Shaharbeen: How was it conceived!

This was the time when the first state elections, following the violent situation in the Valley, were held in 1996.

The time when Farooq Abdullah had to pay a fine for illegal parking while visiting me at the BBC London after he was offered by the Government of India a ‘sky is the limit’ in return for his comeback in elections. It was the time when majority in Kashmir believed that India and Pakistan had learnt a lesson from their betrayals in the past and wanted to settle the Kashmir issue for peace. ‘The bloodshed had to stop’, perhaps everybody prayed for it.

Politicians, people and separatists – all thought that the snow had melted.

The streams were gushing.

The Chinar leaves had turned green.

The ‘sky is the limit’ mantra enticed us all, insiders and outsiders.

Was it a sense of responsibility or the figment of my imagination that led me to leave BBC London and return to the Kashmir Valley after covering the global agenda from a distance of seven thousand miles?

Honestly, I still have no answer.

My children were furious that I had created an obstacle in their education for no reason, interrupting their session and separating them from their friends. I did not know whether they would get admission in Kashmir or their year would be wasted. Many friends at the BBC advised me to reconsider my decision to move to Kashmir. They rather thought that I should settle permanently in London, as there was ample space at the BBC where I could do my work. I disagreed.

Despite my indecision, I was resolute in making the right choice for me and my family. The decision to leave the BBC and return to Radio Kashmir was a leap of faith, one I was determined to take.

My father, Baba, was my troubleshooter, but he was also in a dilemma about whether I should return or stay in London. For the first time in my life, I was drowning when I should have been celebrating the moment of gaining freedom to decide.

Baba had been the decision-maker for my family; even the names of my children were his prerogative. But this time, he backed out. I was clouded by whispers about what I would do if the decision to return proved a failure.

Baba’s stare scared me as if to say that more than one crore people live in the state; aren’t the conditions bad for them?

I returned with bag and baggage.

First, I got my children back to school, and then I immersed myself in the world of broadcast journalism, which was limited and bordered. The early days were challenging, with limited resources and a smaller platform compared to the BBC. However, I was unwavering in my commitment to bring quality programming to the people of Kashmir.

Strangely, there was neither the enthusiasm nor the excitement that had made the days at the BBC exciting.

The world of Radio Kashmir was much smaller compared to the BBC. Whether it was the management, infrastructure, or the means to connect with the world, Radio Kashmir was lacking in many aspects. This was a stark contrast to the BBC, where I had access to state-of-the-art equipment and a global platform. In reality, the sky was the limit there.

I preferred to swim in a small river instead of a vast ocean, but this river of Radio Kashmir had no swimming equipment in it that I had become accustomed to at BBC London.

During the few years I spent at the BBC, I travelled to South Asia, the Middle East, and several European countries, learning the secrets of world politics and becoming familiar with the codes of journalism. Then, what should I do at Radio Kashmir, where the recording machines are often in poor condition? The restrictions on the content were a sword on my head.

The journalist in me needed to be consoled, which does not make me regret my decision to return. My guilt would soon consume me.

Nevertheless, I resumed my position as an officer in the Radio and started supervising a few routine programs.

Soon, I realised the journalist in me was dying.

The resettlement had become difficult, more due to the doubts that started to arise about my decision to leave the ‘green pastures.’

Amid such a quagmire, one fine morning, news came that the new director, Ashraf Sahil, had arrived at the station, and he was immediately calling a meeting of the program officers. His arrival brought a sense of anticipation and hope for a better future for Radio Kashmir.

About four or five of us colleagues were sunbathing in the courtyard of the radio station when my clerk informed me to go to the conference hall.

I did not know Sahil Sahib, but I had heard that he was from Gurez. As soon as I saw him, the images of the blue-green valleys of Gurez came to mind.

He had come to the Radio with a new dream. He wanted to restore Radio Kashmir to its former glory, when it was a place of tradition due to programs like Zoon e Dub.

Sahil Sahib had come from a television background and had achieved a lot at Doordarshan, but he found that the image of Radio was more appealing than that of TV, so he wanted to showcase his talents more.

All the officers of the Radio Kashmir gathered around a round table in the conference hall when Sahil Sahib emerged from the director’s room and addressed everyone. After a lengthy discussion on his broadcasting career, he addressed me.

‘I am thrilled to see that you have preferred this small station of yours over the BBC. We will not let your sincerity go waste; instead, we will try to learn from you by leveraging your talents. My heartfelt wish would be that you organise a similar program here, as you have done live broadcasting for the BBC from Pakistan and Afghanistan. Please think about it.’

After this, the meeting adjourned. Every other officer was looking at me in surprise.

I came to my room and started packing my things. It was imperative to reach home as soon as the children came from school.

The station car was waiting for me outside, and somehow the BBC’s Sairbeen program that I had edited for four years kept rewinding in my mind.

