A Muslim housewife sitting in her home in Delhi is scrolling through TV news channels. She cannot listen to any news bulletin in full as she is trying to find a particular news story, which, if it weren’t for a very lucky day, she wouldn’t see.
The housewife is Fehmida Khatoon, wife of Tasleem Ahmad, one of the 19 accused languishing in prison under the draconian UAPA, charged in the Delhi Riot Conspiracy Case. This has been her life for the past five years. Hoping against hope every morning, she scans through newspapers, surfs TV news channels, and scrolls through social media posts to find any information about her husband. Their 15-year-old son, Zaki Ahmed, and 10-year-old daughter, Sara Afreen, ask her questions about their father.
It has been five years since Tasleem was arrested by the Delhi Police. He was charged with conspiracy for inciting riots in Delhi. However, many believe the real reason for his arrest was his active role in the protests against CAA-NRC, which closely preceded the riots. He was the sole breadwinner of the family.
Coming from an economically humble background, Tasleem built his own business in educational coaching institutes. After studying at a government-run school in Kalkaji, financial constraints forced him to seek employment after completing his senior secondary education.
Tasleem Ahmed dreamt big and belonged to a generation that valued education above all else. He started by taking small jobs, teaching students, and pursuing a B.A. program through distance education. It didn’t take him long to establish his own coaching and guidance center—Target Centre for Youth Education Research Development. His vision was to support people from marginalized sections of society, believing that education was the key to uplifting those living in economically and socially disadvantaged conditions.
Since 2002, when he first began teaching and guiding students, Tasleem experienced several highs and lows in his career. He took up various jobs, worked as an exam superintendent for competitive exams like SSC and BPO, but his ultimate goal remained the same—to serve people. His coaching center started thriving, and students began securing good jobs. For Tasleem, their success was far more satisfying than the nominal fees he charged.
On April 8, 2020, Tasleem was arrested by the police. At the time, his daughter was just five years old—now she is almost ten—while his son was ten. His wife, who had never stepped outside their home, was suddenly left to fend for the family. Tasleem had been their sole breadwinner.
The arrest became a life lesson for Fehmida. She learned to use social media and created accounts on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram to follow updates about her husband and the case. This was only a partial success. Though she came across thousands of posts about CAA-NRC protest-related arrests and political prisoners, her eyes never found the name of Tasleem—her husband—mentioned in any of them.
Fehmida asks, with empty eyes, if the Orwellian phrase—“All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others”—applies to her husband as well. Seminars, news reports, Facebook posts, and Twitter discussions frequently mention political prisoners, but some names dominate the conversation more than others. For reasons known only to the ‘activists,’ Tasleem has never caught their attention.
When asked if any organization had ever contacted her, offered financial help, or provided legal aid, Fehmida replied in the negative. In her words, “It is only Allah who is looking after me and my children.” She is unaware of whether any organization in India supports political prisoners or not.
Sitting at Iftar, she knows her husband won’t join her. No sweetness tastes sweet without him. She has no complaints, but still, every day, she asks Allah, “Is this the ‘community’ for which my husband stood up and faced the wrath of the government?” They don’t remember Tasleem Ahmed. They never ask how his children are doing. They don’t check on his wife, to see how she’s arranging food for herself and the kids. They don’t provide legal aid. They don’t mention his name in speeches. They don’t know him.
Tasleem doesn’t regret his actions because what he did was rooted in his belief in Allah. His wife doesn’t regret it because she, too, believes in Allah. But I am sad. Because I am a Muslim. I am part of that community for which Tasleem raised his voice. He went to jail for me and Muslims like me. And what did we do? Did we forget him? Are we dead people? Are we a dead community? Should I be ashamed and sad?
