Prisoner No. 626710 is Present
When a person becomes a symbol of resistance, our brain often chips away at multiple other aspects of his identity. Such a reduction may add to his halo but it also accords him a singularity of existence that is dehumanising in many ways. So even while we admire the resilience and grit of such a person, it is up to us to reacquaint ourselves with their truths, and remind ourselves of the journey that made them what they are.
This is especially true of a person like Umar Khalid, young, fiery, witty, articulate, a declared atheist, a student of history with a PhD on Adivasis in Singbhum, a Muslim — an aspect we are not allowed to forget — and for the past four years, Prisoner No 626710 — a reality we ought to constantly remember.
To mark Khalid’s four years of incarceration on September 13, filmmaker Lalit Vachani held an online screening and discussion of his documentary ‘Prisoner No. 626710 is Present’, which chronicles, matter-of-factly, Khalid’s wait for justice, and the events that preceded his arrest under the dreaded UAPA for allegedly conspiring to spark the 2020 Delhi communal riots with his ‘provocative speeches’.
Vachani has a record of being plucky in his choice of subjects. ‘The Men in the Tree’ (2002) focused on how children are inducted into the RSS while ‘An Ordinary Election’ (2015) covered the campaign run by the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP), then a newly minted outfit. ‘Prisoner No. 626710 is Present’ is a story woven with footage collected from students, and a few the filmmaker himself shot of the anti-CAA and the Shaheen Bagh protests. It also features heartfelt chats with Khalid’s partner and fellow activist Banajyotsna Lahiri and his friend-artist Shuddhabrata Sengupta.
The hour-long film places Khalid’s travails in the context of what is seen by many as a crackdown on dissent and demonisation of a particular community. Divided into three sections, ‘Framing’, ‘The Framed’ and ‘Mulaqat (meeting)’, it points fingers at prominent political figures who got away with ‘brazenly incendiary speeches’ while student-dissenters like Khalid were shadowed and targeted, especially by certain sections of the media, even for ‘harmless’ and sometimes just irreverent utterances.
Banajyotsna and Shuddhabrata movingly introduce the viewers to Khalid as a friend and a person. He asks 50 questions in a day and chats endlessly, Banajyotsna recalls fondly, gazing at the photographs on her laptop — snapshots she does not want to “put up on her walls” because of the unsettling uncertainty surrounding his jail term.
“I will put them up once he is out,” she says, almost to herself. Shuddhabrata, meanwhile, shows large printouts of photos of him and Khalid when in January 2023 the student-activist was out on week-long interim bail to attend his sister’s wedding. “I have told this young man to show these to his grandchildren,” he says, smiling self-consciously.
Banajyotsna has bought a bookshelf to store the books Khalid is reading in jail and passing on to her. Vikram Seth’s doorstopper ‘A Suitable Boy’ was apparently the first book he requested, and it was followed by a request for a Murakami novel. All come back with the legend “Shipped to Tihar jail” written on the first page. The book count has reached 200, she says, while describing her mulaqats with him where she strives to keep the atmosphere light. “We try to laugh.”
And a documentary such as this one is also trying. Not to keep it jovial, no, but to keep it sane, peck at our collective conscience and mark the presence of voices such as Khalid’s in the wake of their gnawing absence.
* The documentary is being screened in multiple cities.