"Many Of The Blasts In India Have Been Part Of Larger Political Conspiracy," Says Dr Abdul Wahid Shaikh

He was meant to be a teacher, a man living a simple life in Mumbai. But in July 2006, Dr Abdul Wahid Shaikh's world was violently upended. Wrongfully accused in the 7/11 case, he spent nine years in prison, fighting against injustice, to prove his innocence. And finally, he eventually won the fight and screamed the truth about the innocence.

But his freedom wasn't the end of his battle. He immediately began fighting for the friends he left behind, who had been wrongfully imprisoned. He fought for the men branded as criminals and terrorists by the very system that had failed him. His relentless struggle finally ended on July 21, 2025, when the court finally acquitted all the accused. That night, for the first time in nearly two decades, Wahid Shaikh slept in peace.

During his time in prison, he penned 'Begunah Qaidi', a direct account of the cruelty and torture he endured. This book, later adapted into the Hollywood film Hemolymph, is filled with heart-wrenching, chilling experiences. It's not just about his life; Begunah Qaidi also tells the story of the 12 others imprisoned alongside him.

Now, under the banner of the Innocence Network, he is a fearless voice for the victims of injustice. Dr Abdul Wahid Shaikh is a man who knows the darkness of oppression and remains unyielding in his fight to bring others to the light.

Excerpt from the interview with Dr Abdul Wahid Shaikh done by Areeja Munazza;

? How did the media cover your arrest and the subsequent legal proceedings? Was the reporting fair?

Initially, the media coverage of my 2006 arrest was heavily biased and one-sided. News outlets uncritically adopted the narrative presented by the Anti-Terrorism Squad (ATS), with headlines like "Terrorists Arrested" and "Links to Lashkar-e-Taiba and ISI" dominating the news. We were immediately portrayed as guilty, and our side of the story was completely ignored.

This began to change in 2007, when those of us arrested in the 7/11 case, while in Mumbai Central Jail, decided to compile a detailed report. In it, we documented the torture we endured, our illegal detention, the fabrications by the ATS, and the unreliability of the narco-analysis tests. We secretly got this report to our lawyer, Shahid Azmi, who then used his media contacts to circulate it widely.

This report marked the first time our perspective was shared publicly. It was initially published in Urdu newspapers before other media outlets started to pick it up. This prompted some journalists to question the official narrative, though their trust was primarily in our lawyer, Shahid Azmi, not yet in us. From then on, we made it a point to release a similar report every year.

A significant shift occurred in 2008, when police arrested members of the Indian Mujahideen and claimed they were responsible for the 7/11 blasts. This development cast serious doubt on the initial investigation against us and prompted more people to speak out on our behalf.

By the time I was finally acquitted and released in 2015, many journalists were eager to hear my story. They listened to my experiences and published numerous articles and interviews that accurately reflected the injustice we had faced. It was at this point that I felt the media in India truly stood with us, giving a voice to those who had been silenced for so long.

? We've seen a lot of discussion about the Students Islamic Movement of India, or SIMI, and its alleged role in terrorism in India. It's often noted that while terrorist incidents were relatively few before 2001, there was a significant increase in cases involving individuals associated with SIMI after that year. What's your take on this? Is there a specific reason for this surge?

I believe the timing is critical. The key lies in the global and domestic political climate of 2001. In my view, the increase in terrorism-related cases in India after 2001, particularly those linked to SIMI, is not a simple matter of the organisation suddenly becoming more active. Instead, it seems to be deeply intertwined with the US-led "War on Terror" that was launched after the 9/11 attacks. The Indian government, in my opinion, used this global campaign as a pretext to ban SIMI.

I don't believe SIMI was a terrorist organisation in the true sense of the word. Rather, the "War on Terror" provided a convenient narrative for the government to declare it an "unlawful association" and start registering cases against its members.

This is where the legal aspect becomes crucial. At the time, the law allowed the government to ban an organisation for a maximum of two years. To justify extending the ban, the government had to provide evidence that the organisation or its leaders were still engaged in illegal activities. To meet this requirement, the police, in what I believe was a deliberate and coordinated effort with the government, began filing new cases and arresting SIMI leaders. These new First Information Reports (FIRs) then served as the "evidence" to justify the continued extension of the ban.

Therefore, in my view, the increase in terrorism-related cases was not a sign of SIMI's growing terror activities. It was a direct consequence of the government and police fabricating cases to keep the ban on SIMI in force, using the new legal framework and the global "War on Terror" as justification.

