A large room, like a hall, has a carpet spread out. In the middle of the room are two large microphones, around which seven or eight people are sitting, each with sheaves of paper in hand, talking and focusing on the documents, without looking at each other.
If the people sitting on the carpet did not have papers to read in their hands, it would be like a Kashmiri family sitting at home, absorbed in small talk: “What happened in the office? What commotion occurred in school? Who was beaten on the street? Or, what the women were laughing about at the communal corner in the neighbourhood?”
But back in the room on the carpet, it’s not an everyday scene that resonates with everyone. In the middle of the facing wall, through the glass window, sits a lean person operating machines, alternatively glancing at the artists.
This was the Radio Kashmir studio, where the famous drama serial Zoona Dub would be recorded, where, as a young girl, I would sit in the circle around the microphones. Often my mind would drift away, wondering how these microphones capture their voices and how those sounds reach the Radio. Occasionally, the other artists glance my way but quickly turn their focus back to the script. The red light, shining like a chandelier above the door, indicates that recording is in progress.
Sometimes they become frustrated with certain aspects of the recording, while at other times they share a laugh. An argument arises between the mother and father; the son is asking for a new school bag, and the servant clinks the teacups in front of him, creating the impression of pouring tea. After some clinking, a guest enters the room and greets everyone.
He is welcomed without anyone turning to look at him, and the clinking of the utensils continues as the sound of tea being poured into a cup is created.
For someone who had never been taught drama in school, the studios were a fascinating space.
Patriarchy, Bangladesh War and Radio
In the early 70s, I saw fighter jets in our skies for the first time. Bangladesh had just emerged as a nation, and Kashmir was in mourning. We had become accustomed to hearing news about India and Pakistan. It was still a time when girls' education was not fully approved of.
My elder sister and I had to sneak out from our neighbours' watchful eyes, walking through narrow streets to school, constantly anxious and sweating. The enemies of knowledge had united against us, pressuring us to abandon our decision. Gossiping aunties labelled us with many names. Yet we stood firm, fueled by our father's unwavering support, who declared that our education was his primary goal in life.
Not only did we face hostility from the neighbourhood, but nearly all our relationships began to fracture.
Our mother had passed away a few years earlier, and our father had to assume the role of both parents. Searching for a motherly figure in our father was no small torment; there were times when he would retreat to a corner, shedding silent tears. We would observe his helplessness, yet he was our hero. He often forgot to wear a smile to maintain that illusion as relationships and family connections had become mere whispers filled with terror.
We were overwhelmed by the grief of complete detachment from relationships when I unknowingly exposed my family to another storm. Yes! I stepped into forbidden territory—a radio station—and shook the foundations of my traditional family.
Under Baba's care, we grew up in a patriarchal society. However, with Baba taking on a maternal role, we struggled to understand our gender identity. For a long time, I didn’t grasp whether I was a boy or a girl, as I felt like Baba's replica.
While my sisters were sensible, I was rebellious, often unaware of the societal implications of my actions. I was innocent and shielded from social confusion. My defiance challenged the patriarchal system, which explained my family's and neighbours' reactions.
Despite the patriarchal shadows, especially from my mother—a victim of traditional expectations—we eventually broke free.
Before Bangladesh's formation, we visited a neighbour who felt like everyone’s aunt, to listen to the news and music on the radio. When Bangladesh was born, she destroyed her radio, mourning the loss deeply.
One tragic morning, two bodies were carried out of her home, leaving her scarred. That marked the moment “Pakistan” entered my vocabulary.
Baba then decreed that we couldn't visit others, speak in the streets, or mention Pakistan.
Eager for news and music, Baba eventually bought a radio. Once it crackled to life, we gathered around, listening intently as entertainment entered our lives.
Along with our books, we were introduced to entertainment and current affairs. Baba insisted that we only listen to the news, but our exposure to entertainment grew, and our interest in music and other programs began to develop.
From Children’s Studio to Nanna Koor
One fine morning, a children's program aired on the radio, announcing that they needed two children who could read Urdu and Kashmiri to read letters from the audience.
My ears perked up.
I had learned Urdu, Kashmiri, and Arabic, and I was often praised at school. I was chosen several times to be a school monitor, helping other children read Urdu and Kashmiri.
Baba would teach us every day after he came home. Mornings were reserved for reading the Quran-i-Sharif, but in the evenings, we weren't allowed to sleep before reading other books. Our daily schedule included time for listening to the radio.
The radio made a second announcement: "Two children needed to read letters."
I looked at Baba, and he immediately understood my intention. The next day, after finishing school, Baba and I entered the radio station building in front of TRC on Residency Road.
More than two dozen children were seated in one studio, with the anchor, Bhaijaan, in the middle. In the next studio, the actors of Zoona Dub were busy recording. For me, it felt no different from a film, where I not only had the opportunity to watch but also to meet the actors.
My first entry surprised everyone as I read the letters sent in for the children's program, Baman (Buds). Some of the radio employees watched me from the recording room, smiling. Baba was sitting with them and chatted. The program went well, and Bhaijaan was pleased with my performance, encouraging me to become a regular participant.
As I exited the children's studio, a tall employee in a brown suit stopped me, congratulated me, and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Very good! Just as you read Urdu and Kashmiri, read English in the same way. You've got real talent."
More employees at the station began praising me and asking various questions. Baba held my hand and gestured for us to walk, but a suit-wearing employee stopped us. He asked my father for permission to let me play the role of a girl in the Zoona dub family serial. Father fell into deep thought, while the impatient employee awaited his answer. I couldn't contain my excitement and blurted out, "Yes."
Baba stared at me, unsure of what to say. He seemed lost in thought, and I had placed him in an awkward situation.
