“Dissent is the highest form of patriotism.”
– Howard Zinn, American historian, playwright, activist and author of A People’s History of the United States.
The price of dissent is measured not in the loudness of one’s voice but in the silence it is forced to endure. A frozen image stares at you before it breaks into a measured tone of caution and forewarning. “If you are seeing this video then I am arrested.” The words hit hard – a daring challenge delivered straight to the camera.
This prerecorded video becomes the armature of the narrative around which filmmaker Lalit Vachani constructs his tale of Umar Khalid, otherwise ascribed by Prisoner No. 626710’s systemic anonymity. At the time of this film’s completion, Prisoner No. 626710 had been in prison for 1324 days, or 31776 hours.
This arrest was Umar’s second brush with the long arm of the law, the sequel to his infamous debut in 2016 when he and a band of students from Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) were swept up in a wave of arrests following a protest that authorities and a gaggle of media outlets eagerly branded as “anti-national.” The repercussions of that name-calling would linger like a bad smell, and just two years later, the stakes would rise dramatically with an attempt on his life – a grim illustration of how dissent can lead not only to notoriety but also to peril.
Divided into four chapters, the film excavates the human behind systemic anonymity to offer a narrative rich with themes of identity and resistance. Umar Khalid’s spirit navigates the perilous terrain of imprisonment, fiercely clinging to his sense of self amidst the constraints of his circumstances.
A still from ‘Prisoner No. 626710 is Present’, showing Umar Khalid. Courtesy of Lalit Vachani.
Born Muslim
In the first chapter, ‘Framing,’ the relentless pursuit of truth emerges as a defining trait in recounting Umar’s story. A friend recalls their first encounter: “It was at an event on the Rights of Political Prisoners. He stood up and challenged the speaker on stage.” This moment captures the spirit of resistance Umar embodies, and it illustrates how the very essence of the university as a space for questioning and critical thought has come under attack. The fictional narrative of the “tukde tukde gang” was weaponised to silence voices like his, an attempt to quash the culture of dissent that universities once championed.
In the backdrop of a frame, one sees Gazala Wahab’s book Born Muslim indexing the protagonist Umar Khalid’s existential conundrum. The book offers insight into how Indian Muslims navigate their identities amid an increasingly polarised landscape. So does Vachani in the film.
Also read: Umar Khalid on His Two Years in Jail: ‘I Feel Pessimistic at Times. And Also Lonely’
Framed
At the 36-minute mark, Umar appears on screen, locking eyes with the audience as he lays bare the conspiracy behind his arrest. His voice steady, he recounts the calculated machinations designed to silence him, setting the stage for the second chapter, which meticulously unravels the timeline of betrayal. Here, the narrative foregrounds the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), which stripped the question of citizenship from Muslims while extending its grace to non-Muslims – a legislative manoeuvre exposing the fault lines of exclusion. CAA when paired with the National Register of Citizens (NRC), faced fierce criticism for its discriminatory implications against Muslim immigrants.
By the third chapter, titled ‘Framed,’ the stakes escalate as the entire narrative around him morphs into a terror plot, a grim portrait of how dissent is criminalised. Vachani refrains from employing heavy-handed narration or guiding the viewer through explicit moral conclusions, instead presenting the footage with stark neutrality. Vachani’s style, while echoing Anand Patwardhan’s critique of Hindu nationalism, is subtler and more restrained, avoiding overt confrontation. Aligning with Jean Rouch and Fred Wiseman, he blends observation and participation to reveal how societal structures shape lives. His films transcend mere documentation; they engage with and dissect the power dynamics beneath the surface, wielding the camera as both an instrument of observation and a weapon of resistance.
Umar scripts the film
Lalit, who bonds with Umar’s circle, acknowledges the extensive documentation of Umar’s activism captured through his speeches and alternative media coverage. In stark contrast, the Hindu nationalist media’s relentless targeting of Umar adds a sinister layer to the narrative. Lalit says to this author, “Umar’s a brilliant, magnetic orator. That piece-to-camera, his final speech before the arrest, carries such gravitas and intensity – I knew it had to bookend the film right away.” In many ways, Lalit suggests, Umar himself is the film’s co-author, his words and actions weaving the narrative’s powerful arc, shaping the story of defiance, and bearing witness to the struggles of an entire community. Lalit says, “Umar is writing the script for this film.”
Lalit says that didn’t originally plan to make this film, “but after spending time with Banojyotsna, Umar’s close friend/partner, and Shuddhabrata Sengupta, an artist and close friend of Umar, I found myself drawn into the urgency of their stories.” As Lalit delved into the archives of Umar’s speeches and reviewed the footage aired by the mainstream Hindu nationalist media that vilified him, the need to tell this story became undeniable. “I knew I just had to make this film.”
A still from ‘Prisoner No. 626710 is Present’, showing Banojyotsna Lahiri. Courtesy of Lalit Vachani.
Lalit recounts his journey: “I had begun work on a series of short films examining the impact of Hindu nationalism on Indian society. In December 2019 and January 2020, I filmed at protest sites at Jamia Millia Islamia and Shaheen Bagh.” Initially unplanned, he found himself drawn into the unfolding events, capturing and bearing witness as student activists took to the stage, advocating for peaceful resistance within the anti-CAA movement.
