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The word ‘podcast’, came into existence close to twelve years ago, in an article in The Guardian which discussed the rise of online radio programmes that were ushered into existence by the sales of iPods and the advent of blogging. The iPod, which lent its name to ‘podcast’ has been long discontinued, but podcasts, whose listening rates were once languishing, are now in a phase of revival, reincarnation even.
Podcasts circa 2004 were no more than two people with a mike between them, having a long-winding conversation, sometimes with raucous laughter, about a film they watched or a game on television or technology or whatever it was that caught their fancy. It was entertaining to make (even if it wasn’t as much to listen to), easy to upload and, in most cases, had a small but loyal audience.
I remember listening to one, I believe it was around 2006 and I had managed to get myself (rather, make my parents get me) an iPod when I listened to my first podcast — my memory fails me when I try to recollect the name, but I do remember that the episode was about social networks, something that fascinated me, for I had just started a blog. I also remember that it was boring in ways that numbed the mind, and that I couldn’t go beyond four minutes. I stayed away from podcasts since then, but the year 2014 changed the way I thought about them, thanks to Serial.
Serial is a podcast produced by This American Life , a public radio show in the United States. Serial follows a single story, a single, true, story over the course of roughly ten to twelve episodes which form one season. The first season of Serial, which released late 2014, tracked a murder which happened in Baltimore in the year 1999. A popular, pretty high-school student with a great future ahead of her was found murdered, and the police ended up arresting her former boyfriend, one Adnan Syed, as the key suspect.
Adnan faced trial, and was later charged with the murder of Hae Min Lee — the only problem is that he denies having anything to do with it, even fifteen long years later. So who did it, then? Serial — rather the host, Sarah Koenig — tracked this story with relentless curiosity. She discussed motive, brought out evidence, revisited crime scenes and taunted the listener by hiding pieces of the puzzle only to reveal them ten seconds before the episode ended, ensuring that we’d be back the next week to know more.
Serial marked the start of the podcast renaissance . What used to be one-person production involving a mike and free editing software has become a full-scale operation with staff, studios and research teams. Podcast subscriptions on iTunes hit the billion mark sometime last year, and the figure looks poised to make greater leaps. So, what makes podcasts different from the other media we consume by way of news and magazines? Maybe it’s the fact that unlike mainstream radio, where I am fed content which has been put together by the producers, I get to make the decision with respect to what I want to listen to. There are podcasts on a number of topics, ranging from economics to literature to productivity to food, so I can pick and choose based on my interests. The other — and more obvious — quality of podcasts that sets them apart, is the voice.
When you hear the author read her story — and I cannot describe this in any other way — it comes alive.
It was only while listening to podcasts that I realised the marked difference between reading something, and listening to the author read it out for you. When someone narrates their story to you, even if it has been been published and distributed to a million people in print or otherwise, it becomes personal, and intimate, like you were the only intended recipient of this story.
Recently, I listened to a podcast where a transgender activist and author read out her (previously published) article about how her family supported her during her transition, and more specifically, about the challenges of raising two young sons as a transgender parent. While she was reading, there were parts where her voice cracked from the weight of the emotion that the sentence carried, parts where you could hear her smile, parts where her words swelled with pride — parts, which formed a whole that was so personal, you immediately felt connected to her.
When we read, more often than not, we tend to glance over words and sentences, and consequently, the emotion and nuance that the author is trying to make us feel and understand. When you hear the author read her story — and I cannot describe this in any other way — it comes alive. Podcasts are proof that no matter how much technology evolves, no matter what new forms of entertainment are thrown at us, nothing can shake the power of traditional storytelling, and the trance that it is capable of putting us in.
The podcast, for me, is a special product of the internet. Because, unlike every other channel of media that the internet has spawned today, it doesn’t force you to react or even ask for your reaction. There are no argumentative comments to write (or, if you’re like me, read), no social-media sharing buttons to utilise, no like buttons to click on, and no opinions that are solicited. It’s just you, and the voices on the other end of the speaker. The podcast is, in many ways, a representation of the times that we live in — times where, we look to an audio programme to find silence.
