She shares her humid Indian cell with convicted killers and prostitutes, writes Reg Little. When her food arrives, the rice comes with maggots while her bed is often a concrete floor. But Oxford don's daughter Alexia Stewart dreams of returning home to Boar's Hill.

Letters to her dad Philip provide a moving picture of life in the 400-year-old Goan prison, in southern India, where Alexia and her boyfriend Gary Carter are serving ten-year sentences for drug-dealing.

Her long-awaited appeal is now expected to be heard on June 14, with the Stewart family praying that the guilty verdict and sentence may yet be overturned. Philip, a 60-year-old St Anne's College don, has always insisted that the 165 grammes of cannabis found in Alexia's home a year ago were planted by police.

What is not in question is his daughter's determination to survive.

Today we exclusively reveal Alexia's own account of her prison ordeal, taken from letters written to her parents over 12 harrowing months:

Dear Daddy, May 1, 1998

There are four Indian prisoners with us. Montage is in charge of cleaning the cell. She is on trial on a murder charge but there is no evidence other than the fact that the victim was her lover. Mary bought a two-year-old girl for some sinister purpose and will not say where the child is. Suvangi strangled two men and got a life sentence. Daphne and I think she is schizophrenic. Aisha is a sweet girl who is four months pregnant.

We lead a reasonably healthy life but with no exercise. I do press-ups and walk round and round the cell, in which we are locked 22 hours a day. But it makes me feel like a caged animal. I shall never visit a zoo again.

The cell is very dusty, and the rice and wheat husking gave me the worst asthma and hayfever attack ever. The prison superintendent has a daughter of about my age, so he finds it difficult to say no to any of my requests... He realises how difficult it is for a Western woman to adjust here. I can't begin to imagine what Gary's quarters are like. There are up to 60 men sharing three different cells and the noise, gossip, snoring and thieving would drive me mad.

Two days ago guards pulled all my belongings to pieces - a very thorough search and a huge mess. All they found was a spoon, which they confiscated. I ate with this spoon daily, and it was hardly a secret or potential weapon. I took it with a smile.

Dearest Daddy, May 27, 1998

There are six of us here now. One 50-year-old lady set fire to her sister's daughter-in-law because she was not given the gold promised for arranging the wedding. Horrible crime! One 23-year-old gave her lover sleeping tablets, while her other lover poured acid down his throat. She has only been here one month.

Only Mary, the child thief, speaks English, all speak Hindi and two speak Marathi. Thanks to the language books, I can communicate better and am also teaching them the ABC.

The crimes they committed are horrible and I don't dwell on them. I treat them all equally, share my food and buy them toothpaste and soap with my coupons, so they like me and there is no jealousy. I am treated much better; if I need a doctor or dentist I am immediately seen to. Dear Parents, June 8, 1998

There are nine of us now; it's beginning to feel overcrowded. I can't keep them all happy now.

The food is still awful and the same daily - maggots in the rice, which I now don't eat. We dried fish in the courtyard and there was an amazing stink - flies and ants all over them - so I've given up fish too. I long for something fresh.

Dear Daddy, January 20, 1999

I have got used to wearing a sari. It is quite hot to wear though, especially as it is warming up fast now. I no longer want to get married in one. I have dyed it a nice shade of blue, so at least I am not a "white sari". I am no longer alone as there is an English lady with me. Claire is very nice and good company. I had not realised how lonely I was until she arrived.

Dear Daddy, February 23, 1999

I set myself tasks to complete every day: three hours stitching, five reading, Japanese etc. After a year here I'm quite resigned to waiting out the last few months in peace and with maximum productivity, creativity... Please don't worry; I'm fine, and looking forward to filling a Tesco trolley up.

I need air and space and long hikes... Can't wait to hear music and go shopping and feel cold and have a bath and a haircut. It's hard not to think of what I am missing. Dear Daddy, March 23, 1999

It is getting very hot and humid now - hayfever season I'm afraid, but I am getting good tablets from the doctor here... My daily exercise is hard to keep up; it's too hot and I'm sweating through my sari layers. I do work my arms daily though, several hours, as I separate wheat from chaff. I get paid 50 rupees (about 70p) per month now for my work. It feels like living in a fish market in here, constant noise... Can you imagine what life is like here?

Story date: Thursday 13 May

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.