A few months later, back in Germany, Lalit was horrified to learn that the same students he had filmed speaking passionately about non-violent protest were being detained and accused of inciting the Delhi riots. This chilling turn of events prompted him to revisit the protests of 2019 and 2020 – both the peaceful demonstrations and the violence that followed. Returning to India in March and April of 2023, he dedicated himself to the project, which took 15 months to complete. Initially, he envisioned it as a film focused solely on the Delhi riots. However, conversations with Banojyotsna and Shuddhabrata revealed a deeper, more pressing narrative: the events of 2016, the coordinated efforts of the state and mass media to frame the JNU students as the so-called “tukde-tukde” gang, with Umar Khalid cast as their leader.
Lalit reflects, “I was struck by how Umar consistently spoke the language of peace and non-violence, yet was framed as an instigator of violence. The script prepared against him was pure Orwellian fiction. And the footage we uncovered of rioting Hindutva mobs painted a completely different picture.”
Shuddhabrata echoes this sentiment, highlighting the fragile nature of political discourse: “Umar believed that even in political disagreement, basic human decency should remain intact – and he lived by that.”
A still from ‘Prisoner No. 626710 is Present’, showing Shuddhabrata Sengupta, holding up a photograph of himself and Umar Khalid. Courtesy of Lalit Vachani.
Before his arrest, Umar was immersed in drafting a reading list for young Muslim activists, aiming to reconnect them with the legacies and heritage of Islam from an open, democratic socialist perspective. These were the ideas that consumed him – new ways of belonging, new visions of freedom – revealing how intellectual and political freedom intertwine, challenging the narratives imposed upon those who dare to ask difficult questions.
Memory and refusal of erasure
Prisoner No. 626710 is Present is a poignant exploration of the human spirit’s resilience against the crushing weight of authoritarianism. In the fourth chapter, Mulaqaat (meeting), the filmmaker deftly illustrates how personal narratives become acts of defiance against tyranny; every memory recalled is a quiet rebellion, a refusal to be erased. The two individuals encountered in the film as they share thoughts and reminisce Umar – Banojyotsna and Shuddhabrata – serve as mirrors reflecting the complexities of humanity. Recounting episodes of their regular visitations, and the procedural anxieties, both Banojyotsna and Shuddhabrata construct the portrait of Umar.
Through their interactions, their memory and hopes, the filmmaker unveils the shades of morality that exist even in the darkest corners of society, prompting readers to question the nature of justice and the cost of dissent. Thus, Umar’s story is not just one of a scholar-turned-political prisoner; it is emblematic of the precarious line between dissent and terrorism in contemporary India. As the legal noose tightens, questions about the nature of justice and the meaning of freedom resonate louder than ever. In a landscape fraught with division, Umar’s continued incarceration raises an urgent query: at what point does the pursuit of truth transform into an act of rebellion, and how much longer can silence be tolerated in the face of such profound injustice?
The poster of ‘Prisoner No. 626710 is Present’.
Books emerge as a potent leitmotif in the film, reflecting Umar’s insatiable thirst for knowledge. Despite the confines of his custody, he has devoured over 200 books, turning his cell into a sanctuary of thought. Each page he turns is an act of defiance, a quiet rebellion against oppression, proving that even behind bars, the power of literature can illuminate the path to freedom. As Shuddhabarta speaks of Umar, one can spot another book in the backdrop. It is Fractured Freedom: A Prison Memoir by Kobad Ghandy. Ghandy’s fractured freedom and the case of Umar illuminate the profound complexities of dissent in a rapidly polarising world.
Umar’s presence
Last month, on September 13, Umar marked four long years behind bars – if you don’t count the brief seven-day reprieve he snagged in December 2022 to attend his sister’s wedding, a bittersweet moment in an otherwise bleak narrative. His charges read like a dystopian novel: rioting, murder, and unlawful assembly swirl around his name, but the real kicker lies in the grave accusations of terrorist activities and conspiracy under the notorious Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA). This legislation, often labelled draconian by activists, seems to have been crafted in a shadowy backroom of anti-democracy.
As if that weren’t enough, the Delhi police decided to pile on a third charge under the Arms Act, as well as sedition and promoting enmity between groups. All these charges are tied to his alleged role in igniting the Delhi riots of February 2020, a tragic episode that left 53 dead and hundreds more injured, with a disproportionate number of victims being Muslims. It’s a grim reminder that in the cacophony of accusations, the actual toll of violence often gets drowned out, leaving behind a chilling silence that echoes in the corridors of justice.
At the 56-minute mark, Umar returns to the screen, his eyes resolute, his voice unwavering: “It’s not just me they want to intimidate; it’s you too. They seek to silence us by locking us away. But it’s you they imprison—with their lies and fear. Don’t let them succeed.”
His words swell with urgency as he calls out, urging the audience, “Do not be afraid! Strengthen your voice against injustice, and demand the release of those unjustly imprisoned… stand firm, and fight against all oppression.” And then, almost something that one could miss, Umar utters “Lazim hai ke hum bhi dekhenge”. In this moment, Umar embodies the spirit of Faiz Ahmed Faiz, forging a connection between past and Present and igniting hope for a future where the oppressed will rise and reclaim their voices. The closing lines linger long after the film credits roll, leaving viewers with a sense of urgency to advocate for those silenced by oppression. Ultimately, Prisoner No. 626710 is Present is not merely a tale of confinement but a profound meditation on the nature of freedom and the indomitable will to resist. This film is a potent reminder that the fight for justice is ongoing, and in every whisper of resistance, the spirit of freedom endures.
Narendra Pachkhédé is a critic, essayist and writer who splits his time between Toronto, London and Geneva.
