From missing goats to health tips: how a female-run radio station is giving rural India a voice

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As twilight settles over Sangareddy district in the southern Indian state of Telangana, the airwaves crackle to life. It is the voice of Masanagari Narsamma, a 45-year-old Dalit woman, who has spent the last two decades transforming the lives of women, farmers and children in nearby villages.

“This is our weapon,” she says, gripping the microphone at the radio station. “With this, we speak our truth.”

Narsamma, affectionately called “General” by her community for her strong leadership and unwavering determination, is not alone in this mission. By her side is 44-year-old Algole Narsamma, her colleague and confidante.

Supported by the Deccan Development Society (DDS), a non-profit organisation that works with rural women, the duo – both high school graduates with no formal training in media or broadcasting – have built what has become a cornerstone of their community: Sangham Radio, named after the grassroots collectives in rural areas.

Two middle-aged Indian women in saris pose for a photo in front of Sangham Radio.

Established in 2008 in Machnoor village, 70 miles (115km) north-west of Hyderabad, as India’s first all-female community radio station and run entirely by Dalit women – historically the most oppressed and marginalised communities in India – Sangham Radio crafts programmes that resonate deeply with their listeners.

“We talk about everything – from farming techniques to women’s rights, from local folklore to health tips,” says Algole, while Narsamma adds: “We speak because we know our people’s lives. We live their struggles.”

Sangham Radio began as an idea born out of necessity. For years, journalists and film-makers from outside the community would visit, recording soundbites and footage for stories that rarely captured the true essence of the community.

“We started this because no one was telling our stories,” says Narsamma. “Why should outsiders shape our narrative? We have our own voice.”

A woman’s hands, with many bangles on both wrists, operate a sound mixing desk, as seen from above.

From outside, the radio station is modest – an unassuming structure tucked among trees, its tall tower stretching skyward. Inside, the air hums with purpose. “We design programmes, conduct interviews, edit, anchor – everything,” says Narsamma, adjusting knobs on the mixing console.

“We don’t have much, but we have each other,” Algole says. “And that is enough.”

The equipment may be basic but for the two women, this small room is sacred. “This place is alive with the stories of our people,” says Algole. “Here, I feel most connected to them.”

General Narsamma climbs the station’s broadcast tower to fix a technical glitch

Two pairs of sandals left on the steps outside a door

A single-storey brick building behind a gate and surrounded by trees, seen from outside

A middle-aged Indian woman in a sari speaks into a microphone in a radio studio

As Narsamma adjusts controls on the soundboard, the voice of Ratnamma Kambalapally, a village elder who had preserved seeds all her life, is heard. Though she died long ago, her wisdom, honed through years of lived experience, lives on in her recorded words, guiding the preservation of heritage seeds and traditional farming practices.

“If we save the seed, we save our future,” Ratnamma had said in one of her last recordings.

One of the station’s most beloved segments features elderly villagers narrating folklore and singing traditional songs. These broadcasts are more than just entertainment, they are a form of cultural preservation.

“When I listen to the radio, I feel connected to my roots,” says Chandramma, a 70-year-old villager. “It’s like hearing the voice of our ancestors.”

A woman from the village listens to the radio as she cooks the family meal outside her home, seen from above.

Sangham Radio, which reaches about 40 villages, also serves as a platform for social change. With DDS’s support, Narsamma and Algole have invited legal experts to discuss topics such as domestic violence.

“Earlier, family disputes were settled by landlords, who held on to patriarchal beliefs. But now, women are starting to understand their rights and seek legal help when needed,” says Algole.

Their candid discussions on women’s once-taboo health issues, such as menstruation and menopause, have made a difference. Algole recalls a poignant moment when a woman once approached her with a serious health condition, one she had kept from her own family.

“She confided in us because we understand her,” Algole says. “We helped her get the medical care she needed.”

Sangham Radio has even become a hub for people looking for missing livestock. “Villagers will call in and describe a missing cow or goat in such detail that we could paint a picture of it,” Algole laughs. “And sometimes another listener finds and returns the animal. The radio connects us, even in these little ways.”

But what sets Sangham Radio apart is how it has helped women recognise the power of their voices. One woman, Sammamma, describes how her advice on seed conservation was broadcast and reached hundreds of other farmers.

An Indian woman in a sari speaks into a recorder as she is interviewed in a field

The muddy bare feet of a farmer in the fields

An Indian woman in a pink sari looks out from the back of a tuk-tuk as it speeds along a road

Three Indian men bent over as they cut plants by hand

An Indian woman's hands cupping small seeds

“Before Sangham Radio, I was just another woman in the fields,” she says. “But hearing my thoughts aired on the radio made me realise my words mattered.”

Every week, after a long day of farm work and household chores, the women from nearby villages gather to share stories about their struggles, discuss forthcoming broadcasts and build stronger support for the station.

One of Narsamma’s treasured memories is inviting a man known for singing on the streets into the studio. When his song was broadcast, it sparked an outpouring of love from the village.

“He sang with such heart,” she recalls. “When the song aired, it felt like his story belonged to all of us. The village embraced him, and I cherished giving him that moment.”

A village elder sits by his radio as he listens to a broadcast

Despite these triumphs, the path to establishing Sangham Radio was fraught with challenges. “We struggled for years to get permission,” Algole recalls.

“The authorities were reluctant, and we had to prove ourselves at every step,” she says. Before they were finally granted a licence to broadcast in 2008, they could only record programmes on tape and play them to gatherings of villagers – what they call “narrowcasts”.

Yet, much though Sangham Radio is loved by its community, Narsamma and Algole wrestle with the unsettling reality that radio, once the heartbeat of rural communication, is rapidly losing relevance.

“The younger generation is glued to smartphones,” says Algole. “It’s harder to keep them engaged with us.”

Three Indian women in saris talking in a radio studio

To adapt to the changing media landscape, they have launched a crowdfunding drive, hoping to digitise their broadcasts and connect with a younger, tech-savvy audience by making their content available on the internet.

This would involve creating digital archives of past programmes and streaming live broadcasts to reach a wider audience, especially younger listeners and those who have migrated to cities.

They are also exploring interactive voice response (IVR) systems, which have been used by a few radio stations in India to allow listeners to dial a number to tune in using a basic phone.

Though such a digital upgrade is ambitious for a cash-strapped community radio station, they are working hard with the DDS to secure funding. “We are fighting to keep it alive,” Narsamma says.

As day ends in Machnoor, villagers gather around their radios, anticipating the familiar voices of Narsamma and Algole. Tonight’s programme is a discussion on sustainable farming practices – a subject close to home for many of the listeners.

As the broadcast begins, there is a palpable sense of connection, a feeling that this small station is more than a source of information; it is a beacon of hope in a world that often overlooks the voices of rural women.