Right now, jail authorities in Calcutta are trying to help prison children like me, imprisoned through no fault of our own.

They have started to send children like us to mainstream schools to study and try and make something out of our lives. They will pay for our education and upkeep while our mothers are in the prison.

I have watched this happening to other children but, unfortunate that I am, I can only watch and not be a part of it.

I am seven-years-old. Well that’s what my mother says. She is not very sure and neither am I. In this confinement, days and months pass by us in a haze.

Ever since I have been aware of my surroundings, I have found myself in this prison with my mother, Kausalya.

I have been told that my mother has been convicted for trafficking women. I have also heard that I might not be her own daughter – that she had kidnapped me from somewhere else. But I don’t know whether to believe that as I have no memories of life outside the prison – I came in when I was barely a year old.

But then I do wonder sometimes why she won't let me go to school outside this jail. I do not have the courage to question my mother about it because she has a foul temper, but I think about it sometimes.

My day starts as any normal person’s. We live in an open prison and, apart from the main gate to the entrance of the woman’s cell, we are not behind the bars all the time.

It is like a small village. There are public taps where our mothers queue up in the morning to collect water, wash, take a bath. There is a park for us children to play. It is quite a big park and it has slides and see-saws and swings. I love to go and play there with my friends.

And the best thing is the school, where we get to learn so many new things everyday. It is a small airy room and we, as in the children who live in the jails with their mothers, assemble there every morning to do our lessons.

Our teachers come from outside and they bring us a breath of air from the freedom outside. We have a huge blackboard and a television set too, where we sometimes watch children’s movies.

We all sit on the floor and follow the teachers closely. I look forward to the school hours everyday as it is like my window to the outside world.

I have learned to spell, and read and write. I can recite my English alphabet and do arithmetic. We are also taught songs and dances and my favourite song goes like this – “Oh green parrot where are you flying off to? I will give you cream and fruits if you take me with you.”

I really want to fly away from this place - from the darkness and the high walls that block our vision of life outside. I want to run outside and play on the open wide grounds with my friends.

It is not that I never had the chance, but my mother put a stop to it. The jailor madam had tried to convince my mother to send me to a mainstream school in Calcutta. She told my mother that it is one of the top schools in Calcutta and I will get a good education there. More than anything else I will be able to go out of prison and lead a normal life.

She said I was a bright student and, given the chance, I would do well in life. My mother, however, refused to send me away. After a time, they also stopped trying to convince her as she would get into flying rages.

I have seen two of my friends going out of the prison to study in normal schools outside and I hear from their mothers how happy they are. They call their mothers from their schools and tell them of the many things that they do.

I envy their freedom sometimes and wish that I were free like them. I hate these high walls that restrict me from four corners. I want to fly - fly away like a bird – but my wings have been clipped.

My mother tells me that she will be released soon and then we will go back to Delhi where we have relatives and there she will put me in a school. That gives me some hope, but every month she says that she will be released the next month. I am hoping that one of these months it will come true and I will be able to walk out of the prison and live like a normal person outside.

Neha told her story to Sweeble correspondent Nilanjana Bhowmick, in Calcutta.