears again and again. This time, I had only hoped for the best, nothing else. Not once did I think that my bail could also get rejected. Maybe this was the reason I was not able to handle it.Around 10:30 am, there was an announcement that I had a mulaqat. Yasa and Taha came to meet me. I went to the mulaqat hall, and when I saw them, I felt some relief. Yasa told me how difficult things were at home. Nargis had fainted after hearing the news, and Taha had also been crying uncontrollably. Somehow, Yasa managed them. He told me something very wise, which made me feel proud of him, and I realised that Yasa had grown up. He said, “Abbu, when everyone was saying that you would surely get bail, I had doubts that you might not get bail now. So I was not very hopeful and was mentally prepared for a negative order as well.” He shared this with my daughter, Maryam, and asked her not to be very upset if Abbu didn’t get bail. I spoke to Yasa and Taha for more than an hour. They were telling me to take care of myself, and I was telling them the same. My grown-up boys were smiling and laughing in between, but I could see sadness in their eyes. I had a good talk with my boys. I felt much more relaxed, but when they were leaving, my heart sank again.Taha turned back to look at me just before exiting the room. I could see tears in his eyes and that sense of helplessness. This one feeling dominates you the most in jail – “helplessness.” It literally kills you at times.I was still standing in the mulaqat hall, waiting and hoping for nothing. Then a sevadar came and told me that I had a court date and that my court was already connected. I rushed to the VC room for a virtual court hearing…I met Shajeel Imam and Shifa ur Rehman; both were looking disappointed, as expected. Shifa Bhai was as upset as I was because he also has family responsibilities like me. We didn’t talk much, as we didn’t have much to say. After the court date, I came back, and all the newspapers had front-page news about us.I read them, all of them. They were more or less the same. This media coverage was also pinching me. Everyone in jail was coming and saying, “Kya baat hai, Khalid Bhai. Kal se har jagah chhaye hue ho” (Wow, Khalid bhai. You are all over the news).These types of comments were adding salt to my wounds. I went into silent mode and remained in my cell only…It took me more than ten days to process all this. It was a period when death seemed much easier than life. My mind was occupied with all negative thoughts.October 1, 2025Life in jail and the first few daysDelhi has three prison complexes: Tihar, Rohini, and Mandoli. Tihar has nine jails – Jails No. 1 to 9, in which Jail No. 6 is for women. Rohini has Jail No. 10, and the Mandoli complex has Jails No. 11 to 16. Jail No. 15 is for high-risk prisoners, and Jail No. 6 is for women. Tihar is the oldest jail complex, and Mandoli is the newest, opened in 2016.Each jail has different types of lodgings, facilities, and rules.Tihar lodging is of two types: one is a barrack where many inmates live together. The population of the barracks depends on their size. A small barrack has 40–60 inmates. A large one can have up to 220 inmates. All barracks are overcrowded by 2–3 times their capacity. In good times, inmates get around two feet of space to sleep, and when the number of inmates increases, this space shrinks to 18 inches. This means you can sleep on either side, but you can’t change your position.I myself spent some time in a barrack where I had only 18 inches of space to sleep.The second category is chakkis (cells). Chakkis are of two types: single or double. A single chakki means a cell, seven feet wide and 12 feet deep, with an attached bathroom and toilet of three feet. In the remaining nine feet of space, 3–4 persons can get lodged.For the last year and a half at Tihar, I have been living in a single chakki with two other inmates. It’s like a small room shared by three people. It may sound small, but after spending months in the barracks, this single chakki seems like a luxury, and getting this space is a story in itself.The second type of chakki is known as a double-lock chakki. It has two rooms of the same size in the inner portion. It has an attached toilet, and there is a two-foot-high brick platform that looks like a bed. It’s called a khaddi. The outer room is like a living room, with better ventilation and light.In double chakkis, normally 5–6 people are lodged, but a few lucky ones, those who get orders from the courts, live alone in double chakkis. To me, they resemble HIG flats of DDA. In jail, inmates who live alone in double chakkis are considered highlighted or rich prisoners, and they get respect for that. In simple words, they are the elites of the jail.Rohini and Mandoli jails do not have chakkis, only large barracks.After my arrest, on February 26, 2020, I was sent to Jail No. 12 at Mandoli Jail. When I entered the jail, I saw a big hall called Deodhy (an Urdu word for welcome hall), and there was a huge portrait of Gandhi ji painted on the walls.On the big iron gate that opens into the jail, there was a beautiful painting of a large flying bird. I loved that painting as soon as I saw it, and it is still my favorite as it gives a great sense of freedom. I was sitting on the floor with broken legs, fractured fingers, and injuries all over my body, and I was lost in my thoughts. Suddenly, a rude voice disturbed my romance with the yellow bird painting and my thoughts. The voice was of a warden who looked like a demon and was drunk. (Later, I came to know that this warden is always drunk and beats inmates mercilessly.)