? It's a widely held argument that laws like UAPA and sedition are often used as political tools. Looking at your own experience, do you think you were merely a pawn in a larger political game?

When you look at laws like TADA, POTA, UAPA, and MCOCA, they are presented as essential tools to combat terrorism and organised crime. However, a deeper look reveals a different story. These laws have been disproportionately used against minorities, particularly Muslims. The misuse of TADA against Muslims and Punjabis was so egregious that it led to widespread public resistance, eventually forcing the government to repeal it.

But the pattern didn't end there. We saw the introduction of an even more stringent law, the UAPA, and similar laws like the Public Safety Act and MCOCA in Maharashtra. The core issue with all these laws is that they fundamentally violate a person's rights and freedoms. They allow for the imprisonment of dissenters, minorities, and political opponents as what can only be described as political prisoners. While the government may deny this, the reality on the ground is undeniable.

The term "political prisoner" itself doesn't exist in Indian law, unlike in many Western countries. Yet, the practice is very real. It's a non-partisan issue; it doesn't matter if it's the BJP or Congress in power. The UAPA was enacted under a Congress government, and later, the BJP government introduced amendments to make it even easier to apply. We were victims of this state brutality. When we were arrested, both the Maharashtra and Delhi governments were led by Congress. When the BJP came to power, nothing changed. In fact, even after the court acquitted all of us, the BJP government appealed the verdict in the Supreme Court.

There is a clear pattern of anti-Muslim sentiment in government policies, regardless of which party is in power. Some are more overt about it than others. Muslims have been, and continue to be, a target. We're constantly accused of being "the people who should have gone to Pakistan" and blamed for communal riots, bomb blasts, and violence.

It's crucial to understand that even many of the blasts in India have been part of a larger political conspiracy. For instance, the investigations into the Malegaon and Mecca Masjid blasts revealed that far-right forces and RSS sympathisers were the masterminds. These attacks were designed to destabilise the political landscape, turn people against Muslims, and weaken the Congress party. By arresting innocent Muslims, political parties can consolidate their vote bases and create communal divides. This strategy of using fear and violence as a political tool is not a thing of the past; it continues to be used today.

? We've seen reports that one of the investigating officers in your case confessed to being pressured by his superiors regarding your arrest and the subsequent investigation. Can you elaborate on this? And how should the law work to prevent this?

That's absolutely correct. One of the officers, ACP Vinod Bhatt, was under immense pressure from his superiors, including Commissioner A.N. Roy and Assistant Commissioner Krish Pal Raghuvanshi. He revealed that there were direct instructions to fabricate evidence and allegations in the chargesheet to ensure all 13 of us were portrayed as guilty.

Unfortunately, the police force has many "yes boss wali" officers who feel they must follow orders without question. Dissent can lead to job loss, so many choose to stay silent. However, ACP Vinod was different. He spoke out, defending us and stating our innocence to others. But in the end, the pressure was too much. He couldn't cope mentally and, tragically, took his own life. While there are a few officers like him who try to resist, in cases of wrongful detentions, fake encounters, or custodial torture, senior officers often use their authority to force their subordinates to comply.

In our case, it was even more egregious than the typical planting of false witnesses and fabricated evidence. The entire case was built from scratch with absolutely no basis. The police arrested 13 people and then went about creating the evidence to support their false narrative.

This is why accountability is so critical. When someone is wrongfully imprisoned and later acquitted, the officers who registered the case should face consequences. If there were a system where an officer knows they could be held responsible, they would think twice before implicating an innocent person. Instead, under the current system, officers who follow these illegal orders are often rewarded. In our case, the main investigating officer was even given the President’s Medal.

When an individual feels they can commit a wrong and face no consequence, or worse, be rewarded for it, the problem becomes deeply entrenched. The culture will only change if the investigating officers, whose signatures are on the fabricated documents, are held accountable for their actions.

? You spent years in prison, fighting for justice, while those who wronged you walked free. Now that you’ve been acquitted, do you believe the senior officers, government, and judiciary who played a part should be held accountable? Should they compensate you in any way?

That's a fundamental question, and it gets to the heart of what justice means. In many countries, there are legal provisions for significant compensation and a formal apology if someone is wrongfully imprisoned, even for a single day. But here in India, no such law exists. Without it, even if you demand compensation, there's no guarantee you'll receive it. This is a massive flaw in our legal system that must be addressed.

