Inside a prison, a reform check

DH journalist Shilpa P visits the model correctional facility in Mysuru and discovers a complex ecosystem where there is the promise of rehabilitation alongside the despair of confinement

“Please let me meet my son, Pasha, and hand him some fruits. My son was watching the fight and was not really a part of it,” pleaded Haseena to a Central Industrial Security Force (CISF) officer, as I entered the Mysuru Central Prison. Haseena held her five-month-old daughter in one arm and her five-year-old son in the other. Her other son, a 10-year-old, was in a madrasa. Pasha, a 19-year-old fruit vendor, is the sole breadwinner of the family. Her husband, she shared, had abandoned them.

It was April 4, 2026. With prior permission from Alok Kumar, director general, Department of Prisons and Correctional Services (DPCS), and
V Sheshumurthy, chief superintendent of the prison, I visited the facility on Ashoka Road — a model prison known for its correctional services. It houses 754 inmates. It is one of the nine Central Prisons in Karnataka. Across the state, 54 prisons under the DPCS house about 15,000 inmates, of whom around 700 are women.

I chose to wear a white cotton saree with a red border, a gesture of solidarity with the inmates. As I stepped into the frisking room through a door-frame metal detector, I saw that Haseena was not alone. At least 30 others waited, clutching few fruits and hope, for a few minutes with their kin.

After I was screened and my bag thoroughly scanned, I placed my charger and phone in a locker and entered the prison with a book and pen in hand. The prison seal was imprinted on my wrist, and I was screened again before proceeding further.

Built in 1862 and spread across 21 acres, the prison is a self-contained ecosystem, with its own farm, training institute, and staff quarters.

In the interview room, emotions ran high. I met an inmate named Chandrashekar. “Hello appa, hegiddeera,” he shouted into an intercom telephone. His father, K Mahadeva Nayak from Chamarajanagar district, stood on the other side of the toughened glass wall. “Chennaagidini maga,” he replied. Nearby, Haseena’s eyes welled up as she spotted Pasha. She pressed her palms against the glass, as if willing it to dissolve.

Here, convicts are allowed to meet their kin once a week, and undertrials twice a week, between 10.30 am and 1.30 pm, and 2.30 pm and 5.30 pm.

The barracks are unlocked at 6.30 am. The day begins with the singing of the national anthem, followed by the state anthem. This is followed by prayers at the Ganesha temple, church and mosque at 7 am. Breakfast is at 7.30 am — on that day, vegetable pulao was being served. Post breakfast, inmates attend yoga and meditation sessions before going about their day. Many make a beeline for the interview room; others log in for virtual court hearings in video conference halls.

Place for transformation

A prison is often perceived as a place of mere confinement, a space defined by restriction and punishment. However, a day at the Mysuru Central Prison suggested a more layered reality. Officials describe it as a space inching towards reformation, even invoking the idea of a ‘new-age ashram’, rooted in self-reflection and rehabilitation, as envisioned by Mahatma Gandhi and 18th-century prison reformer Elizabeth Fry.

Under the ‘Parivarthana’ initiative, the DPCS has introduced activities such as yoga, meditation, prayer, counselling, cultural programmes and sports. Officials say these interventions have steadily improved inmates’ mental and physical health.

Inmates are also enrolled in basic education programmes. They undergo vocational skill training, and some work in factory units. Their freedom may be curtailed, but not, as prison officials emphasise, their capacity to rebuild their lives.

Prabhakar, who is serving a life sentence for the murder of his wife, for instance, pays for the medical education of his two children who live outside.

The inmates are in many ways atmanirbhar — self-reliant. They grow vegetables, grind wheat and ragi flour, cook their meals, make soaps and phenyl, and weave cotton fabric to stitch their clothes. Coir door mats, carpets and bakery products, marketed outside the prison, are also produced here.

Daily routines unfold to the hum of the jail’s community radio. Some inmates assist at hospitals or take on night patrol duties, adding to the rhythms of an enclosed yet active world.

Walking past the barracks, I noticed they were neatly maintained, and equipped with both Indian and
western-style toilets. Inmates received wages amounting to Rs 1.94 crore between January 2024 and April 2025, and the prison earned Rs 9.34 lakh from bakery and factory products during 2024–25.

Even within confinement, small indulgences persist. Inmates purchase fruits and other modest ‘luxuries’ (like pickle) from the canteen using coupons, the cost deducted from their wages.

At the hospital

The men’s hospital has two general physicians, a psychiatrist, staff nurses and support staff.

The most common conditions treated by general physician Dr Kiran are hypertension, diabetes and minor ailments. “Their blood pressure is normal when they go on parole. It shoots up the moment they return, as they miss their families,” he said. For serious illnesses, inmates are referred to K R Hospital, the District Hospital in Mysuru, or Jayadeva Institute of Cardiology in Mysuru.

Counsellor R Shruthi attends to inmates dealing with mental health issues and deaddiction. When I visited, she was in session, while several others waited for their turn.

Dr Kiran added that the hospital is equipped for basic lab tests and X-rays. About 18 inmates are HIV positive. “While we manage with the current staff, a few more counsellors and psychiatrists would make a significant difference,” he said. “We have been under the Department of Health and Family Welfare since 2024. A larger hospital building and direct procurement of medicines would help address occasional shortages.”

Women’s barrack

Before entering prison, undertrial Ambika imagined starvation and daily torture. Seven years on, that perception has shifted. “I have pursued a beautician course and learnt embroidery, garland making, and saree tassel design,” she said.

