Year-End: On Two Wheels, Listening to Kashmir — A Land That Rarely Speaks

In Kashmir, stories are not shouted — they are carried quietly, sometimes on a motorcycle, sometimes in silence, always with care.

X: @JournalistAadil

Most of my reporting begins on a motorcycle, a notebook tucked into my pocket, and no clear idea of how the day will unfold. The roads are often rough, the distances long, and the outcome uncertain. Some days I chase a lead; on others, I follow a rumour, hoping it turns into a story worth telling. In Kupwara, people have begun recognising me as the journalist who is always on the move. Over time, two wheels have quietly become my newsroom.

Out here, journalism does not run on schedules. Stories unfold slowly, often after hours of waiting, listening, and watching. A visit to a village may end without a single quote, or it may open up a conversation that reshapes how I understand a place. Every assignment demands alertness—not just to report events, but to grasp the lives and realities behind them. Being present matters far more than being fast.

Reporting on the ground has taught me lessons no classroom ever could. Through these journeys, I have encountered customs that survive quietly, traditions that are slowly fading, languages that change within a few kilometres, and food that carries the history of a region. Journalism, for me, became a way of learning about the world not from a distance, but from close quarters—face to face, village to village.

The work, however, is rarely smooth. There are many times when I arrive at a place only to find doors closed and voices hesitant. People are cautious, shaped by years of being misunderstood or misrepresented. Trust is never instant. It requires time, patience, and a willingness to listen without demanding answers. Often, silence itself becomes part of the story—something television cameras rarely capture.

This profession also demands personal sacrifices. Family functions are missed, weekends pass without rest, and time with friends grows scarce. Even when I am home, my mind is often elsewhere—thinking about follow-ups, deadlines, or unfinished leads. The work feels like tightly laced shoes: always ready to move, even when the body asks for a pause.

Deadlines add another layer of pressure. Editors expect clarity, accuracy, and timely delivery, regardless of distance or difficulty. Balancing speed with careful, responsible reporting remains a constant challenge.

Along the way, I have learnt much—and unlearnt even more. Assumptions have given way to better questions. Reporting has taught me to look beyond first impressions and listen more closely. This year, in particular, has been about learning, unlearning, and relearning.

Journalism has taken me to places I would never have reached otherwise—remote villages, border areas, and unfamiliar landscapes. These journeys are not about comfort; they are about understanding lives as they are lived. On two wheels, I continue this work, knowing the road ahead is uncertain, but the purpose remains clear.