The children came running as soon as they heard the car horn. After hugging me in turns, they started chirping like birds. This was the first time I saw them happy. Alhamdulillah, the children had taken a liking to their school. Their joy was a reassuring sign that we were on the right path in adjusting ourselves back in Kashmir.

Despite the challenges, my passion for journalism burned bright. I was not content with just adjusting to life in Kashmir; I wanted to do more, to create something meaningful.

It was almost two o’clock in the morning when I suddenly woke up from my sleep. The creation of something was taking a mental shape.

Obviously, it was not possible to start a program like that in the BBC. Whatever could be done could be done on a small scale. At least the journalist inside has to be satisfied. I stayed awake in bed until dawn and thought in the dark.

Bingo...

As the first ray of light broke through the darkness, a new idea began to take shape in my mind. The program Shaharbeen was about to be born, and I was filled with anticipation and excitement for this new chapter.

Shaharbeen will be the copycat of Sairbeen. This statement may seem paradoxical, but it encapsulates the essence of the program. Shaharbeen, while inspired by Sairbeen, will bring a fresh perspective and unique content to the listeners, making it a ‘copycat’ in the best sense of the word.

As soon as my mind got peace, the call to Fajr prayer was heard from the mosque.

The early morning sun had infused life into the dead trees, and buds had sprouted at their edges.

After a few hours of struggle with the choice of breakfast, I reached office, and as soon as I arrived, I went straight to Sahil Sahib’s room.

His smile would transport me to Peshawar, where people with the same features would roam the streets of Khawa Khani Market all day.

He immediately realised.

‘I have thought about the new program. I will start a Shaharbeen program in the style of Sairbeen. One of my conditions is that the editorship of this program, regarding the current situation, will remain with me alone.’ I said it in a flash without taking a breath.

A broad smile spread on his face.

‘I agree to all the terms and conditions, and any staff or studio facilities you require will be available. You will inform us in advance about the start date, duration, and format, so that we can publicise it effectively.’

The moment I was about to leave his office, he spoke again. ‘I am confident that your program will prove to be the best.’

The smile of conquering the broadcasting world was on both our faces.

Yet, my real test had begun.

The restlessness was at its peak.

Radio Kashmir’s antique machines and the editorial issue - it was not an easy task. Who believed the news on the Radio, or where was the peace that the Radio kept talking about for 24 hours? And then, due to the violent situation, why would anyone listen to Radio Kashmir when the BBC and Voice of America were providing news at regular intervals? Many times I have heard the protestors outside shouting slogans that ‘Radio Kashmir ki jhooti Khabrein hai hai (Radio Kashmir’s fake news, shame-shame).

Now, how can I restore their trust, or how can I make them lean towards my program?

I was dreaming that those who call the institution a liar would listen to my program. They had believed my credibility while I was at the BBC. How can I be accepted at Radio Kashmir?

I lost sleep many nights. My restlessness became visible to everyone during the day. The wrinkles had become deeper. I put myself through a big challenge. Children were scolding me. I was inattentive towards them.

My boss at the BBC would always tell me, ‘You are a risk taker.’

Someone should learn from me how to take risks in life. I must be awarded.

After a week of continuous thinking, I announced that I would start the Current Affairs program on Monday.

The decision on the studio allotment, staff assistance, duration and time of the programme, I prepared an outline of the fifteen-minute program, which included a report on the shortage of life-saving medicines in the Valley and an interview with the Public Health Secretary, reports on the worsening flood situation in Bangladesh, the absence of officers in the secretariat, etc., and a live report on the firing on the Line of Control.

My first program was at 7:30 pm before the news, and Sahil Sahib remained in the station until the program was broadcast.

Was he doubtful of my intent or saving his job?

When I reached the duty room after the live broadcast, Sahil Sahib was clapping, and the entire staff assigned to evening duty stood up and joined in the applause. The sweat drops on my forehead were getting hotter. I drank a glass of cold water in a gulp to cool down.

Sahil Sahib was saying, ‘This was my dream that we should make Radio Kashmir BBC.’

The following days were very hectic; the station was receiving hundreds of calls, and people were inquiring about how Radio Kashmir was able to broadcast BBC programs from there.

Local administration officers were calling Sahil Sahib, and the Shaharbeen was becoming a topic of conversation throughout Jammu and Kashmir.

In a few days, the number of radio listeners increased significantly, and various delegations began to appear on the Radio, seeking to highlight their issues.

And, in a few months, Shaharbeen became the voice of every household, and most of the radio officers were approaching Sahil Sahib to give them a role in it.

I formed a large team of young journalists and trained them from writing dispatches to conducting field reporting. The reporters were sent to administration officers for interviews, which was a first-time occurrence in Kashmir broadcasting. Live conversations or direct reports from remote areas were included in the program.