“Kis case mein aaya hai?” (For which case have you been sent to jail?)His tone, voice, smell of alcohol, and red eyes really scared me, as I had been beaten up badly by the police just a few hours back. My voice got stuck somewhere in my throat.He shouted at me again. Then I said in a fumbling voice, “Protest case hearing.”He shouted again, “Protest kya hota hai? Dange?” (What are protests? Riots?)I just nodded, as I did not want to have any conversation with him. He kept asking questions after questions. I kept quiet and looked down when a few of his questions went unanswered. He got angry and charged towards me, probably to beat me.Illustration: Pariplab ChakrabortySuddenly, a guy came and called my name.He asked me to come for medical mulaija (Urdu word for examination). He took all my details like age, height, weight, addiction, disease, injury, etc. The funniest thing he asked me was, “Do you have one testicle or two?”I laughed at this and asked, “What kind of question is this?”He said it is a procedure to ask.This guy was also an inmate. He was working at the jail OPD. We became friends, and he always helped me with medicines and whatever I needed from the OPD.After completing all formalities, I entered the main complex of the jail. I had plaster on both my legs, and I was not given a wheelchair yet. Two inmates came to the Deodhy gate to pick me up. I asked them for a wheelchair. They told me that it could be arranged in the morning. They were kind enough to provide me support to walk. They took me to the Mulaija ward (No. 4) and to the Mulaija barrack (No. 1), which is meant for new inmates.It was all dark, and almost everyone was sleeping. It was 11:30 pm.When I entered the barrack, a few inmates woke up. One guy called Qamaruddin walked up to me, said “Salam,” and held my hand to help me. Another person offered me a space to sit. I sat down and looked around. It was a big hall, and some 50–60 people were there. It looked exactly like a rain basera (night shelter).A person called Master Ji offered me food. I was very hungry. I don’t remember what it was, but I ate it very quickly. I asked them about the washroom. Qamaruddin took me to the bathroom. Somehow, I felt refreshed after doing wuzu. While in the bathroom, he asked me, “When will you get released?”I said very confidently, “Tomorrow.”Later, he always teased me about this.I came back to the barrack. Master Ji gave me a blanket to sleep on and also a janamaz for me to offer namaz. I offered my Asr, Maghrib, and Isha namaz and then lay down on my bedding, which was a sarkari kala kambal folded in half. I was so tired that I fell asleep immediately. This is how I entered jail.Next morning, on February 27, 2020, I woke early as I usually do for Fajar Namaz. When I tried to get up, I felt pain all over my body. Hardly was there a part of my body that was not aching. A cry came out of my mouth, hearing which a few inmates woke up. Qamaruddin came to me and asked if I needed something. I said I wanted to use the toilet and do Wuzu for Namaz. He helped me to the toilet. I wanted to sit down to relieve myself, but could not due to the plaster and pain, and somehow managed to pee, then started doing Wuzu. As I tried to clean my nose, it started bleeding, and it hurt a lot.I realised there was some internal injury in my nose, maybe due to the police kicking my face. It took a minute for the blood to stop. When I tried washing my face, a whole bunch of my beard hair came into my hand. I knew it was because one policewala had been pulling my beard repeatedly.Wherever I touched, there was pain in my body. Qamaruddin quietly helped me do Wuzu. After I was done and walking back to the barrack, he asked me very politely, “Bhai, kaise lagi aapko yeh chotein?” (Bhai, how did you get injured?)I told him that the police had beaten me up.He instantly said, “Police to aise nahi marti hai.” (Police does not hit like that.)He was speaking from his own experience.I told him, “Mera mamla thoda alag hai.” (My matter is a little different.)I offered namaz while sitting down. After some time, a warden came to wake everyone up and do a headcount. Then morning tea came, and everyone rushed towards it, as you need to stand in line to get tea and food. I was sitting on a prayer mat. Masterji came and gave me a glass full of tea and a few biscuits.I looked at the chai. It was like warm light-brown water with a lot of sugar. I was hungry, so I didn’t think much about it and ate all the biscuits and finished my chai.The barrack was open, and people were moving around. I then observed the barrack. It was a hall meant for 32 people, but there were 60 inmates. This barrack was for newcomers. When the number of inmates crosses 70, they shift half of them to other barracks. It was very dirty and smelly. Most inmates had one blanket as bedding and one for covering. I was thinking about how difficult it would be for people to live in these conditions.At that time, I had no idea that I myself would be living there for many years. Then a Munshi (caretaker) of the ward came and called out the names of the people who had arrived yesterday. He said, “Be ready in five minutes, as we will be produced in front of the Superintendent at the chakkar (a round-shaped jail office located in the centre of the jail).”I told him, “I can’t walk. I