Geeta Kesar, 43, is surrounded by a lush green garden, in which thermocol panels have been fashioned as planters and old pots have been converted into flowerpots. The flowers in her garden, replacing a cramped office cubicle, grow from seeds collected from the city streets. There are roses and bougainvillea, petunias and birds of paradise. Next to his garden is a one-room tin-roofed house which was his home for the last six years. As she waters her plants and checks for pests, Indi the dog peeks through the half-open door, growling loud enough to catch Saffron’s attention, but soft enough not to wake her five-year-old son who is fast asleep indoors.
For Kesar and all his neighbours, standing under the open sky, being with their families and interacting with the outside world was a privilege they had earned after at least seven years of hard work. She and 374 others, many of them women, remain in the Shri Sampurnanand Khula Bandi Shivir, an open prison in Sanganer, Rajasthan. It is a gated community-living facility with meeting and play areas, located about 15 kilometers from Jaipur, and is named after the former governor of the state.
“Most of us were overwhelmed at first when we reached here,” she recalls seeing the open sky for the first time from her room in Sanganer. I cried uncontrollably, but all kinds of thoughts were racing through my mind. This is a second chance for me, yes, but how will I survive here, how will I make a living, how will I do all this alone,” Kesar asked herself.
In Rajasthan, the state with the highest number of open prisons in India, a convict who has served a minimum sentence of 6 years and 8 months and has recorded “good behavior” within closed prison complexes is given the opportunity to move to an open prison, provided they are not convicted of rape. People have to submit a petition, which is then reviewed.
“When I first came here, I was intimidated by the idea that I would have to make a living and pay my own rent,” recalls Kesar. “There were no family members, friends or acquaintances to lend a helping hand.” Gradually, she moved out of the compound walls in search of work, first with her housemate and later on her own. “I wondered who would give me a job and why would they trust me,” she says. With no training in any skill, Kesar managed to do tailoring work for ₹6,000 a month.
Also read: Open jails provide freedom for prisoners in RajasthanBut
“When I first started looking for a job, I didn’t know where to apply. People in nearby offices and factories rejected me when they saw the address of Sanganer Open Jail on my Aadhaar card,” says Kesar. Integration with the outside world remains a challenge.
Switzerland pioneered the idea in the late 19th century. The International Journal of Law Management and Humanities, in a 2023 article, recorded the first open prison in India in 1905 in the Bombay Presidency. Later, a fully functional one was introduced in Lucknow in 1949. Britain got its first introduction in the 1930s.
The United Nations Congress on the Prevention of Crime and the Treatment of Criminals, held in Geneva in 1955, defined open institutions as “without physical precautions against escape” (walls, locks, bars, armed guards) and “run by a system based on self-discipline and the prisoner’s sense of responsibility towards the group in which he lives”.
journey of change
“When I was convicted 12 years ago, all my family members broke ties with me. My old mother was the only one who would visit me once in six months,” says Kesar. After being abandoned by his family, the prison warden, from whom Kesar had learned to read and write, was his only hope in pleading for transfer to an open institution.
Geeta Kesar in Sanganer open jail. , Photo Courtesy: Shashi Shekhar Kashyap
More than a decade earlier, Saffron had been convicted of her husband’s murder. The complaint to the police was made by her brother, who later convinced his elder daughter to testify against her in court, she says. “I had told my parents several times that my husband used to tie me up and beat me, that he used to rape me every night, but they refused to take me back, citing social reaction,” she says, looking around, bangles in her arms. After a long pause, still avoiding eye contact, Saffron says, “But one day I couldn’t stand it anymore.”
The path to the open jail has been difficult for most of the women of Sanganer. Sarita Devi (name changed), 35, was convicted of poisoning her minor son and newborn daughter nine years ago. There was no family member or friend to petition for him. Devi says, “When I fed poison to my children, I also drank it with them, but due to the cruel trick played by the gods, they died and I lived.”
Devi, originally from Bhopal, says her husband abused her for years. After the incident her husband and parents abandoned her. “In the seven years I was behind bars, no one ever visited me, and I couldn’t read or write,” she says, adding that prison officials had informed her about open prisons, who later helped her file the petition.