Even if such a law existed, how do you even begin to calculate the value of what was lost? How do they compensate me for the nine years I spent in prison, or the twelve other individuals who lost nineteen years each? Is it a fixed amount per day? What’s the basis for that number?

What I lost wasn't just time. I lost my job and the most beautiful years of my life with my family. My wife, children, and parents. I lost the simple joys of life, like travelling and building a career, living happily ever after as I wished. My business, which I built with my sweat and bones, collapsed. My parents, whom I wanted to give a better life to, weren't there when I was back. No amount of money can truly compensate for these losses. If I were to put a number on it, I'd say each person should receive at least one crore rupees for every year they were wrongfully imprisoned. But even then, the reality is that the emotional and personal toll is immeasurable.

I remember asking Sajid what he would want in return for the nineteen years he lost. His answer was so simple and yet so profound: he just wanted the assurance that he won't be unjustly arrested again and that no one else would ever have to go through what we did. But in India, even that assurance is impossible to give.

The government must create a system for fair compensation, and police officers must be held accountable. It's deeply troubling that the police don’t even acknowledge their mistakes and that there’s no guarantee they won't repeat them. The cost of compensation should be recovered directly from the salary of the investigating officer responsible. Until that happens, and officers are forced to answer to their conscience, lives will continue to be destroyed by fabricated cases, and no amount of compensation will ever truly fix it. 

? It's a well-documented issue that a large proportion of India's prison population are undertrials and that minority communities, particularly Muslims, are over-represented within this group. Despite this being a known problem for years, there hasn't been any substantial action to address it. What's your perspective on this persistent injustice?

That's a critical point to raise, and the numbers bear it out. According to the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) data, Muslims constitute a disproportionately high number of undertrial prisoners. This issue is compounded by the fact that undertrials, who are legally presumed innocent until proven guilty, are often denied basic facilities in jails that are, ironically, available to convicted criminals.

This brings up a fundamental contradiction in our justice system. The law, as it stands, often withholds certain rights and amenities from those who are only accused but grants them once a person is convicted. The question we need to ask is: shouldn’t these basic rights be for everyone, especially those who haven’t been proven guilty?

I believe a key part of the solution lies in a complete overhaul of our legal and procedural frameworks. Under the new Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS), there's a provision for a chargesheet to be filed within three months of an arrest, with an extension to six months for UAPA cases. If a chargesheet isn't filed within this period, the accused gets the right to statutory bail. It should be automatic bail if they fail to do so.

Furthermore, after a chargesheet is filed, there should be a mandated timeline for the completion of the trial. If the trial isn't concluded and a verdict is delivered within a reasonable period, let's say, one or two years, again the accused should be automatically eligible for bail. Implementing reforms like this would not only alleviate the burden on our judiciary but would also dramatically reduce the number of undertrial prisoners languishing in jail for years on end.

Think of cases like the one involving members of the Indian Mujahideen in Bombay, where some accused have been in prison for almost seventeen years without a trial being completed. This is not justice; it's an evident injustice. It is the government's responsibility to enact and enforce proper legislation to prevent such abuses of the system. Without a commitment to these kinds of systemic reforms, I don't see any other way to address both the rising number of undertrials and the grave injustices they face.

? I've read many accounts of torture in Indian jails, particularly in cases related to terrorism, UAPA, and sedition. Given everything you endured, and now that your innocence has been proven, what are your thoughts? And what has life been like for you after your release?

The answer to your question is not a simple one. The experience begins the moment you enter the prison gates. We were welcomed with beatings and subjected to severe assaults, verbal abuse, and ridicule. The prejudice against anyone accused of terrorism is immediate and absolute. This isn't just from prison officials; it's from co-inmates, too.

Inside the prison walls, the communal divisions that exist in society are even more stark. There's a clear separation between Hindu and Muslim inmates, often leading to conflicts. This division even extends to the underworld, with gangs aligning along religious lines. It's a surreal and brutal environment where even a person convicted of murder might believe you, as a terrorism accused, deserve to be killed. The human considerations given to other inmates are completely denied to you. You endure not only the abuses everyone faces but also a unique and intense layer of mental and physical torment every single day.

If one thinks life gets easier after acquittal, they are mistaken. The label of "terrorist" sticks. Many people who were once close to me abandoned our friendship. Sometimes it's out of fear of the police; they know you're innocent but are afraid of being put under surveillance themselves. Others simply view you with suspicion.