Ambika’s husband is lodged in the men’s barracks, and they meet for half an hour each week under the supervision of prison staff. “I also speak to my two children over the phone for 10 minutes a week and meet them once on the premises,” she said.

The women’s barrack houses 29 inmates — 11 undertrials, 17 life convicts and one death row prisoner. Through the day, some attend literacy classes, while others train in computer skills, tailoring and zardosi work. The unit has a medical facility with two general physicians, a psychiatrist and a counsellor.

As I stepped out, chief warder
Sharada Naidu, who will retire this year, said: “I may be a spinster with no children, but I am happy the inmates call me ‘amma’.”

Jailor N R Chethana noted that several former inmates have set up tailoring shops and beauty parlours after release. “Recently, we rehabilitated a woman inmate at Shakthi Sadana Kendra in Hassan when her family did not turn up to receive her,” she said.

About 98 per cent of inmates come from underprivileged backgrounds, said assistant superintendent M Deepa. Legal aid is provided through the district legal services authority, while NGOs often step in to cover legal fees.

Literacy classes

The library in the men’s barracks was a hive of activity. On the day of my visit, about 50 inmates of different ages sat bent over books and slates. Sixty-year-old Mahadev, proudly showed me his slate — he had just learnt to write his name in Kannada.

Instructor Prem Kumar said, “From October 2023 to September 2024, 69 inmates, including five women, completed literacy courses. Since 2012, 22 inmates have earned degrees, including 10 master’s degrees. Currently, 67 are pursuing SSLC and PUC through the National Institute of Open Schooling.” Elsewhere, inmates watched television, played board games or worked in factory units. Outdoor sports are part of the routine. “They play volleyball and cricket between 5 pm and 6 pm,” said jailor Paramesha Nayak. Younger inmates are segregated. Undertrials whose lives are under threat or those involved in high-profile cases are monitored in high security cells.

Towards self-reliance

Factory units operate from 8.30 am to 11 am and 11.30 am to 4.30 pm, engaging 134 inmates serving rigorous imprisonment.

Instructor Ashok Karbani showed me their work — including a striking drawing of three skeletons: one covering its eyes, one its mouth and the third its ears. I paused, wondering what interior worlds these images emerged from. Another inmate had crafted a wooden mantapa with a carved Ganesha. Kiran showed me jugs and ice cream cups made from coconut shells and handed me one to take home.

In collaboration with the Karnataka State Coir Development Corporation, inmates produce ropes and coir mats. Carpentry units repair furniture and take orders. There are also soap, phenyl, weaving and baking units. The facility includes both powerlooms and handlooms for producing textiles, yoga mats and carpets. The bakery, run by five inmates, produces cakes, cookies and cream buns sold at the Parivarthana bakery outside. “The wage is Rs 327 per day for five hours and Rs 524 for eight hours,” said Sheshumurthy.

Deepa noted that wages in other states are often below Rs 200 per day. “Inmates in Karnataka are among the highest paid,” she said. About 400 inmates are being trained in tailoring through CSR funds, while others are learning computer skills to work as data entry operators.

Farm to table

I took a break to eat a simple meal — radish and dal sambar with chapathi, mudde and rice — cooked by inmates.

“We mostly use vegetables from our prison garden,” said Superintendent Ashe Khan. “Eggs are served on Tuesdays, mutton on the first and third Fridays, and chicken on the second and fourth Fridays. We also serve vegetable pulav, tomato bath, chitranna, avalakki, puliyogare, uppittu and vangibath for breakfast,” he added.

Crime and punishment

Pradeep is the radio jockey and, naturally, the voice of the prison community radio. Marrying a minor girl and having a baby with her proved costly for the inmate, who is facing life imprisonment under POCSO. His son is being cared for by an NGO, and his wife is now married to another man. Out of 73 inmates booked under POCSO, most cases involve child marriage. A total of 287 inmates are serving sentences for murder. Six are booked under the Narcotic Drugs Psychotropic Substances Act, 22 for attempt to murder and 24 for rape. “It takes three to four years for inmates to begin reforming,” said Sheshumurthy.

Former inmate Kuruba Suresh spent two years in jail after being wrongly accused of his wife’s murder. She was later found alive. While he was locked up, his son had to work to pay for the education of his sister and take care of his grandparents as well. “I could do nothing, as only prisoners facing rigorous imprisonment are given jobs with wages,” he shared. 

“There are many undertrials who spend two years or more in prison due to a delay in trials. But once acquitted and proven not guilty, they are not given compensation. I have approached the High Court of Karnataka, seeking compensation of Rs 5 crore from the investigation officers for the lapses in the probe,” Suresh revealed. 

Space constraints

The prison, built to house 577 inmates, currently holds 754. A new barrack is under construction. A 2014 request for additional land remains pending. Of 208 sanctioned posts, 152 guards work in shifts. Plans are underway to install CCTV cameras with AI-based intrusion detection systems to monitor the security of the prison and the activities of the inmates.

The only complaint I heard came from a 76-year-old inmate who missed homemade snacks like chakli and nippattu prepared by his wife, and seasonal fruits like mango, as the families are permitted to give only a few fruits.

“The humaneness we show returns in many forms. Years ago, after a man from a tribal community was picked up from a hamlet in the middle of the forest, his only concern was his pregnant wife, who had to be hospitalised. We rushed in the middle of the night and found his home. His wife had fainted. We got her admitted to the nearest hospital, and she delivered a baby boy. The boy still calls me on his birthday every year,” Sheshumurthy recalled. 

DG Alok Kumar noted: “As the saying goes ‘Hate the sin but not the sinner’. These inmates are in prisons due to various circumstances and are reformed here. Society should accept them as humans more graciously.”