My Love Affair with The Radio â Reliving the Joyous Times Of Radio Kashmir Srinagar (Part 2)
đ» âHello Aapki Farmayishââ a program that wasnât just a show, but a celebration of
connection, music, and the sheer joy of being heard. It was a joy for countless listeners, a space where dreams met reality, even if only for a few precious minutes. Anchored by the ever-graceful RJ Sakeena, the program was a symphony of voices, laughter, and melodies, a tapestry woven with the threads of countless hearts yearning to be part of something magical.
The premise was simple, yet it carried the weight of a thousand emotions. Listeners would call the radio station, hoping, praying, that their call would be the one to make it through the labyrinth of busy signals and endless rings. The competition was fierce, for the number of callers was always too many, and the chance to connect with RJ Sakeena felt like winning a golden ticket to a world of dreams. Months could pass before luck finally smiled upon a caller, but when it did, oh, what a moment it was!
The Joy Of Talking to RJ Sakeena
The air would crackle with anticipation as the lucky listenerâs voice came through the speakers, trembling with excitement, their words tumbling out in a rush of joy and nervousness. RJ Sakeena, with her warm, inviting voice, would greet them like an old friend, her laughter a soothing balm to their racing hearts. The conversations that followed were nothing short of beautifulâraw, heartfelt, and brimming with the kind of authenticity that only the radio could capture.
Listeners, often artisans with calloused hands and stories etched into their souls, would share snippets of their lives with RJ Sakeena. They would speak of their struggles, their joys, their dreams, and, of course, their favourite songs. These werenât just songs; they were memories, emotions, pieces of their lives that they wanted to share with the world. And when RJ Sakeena played those songs, it was as if she was unlocking a treasure chest of emotions, letting the music spill out and fill the airwaves with love, longing, and nostalgia.
And when RJ Sakeena played those songs, it was as if she was unlocking a treasure chest of emotions, letting the music spill out and fill the airwaves with love, longing, and nostalgia.
The joy of the listeners knew no bounds. For them, hearing their favourite song on the radio, requested by their own voice, was a moment of pure magic. It was validation, a reminder that their voice mattered, that their story was worth telling. And when the song played, they would often share the moment with friends and family, turning it into a collective celebration, a memory to be cherished for years to come.
Gaemii Bayan Hiend Khatri
âGaemii Bayan Hiend Khatri Programâ was a jewel in the crown of Radio Kashmir Srinagar, a cherished program of wisdom and guidance that reached deep into the hearts of the villagers. Each episode began with a sacred invocationâthe Tilawat-e-Quran Pak, its verses flowing like a river of divine light, setting the tone for what was to come.
The recitation was followed by a soul-stirring Naat-e-Shareef, its melodic praise of the Prophet (Peace Be Upon Him) wrapping the listeners in a blanket of spiritual warmth. These opening moments were more than rituals; they were a reminder of the programâs roots in faith and its commitment to uplifting the soul before the mind.
Then came the heart of the programâthe voices of the two anchors, steady and wise, like seasoned farmers sowing seeds of knowledge. Their discussions were a plethora of topics, woven with care and insight, designed to educate, inspire, and empower. They spoke of farming techniques, of soil and seasons, of crops and care. Their words were not just instructions; they were stories, anecdotes, and lessons drawn from the earth itself, shared with a warmth that made every listener feel seen and valued.
The program was a masterclass in community building, a space where the wisdom of the past met the innovations of the present. It taught farmers how to nurture their land, how to adapt to changing times, and how to harness the power of tradition to create a better future. It was a program that didnât just speak to the villagersâit spoke for them, amplifying their voices and addressing their needs with a sincerity that resonated deeply.
Shaherbeen
Nothing quite compared to the anticipation of âShaherbeenâ. The moment the anchorâs voice would ring out, âApni ghadiyan milayien, Shaherbeen time,â the entire household would fall silent. It was more than a program; it was an event. The husky, commanding voice of the newsreader had an aura that was impossible to ignore. It was as if the world paused to listen, every word carrying the weight of the dayâs events, every sentence delivered with a gravitas that demanded attention. The room would fall into a hushed silence, a sanctuary where even the slightest disturbance was an unwelcome intruder.
I remember, with vivid clarity, the sharp, metallic clink of a ladle brushing against a pot in the kitchenâa sound so innocuous, yet so jarring in that moment of collective focus. My fatherâs head would snap toward the source of the noise, his gaze fierce and piercing, like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. It was as if the accidental sound of utensils had committed a grave offense, daring to disrupt the sanctity of the broadcast. Such was the gravity of those evenings.
The Constant Hum Of Life
In our home, the radio was more than just a deviceâit was a constant hum of life, a pulse that never faded except when the Azaan soared through the air, silencing everything in its sacred embrace. As night tiptoed in, wrapping the world in its quiet solitude, I longed for the radio to be mine, to have its crackling voice as my companion in those lonely hours
But fate had its own ways. My father, drawn to the magic of late-night Kashmiri dramas, often kept it by his side, his face illuminated by the soft glow of its dial, lost in the world it wove. When he was done, the radio would pass into my sisterâs hands. Yet, time and again, I would hear his familiar voice calling out, âTala ye radio di bayasââ (Give this radio to your brother). And the moment it landed in my grasp, my heart would soar, lifting me straight to cloud nine.
Oh, how his voice would wash over me like a river of honey, smooth and golden, carrying with it stories that seemed to breathe and bleed. Neelesh Misra was not just a narrator; he was a magician, weaving words into worlds. His tales, crafted by the Mandliâa circle of writers he mentored with careâwere not mere stories. They were fragments of life, love, and longing, each one a masterpiece painted with the colours of human emotion.
(Peer Mohammad Amir Qureshi lives in Ganderbal. When not engaged in lifeâs busier pursuits, he is most happy daydreaming or weaving nostalgia)
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