Then there’s the challenge of rebuilding a life. How do you get a job or rebuild relationships when you're under a cloud of suspicion? Even if someone offers you work, the police might show up and tell them about your past, harassing the very people trying to help you. It's an endless cycle of struggle.

For me, the aftereffects of the torture I endured for nine years are still very real. I often wake up in a cold sweat, thinking I hear knocking at my door, imagining the police are there to take me away again. The physical pain from the torture still affects me, and I suffer severe pain in many parts of my body. It feels as though these physical and mental wounds will be with me forever. In short, proving one's innocence is a monumental struggle, but living a life of dignity and normalcy afterward is just as hard, if not harder.

? India is said to be engaged in a "war on terror". You've explored many high-profile cases in your book and witnessed a great deal during the period. From your perspective, is this "war on terror" a genuine fight for truth, or is it merely an election gimmick?

From what I have seen and experienced, the "war on terror" is nothing more than a hollow and baseless pretext. It’s an empty claim that has not led to any serious measures to truly end terrorism. Instead, in both India and the United States, it has served as a cover for immense injustice, primarily the wrongful imprisonment of thousands of people, many of whom never even received a proper trial.

If the intention had been to genuinely eradicate terrorism, if there was even a grain of sincerity behind it, they never would have arrested us. Instead of pursuing the actual perpetrators, the authorities chose to fabricate cases against innocent people. The "war on terror" in India is, to me, an absurdity. In fact, the original title I chose for my book was "State Terrorism", because that is what it truly feels like.

When a government actively divides its own citizens along religious lines and openly treats a community as second-class citizens, what else can you call that but state-sponsored terrorism? The "war on terror" is not about truth; it’s a political tool. It's used to create a narrative, to justify repressive laws, and to target and silence specific communities for political gain. It's about maintaining power and influence, not about ensuring the safety and security of all citizens.

? For undertrials labelled as terrorists under UAPA, the government often cites national security as the justification for their prolonged detention. Do you believe it's truly about security, or is it more of a scripted narrative?

From my experience and analysis, I believe it's far more of a scripted narrative than a genuine concern for national security. The amendments to the UAPA have transformed it from a law supposedly meant to prevent unlawful activities into a powerful tool for extended imprisonment. The fundamental principle that "a person is innocent until proven guilty" is completely subverted, and the process itself becomes the punishment. When individuals spend 15 or 20 years in pre-trial detention, only to be acquitted, the years of their lives that have been stolen can never be returned.

Many of these cases are built on flimsy, even fictional, narratives. We're talking about fabricated charges based on imagined conspiracies, like plots to assassinate a political leader or to form a so-called Islamic State. Detaining one's own citizens for years on such baseless grounds can never be justified in the name of national security.

We see this pattern with individuals like Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam. Their "crime" was simply protesting against the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), a constitutionally protected right. Under the current regime, anyone who raises their voice against government policies is branded an "anti-national" and thrown in jail. The definition of national security is being twisted into a weapon to silence dissent.

It’s a pattern we see with other laws as well. Many laws that are presented as being for the benefit of Muslims are, in reality, anti-Muslim. The triple talaq law, for example, is claimed to protect Muslim women. But if their husbands are sent to jail, is it really about that? Similarly, laws like the Waqf Bill are often about controlling community assets rather than ensuring welfare.

The UAPA, under the guise of national security, has become a political weapon to suppress dissent, detain people without trial, and target a specific community. These laws are not about ensuring security for all; they are about maintaining control over a section of the population and creating a climate of fear.

?  Writing a book from inside prison is an extraordinary feat, especially given the difficult conditions. What drove you to undertake such a challenging project, and what kind of obstacles did you face in getting your story out?

Writing a book from inside prison was by no means an easy task. But I had an unshakeable determination. Because I felt that there was no better way to tell the world what I had experienced, what we had endured, than through a book. Prison authorities went to great lengths to deny me even a pen or paper. Many times, the pages I had written were either burnt or torn up by the officials. Yet I kept writing again and again. Driven by the desire to somehow get these pages out into the world, I even had to pay prison staff to smuggle them outside. I faced numerous forms of harassment and abuse for my writing. After my release, I gathered all the pieces, typed them, and turned them into a book. I completed it within a year. This book is the result of my deep, burning desire for the world to know the injustice that was done to us.