The lost connection with DD Kashir
“Are you still waiting for the Firsaal? My father has died.”
The line from the Kashmiri drama Firsaal still remains etched in the memory of Mashooq Ahmad, 65, who runs a small general store in downtown Srinagar. For him, the dialogue was more than a punchline. It captured the emotional power that Kashmiri television dramas once had over their audiences.
Ahmad remembers watching dramas on DD Kashir that reflected the social life around him. Imandaar, Insaaf, Firsaal and the Urdu production Ek Afsana Chaman Ka were among the programmes that people discussed and remembered long after they were telecast.
Firsaal itself was rooted in a Kashmiri tradition in which a groom was invited by his in-laws for a feast about a week after marriage. The bride’s family would prepare several dishes, particularly wazwan, for the occasion. But in the drama, the family’s financial circumstances prevented them from holding the feast.
The invitation never came. The groom did not visit his in-laws, even after his wife’s father died. The strained relationship eventually led to the couple’s divorce and left the woman devastated.
At the end of the drama, the woman tells her estranged husband: “Che chuka Firsaalas praraan me ha mood moul.” (Are you still waiting for the Firsaal? My father has died).
“That was the punchline. It made people cry,” Ahmad recalls. “This is the kind of emotional connection people had with these dramas.”
A Screen That Stopped Mirroring Kashmir
For decades, Doordarshan programmes telecast in Kashmir were popular. “They were based on our social milieu and political satire, and we depicted our day-to-day lives through our dramas, and that’s why local audiences connected with them,” says Mushtaq Ali Ahmad Khan, a prominent television artiste, director and producer from Budgam district.
He speaks with a tinge of nostalgia peppered with despair that comes from the knowledge of the faded glory of television. Mushtaq started working as a child artiste in 1973 and grew through the different stages as an actor, producer and director. But since 2010, things have drastically changed for artistes like him.
Programmes that that once connected deeply with audiences were discontinued. According to Khan, the decline was not caused by a lack of talent or stories. They were just stopped without any specified reason. And there is no employment for artistes.
In his 60s, Mushtaq peers into a bleak future and shrugs his shoulders. “I have to now think of switching to another profession.”
Doordarshan Kendra Srinagar (DDK) was established in the 1970s, while DD Kashir was officially inaugurated as a 24-hour regional satellite channel on June 6, 2000, following trial runs earlier that year. Both channels became household names in Kashmir, providing rich and thought-provoking content that mirrored local culture, ideas, sensibilities, and humour. It also provided employment and a platform for local artists, including actors, musicians, comedians, writers, producers and technicians.
But then the axe began to fall. Doordarshan began stopping programmes midway. Some were stopped when the projects were close to completion. Some had been completed, but the programmes were still not telecast. “We did not even receive payment for the work we had done,” Mushtaq says.
Productions gradually slowed down in 2010, but it was after 2012 that new productions came to an abrupt halt, and some under process were shelved without an explanation.
“People keep asking us, ‘Where has that period gone? Where are those dramas? Where has that content gone?’ We are unable to answer these questions,” he says.
The Lost Cultural Connection
Among the programmes that once attracted viewers were Lal Joo Sons, Cherry Truch, Yeth Roz Pakan, Hazar Dastan and Habba Khatoon. Political satire also found space on the channels. Asti Sor Ne Kenh, Tohi Ti Poorve Ne Kenh, based on the realities of Kashmir’s political structure, was even banned by the government.
Mohammad Ramzan, 68, a Kashmiri and a passionate television viewer, says the difference between then and now is unmistakable.
“The earlier programmes were dramas deeply connected to Kashmir’s roots. Now, both channels increasingly carry programmes produced in Delhi and Mumbai,” he says.
“Such dramas enhanced the viewership of both channels. Now, there is hardly anyone who watches them.”
The disappearance of locally rooted programming, he says, has also meant the disappearance of traditional cultural content.
“We were used to watching and listening to Kashmiri songs, traditional Rouf and Chakri. All that traditional content has gone with the wind.”
A 65-year-old actor-turned-director who has worked closely with the Doordarshan local channels says that, apart from a few programmes such as Good Morning J&K, Youth Forum and Krishi Darshan, much of the current programming consists of flagship programmes. The result, he argues, has been a decline in viewership.
A channel that once created an industry
For many artistes, the decline of DD Kashir has not been merely a cultural loss. It has become a livelihood crisis.
Shahzad Rasool, 62, an actor-producer from Hazratbal, Srinagar, has been associated with the television industry since 1990. He has acted in and produced several dramas and serials telecast on DD Srinagar and DD Kashir.
He estimates that around 1,200 people - including actors, writers, singers, music composers, directors, assistant directors, producers, facilitators, transporters, costume designers, spot boys and others - were dependent on the industry.
Rasool traces the growth of DD Kashir to the period after militancy intensified in Kashmir.
“In the 1990s, when the conflict intensified, people were helpless, and chaos and confusion engulfed the youth. After that, Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee took an initiative to engage Kashmiri youth and launched DD Kashir, also known as the Kashir Channel.”
He says the channel generated hope among young people that television could become a source of employment and a professional avenue.
“Until 2010, everything was going well, but after that, administrative failures led to its decline and left thousands of people jobless.”
The industry had, by then, developed its own infrastructure. Artistes and producers invested in cameras and other equipment, studios were established, and a network of technicians and other professionals emerged around television production.
Rasool recalls meeting then Information and Broadcasting Minister Ambika Soni during her visit to Kashmir in 2013. Along with around 45 other artistes, he raised the issue of pending payments and lack of work.
“She heard our grievances, took up the matter with the then Director General of Doordarshan and held him accountable. The next day, she managed to release Rs 7 crore. Now, nobody is listening.”