The glory of the Radio started to be restored.

Thousands of people from far-off places came to see me, resulting in regular traffic congestion outside the station. The Radio was taking centre stage in managing the affairs of the state.

In the daily program meeting, Sahil Sahib encouraged other officers to join this adventure, rather than staring at the walls and talking in whispers.

To break the silence in the room, he said, ‘I wanted a current affairs program of this type, and it has emerged completely in a beautiful pattern.’

Several articles were written in the newspapers on the program Shaharbeen. When rumours of the program’s popularity reached All India Radio, New Delhi, it was ordered that all stations in Jammu and Kashmir would broadcast it.

Through this program, a new connection was established between the Radio, the administration, and the public. The narrative of fake news on the Radio began to change.

The central government summoned Sahil Sahib to Delhi and demanded that the duration of the program be further extended.

I immediately agreed.

At the same time, the demand for all advertisements to be aired during this program increased, which earned the station a substantial amount of money. However, the program time was reduced due to the abundance of advertisements, which the listeners disliked.

The station was flooded with letters demanding an end to the advertisements that would cut short the broadcast’s duration.

At times, during the broadcast, I would forget that I was broadcasting from Radio Kashmir, and instead, I would start including ‘forbidden’ topics.

I started liberating Radio Kashmir even before the freedom of the media in India, which was unpleasant for the administration in Delhi. After all, ours was not a normal state.

Delhi reprimanded Sahil Sahib. He snubbed me and then whispered in a low voice, ‘This is not BBC; keep it in mind every time you enter the Studio. I will take care of the rest myself.’

After verbal warnings, I got written orders several times. ‘You are exceeding the limits by violating the code. Either follow the rules or leave the program.’

Once, I went to Sahil Sahib’s room with the intention of leaving Shaharbeen. He smiled and said, ‘Keep doing a good broadcast and do not expect any reward.’

‘I never expect rewards, but not the warnings either.’’ I left the room with a big bang.

Shaharbeen continued for a year and a half, and thanks to this program, the Radio’s popularity soared to new heights. And my fellow officers were inspired to breathe life into other programs.

We were celebrating the golden jubilee of Radio Kashmir when we suddenly received the news that Sahil Sahib had been transferred from the Radio. The station has been handed over to another director, who is a Kashmiri but whose ego was soon hurt by the program’s popularity. Before entering the station, he had planned with a few officers to oust me from the program because they knew that the building they wanted to construct by transforming the program into a means for wealth accumulation could not be achieved with me in place. I immediately realised that now I would neither be allowed to run this program as I wanted nor would this environment be tolerable for me. His loyal officers had already started making a loud noise.

I had not yet made a decision when I received a phone call from BBC London, asking me to return as the editor of News and Current Affairs on a permanent basis.

It was not difficult to guess the miracles of Allah.

I knocked on Syed Sahib’s shrine in Sonwar to offer my prayers of thanks.

Sitting there in solitude in a corner for a long time proved soothing.

My soul found peace.

I left the shrine and reached the station. I wrote a letter of voluntary resignation from my job and sent it to the station director.

Taking my bag from the cupboard, I asked for a car to drop me off at my home for the last time. The children had already received a message to return to London. They were dancing.

My father had come. As soon as he saw me, he hugged me, kissed my forehead and said, ‘I entrust you and your children to Allah and His Messenger.’

My eyes filled with tears.

Baba held me close to his chest for a long time.

The storm had subsided.

I had returned to my homeland after spending four and a half years at the BBC. Still, because of a few selfish officers, I decided to put a heavy stone on my heart and go back to the BBC in London, where there would be no restrictions on my freedom of writing or speech, where there would be no dishonest officers, and where no one’s abilities would be interpreted as weakness, and where I would be allowed to learn journalism in forty-two languages ​​for almost twenty-five years.

For me, it was nothing short of a miracle that I had reached this school of journalism from which the whole world has learned broadcast journalism.

Returning from Shaharbeen, I resumed producing and editing Sairbeen and met many prime ministers, intellectuals, military leaders, celebrities, and Nobel laureates from around the world.

Radio Kashmir continues to broadcast Shaharbeen, and its employees have also achieved a high level of recognition. I conceived and produced the program, giving voice to the voiceless, and attempted to bring people closer to the administration in an atmosphere of uncertainty. But I give all the credit to Ashraf Sahil, who acknowledged my abilities, appreciated my creation, and did not put any obstacles in its broadcast. Those two years were a wonderful period in the history of Radio, restoring the glory of the Radio that had been missing after the era of Zoon e Dub.

Thanks to listeners, even today, the audience continues to mention and respect me and the contributions of Radio Kashmir.

Nayeema Ahmad Mahjoor, Author and Journalist