Radio brought together a village

Satish K Sharma

In the summer of 1961, when my father came on leave from military duty, he brought along a large box which he unloaded at the centre of the courtyard of our ancestral house. A wave of excitement brought the entire joint family of Baba, my grandfather, out. After all the hugging, and feet-touching, everyone waited to see the thing inside the box, of which they had heard but not seen.

In this Marquezian setting, when father finally pulled out the five-band National EKCO radio transistor, the effect was magical. It was a momentous occasion because as the first radio in the village, it ended centuries of solitude of Kuteena, my native village in Rajasthan, and brought the world to it.

However, Dadi, my down-to-earth grandmother, was not impressed. She knew instinctively that her thoughtless son had blown a fortune on a hoodoo. And when father revealed the cost — Rs 500 — she said acidly, ‘You might as well have thrown the money into the well,’ and left the scene.

She was so upset because the radio had thwarted her plans to buy a buffalo to get a steadier supply of milk and ghee for the family. Ghee was then a key commodity in the hands of womenfolk in villages — a source of family nutrition and extra income. Her reaction was, therefore, understandable.

Presently, a hush fell over the household, which even Baba dared not breach. The family dispersed exchanging whispers, and father quietly repacked the radio-set and kept it aside. He prepared himself to be arraigned in due course for his foolhardy extravagance. Such was the terror of heads of joint family in those days.

Two days passed, but the elephant in the room refused to stir. Finally, father gathered courage and approached his parents to resolve the issue. The matter was discussed and it was decided that the radio would be played for a few days to see how useful it was. If it wasn’t, father was to somehow return it and get back the money.

So, he took out the radio and played it. As soon as he tuned to the local station, the house began to reverberate with strains of a popular Haryanvi ragini. Baba, who had a weakness for Haryanvi sangs and raginis, took no time to convert. Meanwhile, word spread around the village about the arrival of the radio. Soon, an impromptu audience gathered for a feast of folk music, topped by the All India Radio news bulletin. That day onwards, our courtyard became the evening haunt for the who’s who of the village. But Dadi refused to budge. The radio’s fate hung in balance.

When time came for father to leave for his unit, he approached her and asked whether he should take the radio back. She said nothing and remained stern-faced, but Baba filled in for both, ‘Let it be here. But next time, don’t buy anything expensive without consulting us.’ The radio stayed on; the buffalo had to wait.

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