When the days where much in the past filled with joy and innocence, when technology hasn't taken an advert turn forcing itself down our necks, but during a time when we were the masters of the same, there lived a radio in my home that made my whole family's day from morning till the night falls and gloats. This post is dedicated to that radio that braved everyday along with us, thorough the thick, tough and the truce times after many fights and eternal love.
When I was still in my underwear, trotting around in elementary school, there was no proper television at my place. ('proper' with reference to nowadays) It was a tiny black and white square box of red and black colours holding up the black oblong Philips radio on its head. (That, was the sole purpose of the television other than Sunday morning happy times watching 'Rangoli' on DD channel where the colours kept filling the Hindi subtitles as the actors danced around the trees that Bollywood had had planted for the very purpose!) There were a couple of buttons, a round disc to tune into radio and a cassette player. I used to wish I had a bigger television to watch cartoons and more movies, but now, I thank my parents for never having bought one till I was much, much older and myself for never having pushed them for one. I was content with the people who spoke to me through that black being's speakers.
Mornings began with the radio broadcasting devotional songs for which my mother was highly grateful. I never was awake during those hours but I remember those hours as my mom would chant or sing along with the radio working her way through the kitchen. It was dreamy, with the Tindell effect working it's way into our house's mosaic floors and the smell of food rising up in the air. Sometimes, I would be in and out of sleep when I would hear her voice in all my drowsiness. It was beautiful.
Later, the radio was tuned into one of the famous radio stations. Songs kept playing and radio jockeys kept talking to us. There would be music while I brush my teeth, when I take my bath, when I put on my uniform's belt, while I gulp down my breakfast, while my father helps me put on my gleaming white canvas shoes and till I run out of the door with him. They made my day into music, into notes and lyrics that kept playing in my head all the time. Back then, with no remote or buttons to immediately change the channels and given our busy or lazy nature in the mornings, there would be but one channel floating it's offerings through the wind. We listened to the RJ speak about women's issues, about America, about the traffic and last night's rain.There was continuity and an anonymous bond that existed unlike now when radio means more often the time killer during the wait in traffic; in cars with buttons to change the channels every second.
But this was completely different. There was something about it, that radio.
The morning news would be relayed on the 'Aakashwani' which told me of the time. My father and I would beat for the door, for it meant the time was 8.15 a.m and time for school. The newsreader had such a pleasant voice but it also meant I was late and so never during weekdays did I ever get to hear her recite the news fully nor during the weekends for I would still be dozing.
Evenings, when I think about it now, were pleasant. No television sounds, no serials and soap operas, no movies. Just good music that assists you finish your evening chores, that helps you relax with some good milk, that helps you read and that helps you write. I wonder how much I would be into either reading or writing if I had had a 'state-of-the-art' television at home. Radio, music and RJ's taught me so much more than an idiot box could ever have. Just as they taught me to fall in love with the old Tamil and Hindi songs that were played well into the night lulling us to sleep. I do remember vividly how my entire family would gather and sit together to listen to one particular RJ during the nights. His voice was the most soothing one ever and his thoughts were stringed in such a beautiful way that all we could ever do was listen to him and smile. I wonder if he or any of the other RJ's knew how much they moved us, made us smile and tear up or just plainly engage without an idle mind for company. Well, they made our day always, starting up the next day where they had left the night before.
There were no fights in the evenings for the television remote or what channel one wants to watch, merely songs that we all loved and listened to, as a family.
To the rushing mornings with peppy music and liveliness, to the evenings that helped us run around and the soothing nights of family dinner and sheer dulcet mood before our eyes drop into dreams, I am forever thankful to that companion, our dear radio!
When I was still in my underwear, trotting around in elementary school, there was no proper television at my place. ('proper' with reference to nowadays) It was a tiny black and white square box of red and black colours holding up the black oblong Philips radio on its head. (That, was the sole purpose of the television other than Sunday morning happy times watching 'Rangoli' on DD channel where the colours kept filling the Hindi subtitles as the actors danced around the trees that Bollywood had had planted for the very purpose!) There were a couple of buttons, a round disc to tune into radio and a cassette player. I used to wish I had a bigger television to watch cartoons and more movies, but now, I thank my parents for never having bought one till I was much, much older and myself for never having pushed them for one. I was content with the people who spoke to me through that black being's speakers.
Mornings began with the radio broadcasting devotional songs for which my mother was highly grateful. I never was awake during those hours but I remember those hours as my mom would chant or sing along with the radio working her way through the kitchen. It was dreamy, with the Tindell effect working it's way into our house's mosaic floors and the smell of food rising up in the air. Sometimes, I would be in and out of sleep when I would hear her voice in all my drowsiness. It was beautiful.
Later, the radio was tuned into one of the famous radio stations. Songs kept playing and radio jockeys kept talking to us. There would be music while I brush my teeth, when I take my bath, when I put on my uniform's belt, while I gulp down my breakfast, while my father helps me put on my gleaming white canvas shoes and till I run out of the door with him. They made my day into music, into notes and lyrics that kept playing in my head all the time. Back then, with no remote or buttons to immediately change the channels and given our busy or lazy nature in the mornings, there would be but one channel floating it's offerings through the wind. We listened to the RJ speak about women's issues, about America, about the traffic and last night's rain.There was continuity and an anonymous bond that existed unlike now when radio means more often the time killer during the wait in traffic; in cars with buttons to change the channels every second.
But this was completely different. There was something about it, that radio.
The morning news would be relayed on the 'Aakashwani' which told me of the time. My father and I would beat for the door, for it meant the time was 8.15 a.m and time for school. The newsreader had such a pleasant voice but it also meant I was late and so never during weekdays did I ever get to hear her recite the news fully nor during the weekends for I would still be dozing.
 |
| The radio that we once had at home! |
There were no fights in the evenings for the television remote or what channel one wants to watch, merely songs that we all loved and listened to, as a family.
To the rushing mornings with peppy music and liveliness, to the evenings that helped us run around and the soothing nights of family dinner and sheer dulcet mood before our eyes drop into dreams, I am forever thankful to that companion, our dear radio!
Images are from the internet and not owned by me
~Hemu
