Children stay in Indian prisons with their mothers
By Anindita Ramaswamy
NEW DELHI: Behind the formidable iron gates of New Delhi's Tihar prisons, children sit playing in circles - some are babies in cots - as mothers clean noses and soothe feverish foreheads.
Tihar, Asia's largest jail, is home to 60-70 innocent children, the number varies because Indian laws allow both convicts and those on trial to bring their children inside. They can stay until they turn five or six.
Tihar's children are among an estimated 1,392 living in jails across India - those are federal Home Ministry figures from December 2001, the last time any state government bothered to check on the number of children compelled to stay behind bars.
The only comprehensive study on children in jail was conducted in 1997-1999 by the National Institute of Criminology and Forensic Science. The institute's head of criminology B.N. Chattoraj said the government is still to act on his suggestions to improve jail conditions for women and children.
As his researchers fanned out across the country they were alarmed to discover there were no separate facilities for the children, who had to share their mothers' bed, food and utensils.
Most prisons didn't have creches, medical care or recreational and education opportunities. Some didn't have segregated barracks for women, and children were even found living in the male section.
Two-year-old Irfan crawls along the dirty cement floor of a jail in India's financial capital Bombay, wearing only a soiled and torn vest, covered with flies, his tiny arms and legs erupting with vicious red boils.
He defecates near a stinking open sewage drain and begins to wail - maybe to be cleaned, possibly for food or just the warmth of an arm around him - but there is no one willing to listen.
The women's wing has room for 23, but at any given time is packed with 150-200 women and 30 children. "Irfan was born in jail, but I am grateful his birth registration doesn't mention it. Our lives are cursed anyway. What future does a jail baby have?" said his mother Zahira, serving a seven-year-term for murdering her brother.
She was 25 and more than six months pregnant when she came to jail with her daughter Noor, a two-year-old. For the first month they were forced to sleep in the toilet because the older inmates said she had to earn her place in the overcrowded cells.
The Bombay jail has unmistakable signs of destroyed childhood - dusty teddy bears with gouged-out eyes, broken red toy trucks and decapitated dolls. The only laughter comes from a loud television set. The main distraction is the monotonous whirring of sewing machines in a nearby tailoring unit.
Otherwise it is a continuous stream of babies bawling, women abusing and wardens' shouting. The rules are the same for Irfan, Noor and their mother. They wake up at 5.30am to roll call and daily fights outside the toilet.
Prayers and a hurried bath later the children are sent to a creche run by a non-government organization where they remain until 12.30pm with a break for brunch. Locked up till 3pm, they are let out to play or meet the rare visitor. Dinner is at 7pm and they are locked up again for the night.
The food is usually inedible, but there's plenty of it - mounds of coarse rice, stacks of leathery unleavened bread and a watery vegetable preparation. On good days the children may get milk, eggs or fruit. As there is no refrigeration facility, the milk spoils easily in the summer.
The children's clothes and toys are donated by voluntary organizations. Officials admit in private that the children are viewed as a liability and a drain on their already meagre jail budgets.
"Our fate depends on the mood of the wardens or medical officer. I didn't have regular check-ups during my pregnancy, which is against the rules. Irfan was not weighed at birth. There are no cribs, baby food or warm milk," Zahira claimed.
Development experts say that while prison is hardly a place for children to spend their formative years, it is difficult to decide whether or when to separate them from their mothers.
In the Tihar creche Akash, a three-year-old, squeals with joy as he meticulously colours in a series of near-perfect circles. Sunita, a five-year-old, claps after she counts from one to ten. But there is no one attentive enough to cheer their successes.
The mothers are too preoccupied. When not working in the jail kitchen or in various vocational training classes, they are busy discussing their next court hearing, the lack of family support or concern for their children outside.
Gulabo, 4, who has lived in Tihar for a year, said she is bored and misses her family. "I don't like the food. I can't sleep properly because they (inmates) are shouting at each other every night. Sometimes my mother beats me, and then she cries. I want to go to my father."
Jeet Kaur, in charge of Tihar's creche, said: "Every two months we take the children for a picnic. They are not used to the outside environment, especially those who were born in jail, and get disturbed by things you and I take for granted."
"Most of the children are withdrawn and shy. It takes them time to adjust to the traffic, sit in a bus, see many people - especially men and women together." Volunteers and inmates work in the creche, where the children have unstructured classes in general knowledge, maths and the alphabet. The sessions are monotonous, repetitive and there is little joy in learning.
Kaur said she has large pictorial charts of animals, birds, fruits and vegetables which the children are unfamiliar with. "Once when I asked them to draw animals they couldn't - because they hadn't seen any, only a cat."
The children are unnaturally docile, lack self-confidence and don't like being cuddled or touched. "They are reserved because they don't receive regular love and care like normal children," Kaur said.
International studies have shown that prisoners' neglected children are at risk for delinquency, early pregnancies, dropping out of school, unemployment and are likely to get caught in a cycle of poverty and crime that will feed our prisons for generations.
Saritha's mother Laxmi, convicted for murder, brought two of her four children to prison. Saritha will soon have to leave the jail when she turns six, but her father is unwilling to accept her. He will only look after his two sons.
Laxmi said, "It is torture for a mother to see her child suffer like this in jail. I think of suicide often, but who will care for my children after me? Sometimes I get so angry and frustrated I feel like killing them. But in a few hours I am normal again."
"I can't plan for the future, either theirs or mine. I will spend my youth behind bars. At least my children will have a chance at freedom. My only fear is that they will forget me." -DPA
