Entering my 80th year- Ajeet Singh

About ten months before India woke up to freedom in 1947, a farmer in a village near Panipat celebrated the birth of his first son. He had waited years for this moment. He had married four times—his first three brides, married in childhood as per the tradition of those times, passed away due to illness. His fourth wife, nearly twenty years younger than him, finally fulfilled his dream by giving birth to a son. Being born on the eve of India’s independence felt like a blessing in itself.

Around the same time, a long-drawn court case over a piece of village land—after a bloody clash—was finally decided in the farmer’s favour. He believed he had won not through legal brilliance but through sheer strength. So he named his son Baljeet — the one who wins through strength — hoping the boy would fight life’s battles with physical might.

But destiny had other plans.

The child grew up to gain the strength of education instead. His friends called him Jeeta, and the village schoolteacher recorded his name as Ajeet Singh. For a boy from a village with no electricity, no tap water, no paved streets and only mud-brick houses—becoming the first graduate of the village was a blessing beyond measure. Following tradition and his ailing father’s wish, he was married even before he had cleared his matriculation exam. His young bride turned out to be the perfect partner—standing by him through every storm. Another precious blessing.

A graduate of Kurukshetra University in 1967, he cleared the UPSC’s Indian Information Service exam in 1970. His first posting was at All India Radio, Shimla as a Sub-Editor. A beautiful hill station for a first job was a blessing. A bigger blessing was that this is where he learned the art and soul of radio journalism. For a boy from a small village, this became the perfect grooming ground.

History kept unfolding before his eyes. From the Shimla Agreement after the Indo-Pakistan war to nearly 35 years of reporting across corridors of power in Himachal Pradesh, Jammu & Kashmir, and Haryana—his journey was remarkable.

He reported from Srinagar in the militancy infested, turbulent 1990s—covering the terrorist siege at Hazratbal Shrine, and the Kargil War. That Srinagar posting was a real test of grit—but a blessing nonetheless, for in 1990 he received All India Radio’s Best Correspondent Award. A four-year stint in New Delhi deepened his understanding of broadcast journalism.

His last posting was at the newly opened Doordarshan Kendra, Hisar, where he learned the ropes of television journalism. During his AIR and DD career, he covered Prime Minister's visits to three foreign countries and equal number of Presidential foreign visits. He retired in 2006 as Director News, Doordarshan Hisar. For a village boy to rise to Director level—was that not a blessing? None of his classmates had achieved anything similar. Retirement, too, has been a joyful 19-year blessing. As a founding member of Vanaprastha, a voluntary senior citizens’ group, his writing blossomed. Initially, he wondered what he would do after retirement—no press notes, no newsroom invites.

Then he discovered stories of the ordinary persons. The media rarely covers them, yet every person has an extraordinary story to tell. He listened, wrote in his own style, and people loved it. Local media and friends encouraged him, and his storytelling found new wings. Even the Covid-19 period nourished his writing. Retired IIS colleagues started writing experience-based essays. These were later compiled into a book—ten of those essays were mine.

Yes, I am that boy who was blessed so abundantly.

Technology became another silent companion. The smartphone is a magical fusion—my typewriter, my stenographer. I speak; it types. Google is like Aladdin’s Genie—ready with answers at one command. WhatsApp is my graceful courier—carrying messages to and from friends. If only such tools existed during my service years! Today, they are yet another blessing.

I often feel that journalism doesn’t count its blessings enough. It remains trapped in sufferings, conflicts, and crises—and in doing so, may actually magnify them. Through my good stories, am I perhaps making amends for my past journalistic “sins”? Readers will decide. But I know this: telling the stories of common people fills me with joy. For every person carries many beautiful and exclusive stories within.

On my 80th birthday, 5th November, I seek your blessings once again. Life had its fair share of struggles and stress—but time melted them away. Why count them, when nature has showered countless blessings? I count my blessings, not my sorrows. To me, that is the right way to live.