Criminologist Smita Chakraborty says that women have to struggle the most in the criminal justice system. “Most women are abandoned by their families at the beginning of the trial. Many are illiterate and have no one to help them interpret the laws and understand their rights. Many also struggle to hire good lawyers to represent them,” said Chakraborty, who runs Prison Aid + Action Research, a nonprofit that advocates for open prisons.
second chances
For Rekha Yadav (name changed), 30, who was convicted for murdering her husband along with her lover, the first day in Sanganer was full of emotions. She says, “I had not seen my partner for seven years, so when I saw him for the first time, we both cried.” That same day, Rekha and her partner visited several forts in Jaipur. When he was expected to return to Sanganer jail around 6 pm, he tried to take a cab, but was surprised by the cab drivers’ questions. She says, “At first several people refused to let us travel. When one finally agreed he started asking us questions about what we had done that we were put in jail.”
“Even though the past is haunting us, this is a new chapter for us,” she says, adding that her partner is now earning money by driving an e-rickshaw and she is working in a garment factory.
For 55-year-old Shahida Bano, Sanganer’s open jail brought the joy of reuniting with her family after a long time of seven years, but it also had its drawbacks. Bano, a resident of Kota, Rajasthan, is serving a sentence after being named as the instigator of her daughter-in-law’s death.
“Whether I actually played any role in his death or not is between me and my God, but if we go by the law, one should be punished only once for a crime, but that rarely happens,” says Banu. She is trying to arrange a marriage for her daughter, but the prospective grooms’ families find out where the family of five lives, and they back out.
Hemraj Vaishnav is the jailer of Sanganer. He says that women convicts are shifted to the open jail as a team of only two people. They are allotted a room to share, but if one of the women has a family, the family is allowed a separate room.
Vaishnav, who was earlier in Jaipur’s Central Jail, says his approach towards justice has changed. “After being here, I realized that it is not about punishment, but about improving the direction of life,” he says, adding that meditation here helps people look forward instead of looking back.
Family members are being searched
When Devi’s application for transfer to the open prison was accepted, she was allotted a room with Saros, who was slightly older than her. “At first the idea of an open prison was liberating, but when they told us we had to earn a living and pay rent, I worried how I would manage it all,” Devi says. Saros will reassure him.
She recalls, “She came with me to apply for a job at a factory, walked about 2 kilometers to meet me outside on my first day of work, and would come and feed me on my bad days.”
Devi, who was abandoned by her family, found love in Saros like most of the women of Sanganer. “I had never felt so much love from a woman before, so when Saros was released from jail earlier this year, I was really happy for him, but also sad that I had lost my true companion,” Devi says, showing a photo of two women standing outside Hawa Mahal.
Many women also meet their partners in the jail premises. Priyanka Seth (name changed), 34, and her partner were convicted of cheating people on dating apps and murdering a man in Jaipur. Once out of the open jail, they tried to be with each other, but it could not happen. Now, she is married to another man.
Seth says that even in Sanganer, many women marry to earn their living. “The world inside and outside prison is both male, so to ensure that you live a peaceful life, women get married here,” says Seth.
Land and future plans
While the women made strategic choices to survive and adapt to life inside Sanganer, a legal battle began outside the five-foot-high walls of the open prison. On July 30, 2024, the Deputy Commissioner of Jaipur Development Authority (JDA) issued an allotment letter for the expansion of the satellite hospital. This allocation was for unused land of 21,948 square meters out of the total 30,400 square meters allotted for the open jail.
After this the activists filed a contempt petition in the Supreme Court. A division bench of Chief Justice of India Bhushan R Gavai and Justice KV Vishwanathan directed that part of the grounds be used for the construction of new prison structures, and reduce the portion allotted for the proposed hospital.
Kesar, who is also the elected head of the panchayat inside the jail, was given relief. She says, “Sanganer jail is at a strategic location surrounded by textile factories, construction sites, designer centers and residential complexes, where people with a variety of skills can find work. If we were shifted to the outskirts of the city, people would struggle to find jobs within our timings (6 am to 6 pm).”
Women and men find jobs in textile factories and construction sites; Some work as drivers in schools or drive e-rickshaws, allowing them to slowly integrate into society. “Here I have met many people who bring with them the promise of a better tomorrow and treat us like human beings, not criminals,” says Kesar.
She is in contact with non-profit organizations that work with women in abusive marriages and also has plans for life after prison. “I want them to know that they can find a way out without taking anything extreme. That’s what I’m hoping to work on after I complete my sentence in mid-2026,” she says with a smile.
alisa.d@thehindu.co.in
Edited by Sunalini Mathew
