The only thing that sets apart the nondescript building from other houses in Anungondanahalli village in Karnataka’s Hoskote district is a board announcing the radio station. RJ Sunil has been waiting for us and shows us around.

The living area is bare save for a big board on the wall; the kitchen has a medium-sized, all-important transmitter; and the bedroom serves as the radio station. There is a wooden door with a glass window through which I can see the RJ. On top of a large table that occupies most of the room are the mixer and microphones. Sensible shelving against a wall has a small portable radio on it.

This is Sarathi Jhalak, a community radio station, run almost exclusively by women and one that has forged a vital connect with its largely rural audience, hosting programmes on everything from menstruation and lake pollution to alcoholism and finance.

“Even before Mann Ki Baat, we had Manadallada Matu (Talk of the heart),” chortles Shamantha D.S., the journalist who started the station in 2012. It reaches some 100 villages within a 30 km radius. This particular show, which aired at night “had so many female listeners,” says Shamantha; “they would call and speak about all their issues.”

Sunil sits behind the desk. The journalism graduate tells us that he barely spoke for the first three months that he worked here. “I was so scared.” It’s hard to tell, looking at him run the station with confidence now.

RJ Nagamani joins us and prepares for the afternoon show. Nagamani has studied till Class X, but says her work with Sarathi has made her “ articulate and knowledgeable.”

Friendly neighbourhood

Sunil decides to interview our photographer. He puts on his headphones and after a silent countdown with his fingers Sarathi Jhalak goes on air.

As they chat, a farmer drops in with his son and sits down with me outside the studio. “I want my son to do better than me,” the farmer says, “I work in the hot sun for ₹400 a week. Maybe Sunil can get him a job.” I am told that another farmer had walked in the other day to complain about a government hospital doctor who had wanted money for treatment. Parents bring their children to the station so the RJs can give them a pep talk.

Shamantha has trained Sunil and the three women RJs to speak simply and from their heart. “Instead of using clichéd phrases like ‘mahila dourjanya’ or sexual harassment of women, I tell the RJs to use a story that highlights it. That way people will listen.”

Nagamani tells me about a programme she did with girls from a nearby high school. They discussed menstruation and the disposal of sanitary pads. When there were reports from another part of the country of children falling sick from their midday meals, the RJs urged parents to check if the vegetables and vessels were being washed well. The women RJs are looked upon as friends by the villagers.

Speaking out

Some like Kala, (who has now quit for other opportunities), became minor celebrities. Nagamani’s children’s friends and their parents hold her in high regard. “My husband is very proud of what I do,” she says.

Shamantha recalls the time she had first come to the region with a group of journalists to conduct a media literacy programme nearly 15 years ago. Almost every woman was illiterate here. “I would tell them to listen to the radio while doing the housework.” After thorough background checks by at least seven different government departments, Sarathi Jhalak got its licence in 2012 and a funding of ₹5 lakh from the government. Hoskote was the obvious choice of location because Shamantha had worked there earlier. Around the same time the Women and Children’s Department of Anugondanahalli wrote asking her to start educational programmes for women. “It became easy for me,” says Shamatha.

Cost factor

But there have been hurdles too. For one, recurring expenses are high. The radio station has been approaching nearby schools and colleges to advertise with them. Though community radio is for and by the people, Shamantha believes that it is not fair for the government to expect RJs to work without pay. Her family pays Sunil ₹15,000 while Nagamani gets a token ₹3,000 a month. The station is always cash-strapped and requires at least ₹2 lakh a month to run. “We could then hire technical support, more RJs with better pay, better equipment, and document our popular programmes.” Encouraging stations like Sarathi Jhalak makes sense at the grassroots level.

As Shamantha says, “A community radio station like ours is not an alternative medium, it is a powerful one.”

The freelance writer believes that everything has a story waiting to be told.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society / by Jayanthi Madhukar / February 16th, 2019