need a wheelchair.”He said he would try to find one.After he left, three or four boys came from other barracks to see me. They all said they were from Khureji, the area where I live. I did not know any of them.A boy called Ziauddin saw my clothes. They were all dirty and had blood stains. He went away and came back with a T-shirt and asked me to change. I had a little chat with these Khureji guys. Then the Munshi came back with a wheelchair that was as damaged as I was. The Munshi asked a guy named Pushpak to drive my BMW, which had only a reverse gear. Poor Pushpak took me to the chakkar. There were 8–10 people standing in the queue. A table and a chair were placed there. An old man came and took the chair. Pushpak told me he was the Superintendent; inmates called him “Tau” for his desi get-up.There was a thin guy standing next to him. He said something in Tau’s ear while looking at me. Tau called me over and asked my name. Then he said something to that lean guy, who asked Pushpak to park my BMW on the side.Then this guy came to me and said, “Bhai, my name is Noni. You don’t need to worry about anything.” After he left, Pushpak asked me how I knew him. I said I didn’t know him. He said he was Noni Bhai, but everyone called him Don Sahab. He was a gangster from Geeta Colony (a Punjabi area near my home). He controlled almost everything in jail. I was wondering how such a lightweight man was a heavyweight in jail.Then a person came to inform me that I had a Mulaqat (physical meeting). I saw a receipt (Mulaqat Parcha); it had the pictures and names of Nargis (my wife), Javed (my brother), and Iqbal Saifi (my father-in-law).I reached the Mulaqat Jangla (meeting hall). It was like old-style STD booths without doors. There was a glass partition between the two sides, and a phone was there to talk. After waiting for a few minutes, I saw my family, and upon seeing me, all three became emotional.After Salam, Nargis asked me, “Kaise ho aap?” (How are you?)I said, “Theek hoon.” (I am well.)She started crying while saying, “Dikh raha hai kitne theek hain.” (I can see how well you are.)Illustration: Pariplab ChakrabortyI asked Javed about bail. He told me it would take at least 14 days. I said, “How am I going to spend 14 days here?”He said it is a procedure to wait for at least one custody period (14 days) to get bail.I was a bit upset hearing that. He also informed me that he had deposited Rs 7,000 in my account so I could use that money to buy things from the jail canteen.Half an hour was over, and they were asked to leave. That was a very heart-sinking moment for me, as I wanted to go with them. I couldn’t even touch my wife. That feeling of helplessness was horrible, and it brought tears to my eyes. I didn’t weep even after getting thrashed by the police, but this feeling of helplessness made me weep.When I came out of the Mulaqat room, I was told to reach the DS (Deputy Superintendent) office. Pushpak took me there. When we entered the DS office, I saw a middle-aged officer sitting there. He asked my name and my father’s name, then he asked Pushpak to wait outside.His name is Kumud Ranjan. This gentleman is from Patna, and he is among the most polite and helpful officers I met during my entire time in jail. He saw my condition and asked, “How did you get fresh?” I told him that I didn’t go to the toilet as I can’t sit on an Indian seat and there were no Western seats available. He immediately called someone and asked if there were any English toilet seats available in the store. Then he instructed a plumber to fix the English seat and the wash basin in the bathroom attached to my barrack.Then he asked a warden to go and tell the people in my barrack that no one was allowed to use that English toilet other than me. I was really glad and surprised by his gesture. Until the time he was in that jail, he supported me, guided me about jail life, and provided whatever was needed. We came back to the barrack; the toilet was ready in no less than an hour.Meanwhile, many people came to the barrack looking for me. I went to the toilet as soon as it was ready. It was a great relief. I never thought that having a clean toilet could feel like such a big deal. The inmates in that barrack were wondering who this Mullaji was, that everyone was coming to meet me and why I was getting all this treatment. One boy named Abbas told everyone that this man is the ‘Bhai of all Bhais,’ and they all believed him.After I got freshened up, Master Ji offered me lunch and said, “Since you were out, I took your food with mine.” I thanked him and ate whatever was there. He asked me if he could take my food with him and eat together. I said that would be fine. After food and namaz, a guy came and asked me to visit the jail OPD. Pushpak took me there, and I got my check-ups done and was given all the required medicines. At 3 o’clock, the barrack was opened, and evening tea and biscuits were served. I didn’t take tea as it was too sweet and my blood sugar was high. I was sitting in my wheelchair in the middle of the barrack. Everyone was quiet and having their tea silently. Abbas came to me and said that normally there is a lot of noise in the barrack, but they are all afraid of me. I asked why. He said, “I told them that you are a big Bhai, and they are all scared.”I laughed out loud and said, “I am not a Bhai-Vai but a normal person.” I told them my name and a bit about my case. After that, they relaxed and started moving around normally.