The man in the suit was named Somnath Sadhu. If he hadn't spoken in Kashmiri, his fair complexion would have made him look like an Englishman. He then took Baba and me to another studio where all the characters in Zoona Dub were being recorded.
Sadhu Sahib introduced me to everyone as if they had known me for a long time.
"This is Maryam Begum, who plays the role of mother in this serial. We call her Agha Bhai," he said. "I play her husband, Agha Saab, and the boy's father. This is Pushkar Bhan Saab, who is the servant of this house, Mama Tipiji." Everyone laughed heartily at this.
I thought to myself how fitting it was that a heavy, long-nosed person had been given such an appropriate role. He placed his hand on my head and said, "We want to introduce you in this serial as the daughter of Sharifuddin," who was sitting next to him. Sharifuddin was a short man with curly hair, and his smile felt instantly fatherly.
Somnath Sadhu Saab asked, "By what name do your parents call you at home?"
I replied, "Nanna."
Sadhu Saab caught on immediately. He said, "We will call her Nanna Koor in Zoona Dub." A little boy, Nazir Lala, was looking at me with his eyes half-closed.
Another young servant (Ashok Kak) featured in the serial was Ismaal Peath Kharch. A few days later, I met another entertainer, Farooq Nazki, who was named Ramba. Within a few weeks, all the artists who often appeared in this serial became my companions, and I felt that the roadmap for the next two decades of my life was laid out before me.
In a few years, Nazir Lala, the little boy from Zoona Dub, had grown into a teenager and got married in a series. Another artist was introduced as his wife. Every day, a new guest, neighbour, or stranger would join the program, and the topics were arranged accordingly, prioritising the issues faced by the public.
Zoona Dub as the bridge
During those days, it was not easy to reach government officials, officers, or ministers. There was a massive influx of daily problems in the valley, and facilities for messengers and post offices were inadequate, making it difficult for people to connect with officials and find solutions to their problems. Zoona Dub had become a bridge between the government and the people, bringing them closer together through the program.
Economic, social, or everyday issues were highlighted and conveyed to the government informally, as if family members were discussing them at home, covering topics such as the education of schoolgirls, the poor condition of roads, and the slow pace of work in various offices.
The moment a complaint was raised in the program, it was brought to the government's attention, and the issues were often resolved within a few days. However, political issues related to Jammu and Kashmir were never discussed or permitted on the radio premises. The government heads advised their subordinates to listen to the program, take note of the issues, and promptly take initiatives to resolve them.
People would visit the radio station after witnessing the swift resolution of issues and expressing their desire to highlight their other problems.
The Zoona Dub program became the lifeline of the people of Jammu and Kashmir. Instead of going to officers or government offices, people began coming to the radio station to report problems in their areas.
I often saw hundreds of letters collected on a large table to the left of the producer’s room. Some employees would read, summarise, and present them to the Zoona Dub producer so that these issues could be raised in future programs. People from remote areas would write about their problems and mail them, with most of the correspondence addressed to the Zoona Dub Producer, Pushkar Bhan.
Often, government officials, ministers, and officers appeared in our recordings, helping us understand the issues firsthand. This period, spanning two decades, served as a valuable school for me, allowing me to observe social life firsthand, learn about the geography of my homeland, and understand the need to address daily issues. My association with Zoona Dub fostered a close relationship with the other characters. Advice regarding education or career often came from Agha Bhai rather than Baba. I sought her opinion before making important decisions.
I’m not quite sure how time passed, but I was so immersed in the workload that Maryam Begum drew my attention to marriage; I might have remained unmarried otherwise.
Radio had become my second home, and I spent most of my time in the studio, learning broadcasting skills.
Zoona Dub was so well-received that it was declared an excellent program by All India Radio, and many of the actors received prestigious awards. Orders were issued to start similar programs at other All India Radio stations, but none could replicate this longest-running family serial from Kashmir.
Some Reflections
During this journey, after entering the Union Public Service Commission examination, I was appointed as the program executive and was given the authority to present many programs myself. Although I took the initiative in delivering all the radio programs, presenting a program like Zoona Dub was not my thing, and even today, I can confidently say that no one else could have done it except Somnath Sadhu, Pushkar Bhan and Maryam Begum. However, many people tried after their departure.
Zoona Dub had a place in the hearts of every Kashmiri, especially those artists who were the lifeblood of this program. How can I not say that in a society where a girl's education was still considered a disadvantage, how Maryam Begum took such a significant risk and how difficult it was to reach the radio station from Downtown wearing a burqa every day, I had estimated by living in a modern area like Dalgate when I had to pass through many guards and obstacles on the way to school.
Maryam Begum was not very educated, but she could read Kashmiri script without any difficulty. In contrast, singers like Naseem Akhtar or Raj Begum would memorise songs with the help of others.
Maryam Begum, with beautiful eyes, played the role of a mother in Zoona Dub, but in real life, she never let me feel the lack of a mother. She made me habituated to a spicy potato salad with chillies, which she often brought in a box and fed me because I was hungry after coming straight from school to the Radio.
She would feed me and talk about her life. I was too young to understand her personal secrets, but I would listen silently because she had no friends or support. Some relations had been harsh, cursed her for going on the Radio, and she had no choice but to work; she did not want to humiliate her ego by asking for financial support. She endured everything, raised five children, and did not even say a word in front of anyone until she was alive. In her last days, she engaged in prayers and worship.
One day, suddenly, the news of Sadhu Sahib's passing came, and the members of this family of Zoona Dub left one by one. But the impression that this program and the artists made on the hearts of the people is unlikely to be forgotten.
As I look back with gratitude toward my well-fulfilled life, I thank the Almighty for giving me an additional family, which not only raised me but also enriched the formidable years of my life. Zoona Dub held me in its embrace of love and compassion, and those waves still warm me.
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