According to Rasool, nearly Rs 25 crore remains outstanding. While commission payments have been released, he says, dues related to in-house productions remain pending, affecting producers, directors, artists, composers, makeup artists, cameramen, technicians and transport providers.
Several producers believe the main reason was the frequent change of officials in Doordarshan. As one Director Doordarshan after another was replaced, the policies of Prasar Bharati, which functions under the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting were also undergoing a change.
A slew of corruption charges involving successive directors also slowed down the progress after 2010, they say. In more recent years, Doordarshan has been headed by bureaucrats, leading to its further bureaucratisation.
Kamal Razdan, a Doordarshan and stage artiste says, “They don’t understand the significance of local productions or the needs of artistes and producers.” The result is that while local content is now almost missing, there is heavy reliance on screening Bollywood movies or programmes produced at the national level. This is also partly due to the loss of DD archives in the 2014 floods.
Artistes left waiting for the audience to return
The loss is felt most sharply by those who once saw television as their profession and their connection with society.
Zahoor Zaidi, 63, an actor from Pandrethan, Srinagar, and a recipient of two Cultural Academy Awards for Best Actor, has appeared in several Kashmiri dramas telecast on DD Kashir.
He says artistes have not only lost employment but also the relationship they once had with their audience.
“We were left alone by the Prasar Bharati administration. We had built a relationship with the common people of Kashmir, and that relationship has been snatched from us.”
“We have not only lost our livelihood but also our credibility among the masses. People gave us love and encouragement, and we felt proud that they were watching and appreciating our work.”
Mushtaq Naika, 58, an actor from Srinagar who began his career in 1986, says the decline has left artistes with little to fall back on.
“I worked in difficult times. Though it was the peak of militancy, I was never threatened or stopped from doing my work. But now, the window is shut. No new production has been seen in the last 14 years, and artistes are on the verge of starvation as they don’t have any other source of income.”
Yet Naika says the audience has not necessarily lost its appetite for Kashmiri stories.
He recalls walking through Lal Chowk when an educated young man, around 25 to 28 years old and preparing for the Kashmir Administrative Service, stopped him and asked why he was no longer seeing new dramas or serials.
“He said he had grown up watching dramas telecast on DD Kashir. Our whole family watched DD Kashir, but now there is nothing new.”
That question perhaps explains the central problem better than any ratings figure.
The audience has not disappeared completely. The stories have.
Audience Connection Beyond the Story
The old programmes struck a chord with the audience beyond the story. The actors became as much a part of their lives.
Kamal Razdan, a Kashmiri Pandit from Nai Sadak in Habba Kadal, Srinagar, and now a migrant living in Jammu, was among the familiar faces of Kashmiri television. A well-known actor in dramas telecast on DD Kashir, Razdan became so closely associated with the characters that viewers sometimes remembered him more by the roles he played than by his real name.
One of the dramas he remembers most fondly is Harud (Autumn), which explored how ego and misunderstandings between a husband and wife could eventually lead to separation and regret. It had the familiar ingredients of a compelling story - love, conflict, relationships and reconciliation - but its real strength lay in its portrayal of ordinary Kashmiri life.
There were brothers, fathers, sisters, mothers and the complicated relationships that existed within families. In many ways, Harud was not simply a story; it was a reflection of Kashmiri society.
The emotional connection with programmes was so strong that streets would become unusually quiet as the telecast time approached. Television sets were scarce, particularly in rural areas, and community centres and government-provided television sets became gathering points where people came together to watch their favourite programmes.
Razdan recalls an incident that, for him, captures the depth of that relationship. “Some five years ago, I was in Srinagar and stayed in a hotel for six months. There was a shopkeeper running a general store outside the hotel. I used to buy things from him regularly. Sometimes, I did not have change, so I would borrow the items, and he would write the amount in a notebook. It was understood that I would clear the dues later.”
“When I was about to leave for Jammu after six months, I looked at his notebook to check my transactions. You won’t believe it - I found my transactions written under the name ‘Qasim’, which was the name of the character I played in Harud.”
For Razdan, the incident was a reminder of a relationship that once existed between Kashmiri actors, their characters and their viewers.
“That was the kind of connection we had with people. That connection is disappearing now.”
More than entertainment
For those who worked in the industry, television was never simply about entertainment. It was also a means of preserving language, culture and social memory.
Rasool says dramas in Kashmiri and Urdu were often built around issues that directly affected people's lives, including dowry, corruption, extravagance in marriages, health awareness and education, particularly in rural and far-flung areas.
“When a family watches a drama in its own language, they understand the issue better,” he says.
He recalls the Urdu drama Rishte Naate, written by Fayaz Dilber, which explored human values through the story of a woman from the other side of Kashmir who married into the fictional Mirza Kamal family.
The drama, Rasool says, also introduced viewers to the existence of a separate graveyard for refugees in downtown Srinagar.
“More than 90 per cent of people don’t know this fact. Dramas, therefore, play a crucial role in spreading knowledge.”
He believes part of the problem lies in the changing administrative structure of Doordarshan.
“Almost every Kashmiri officer working in Doordarshan has retired, and Prasar Bharati halted the recruitment process. The positions are often filled by officers from other departments who know nothing about television productions. And they don’t like to listen.”
Kamal Razdan believes the decline is not limited to Kashmir. Doordarshan network is struggling to keep pace with changing television audiences.
“It is not only DD Kashir. The whole Doordarshan network is taking its last breath,” he says.
But for many former viewers and artistes, the problem goes beyond competition with private television.
In many rural areas, Rasool says, cable networks remain unavailable, and people still depend on DD Kashir or DD Srinagar.
“But there is no content that will entertain them.”
And perhaps that is where the story of DD Kashir comes full circle.
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