Independence Day 2026: Radio jockey who rebelled, how a girl ran a secret radio station

On the night of 8 August 1942, as Mahatma Gandhi gave the call of "Do or Die" and launched the Quit India movement, few people in Bombay could have guessed that one of the most effective challenges to British authority would soon come not from a political leader but from a young student.

Usha Mehta was only 22. Within days, she and a small group of underground activists had assembled a clandestine radio station that slipped past colonial censorship and carried the message of resistance across India.

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For nearly three months, the British hunted the mysterious voice that opened every broadcast with the declaration: "This is the Congress Radio calling on 42.34 from somewhere in India." By the time the station was silenced, it had become one of the boldest communication experiments of the freedom struggle. A 2024 Hindi movie, 'Ae Watan Mere Watan', featuring Sara Ali Khan, was based on Mehta's life.

A child of the freedom movement

Usha Mehta's journey into the underground did not begin in 1942. It began much earlier, in Surat, Gujarat, where she grew up in an atmosphere charged with nationalist politics. As a child, she joined protests against the Simon Commission and shouted "Simon Go Back", a slogan that echoed across India in the late 1920s. She later participated in campaigns inspired by Gandhi's civil disobedience movement and took pride in defying the colonial salt laws while still a young girl. The freedom movement was not a distant political event for her but woven into everyday life.

When her family moved to Bombay after her father's retirement, Mehta continued her education while remaining deeply involved in nationalist activities. By the early 1940s, she was a committed Gandhian student. Then came the historic Congress session of August 1942. The British responded to Gandhi's Quit India call with sweeping arrests. Gandhi and most senior Congress leaders were jailed within hours. Newspapers faced strict censorship. Political communication was disrupted. When leaders could no longer speak to the nation, many others stepped up to carry their message. Mehta was one of them, and her weapon of choice was an underground radio station.

Building a radio station in the shadows

The idea was daring and technically demanding because, in those days, radio equipment was expensive, difficult to obtain and closely monitored by the authorities. But a small group of activists managed to bring together the necessary expertise.

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Among those associated with the effort were Chandrakant Babubhai Jhaveri, Vithaldas K. Jhaveri, Nariman Printer, an amateur radio operator, and Nanka Motwane, whose family ran Chicago Radio, a well-known communications business in Bombay. Other underground leaders such as Ram Manohar Lohia and Achyutrao Patwardhan also became connected with the broadcasts.

The operation had to be built in complete secrecy. Equipment was assembled quietly and funds came from sympathetic supporters. Every participant understood the risks, as possessing such a transmitter during wartime conditions was enough to attract severe punishment.

The first broadcast went on air in August 1942. The opening announcement instantly became legendary: "This is the Congress Radio calling on 42.34 from somewhere in India." The phrase was carefully chosen. It gave listeners a frequency but concealed the station's location. Even as British monitoring units tried to track the signal, the broadcasters protected their greatest secret.

Mehta's radio of resistance

Congress Radio emerged at a moment when reliable information had become scarce. Newspapers hesitated to print reports of repression, arrests and underground resistance. The secret station stepped into that vacuum.

The broadcasts carried news from different parts of India, including reports of protests, arrests and acts of civil disobedience. Information arrived through trusted messengers and Congress networks. According to Mehta, important updates were also supplied by the All India Congress Committee office in Bombay.

Years later, she explained the importance of the venture in an interview: "When the press is gagged and all the news banned, a transmitter certainly helps a good deal in spreading the message of rebellion in the remotest corners of the country."

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The programmes were usually broadcast in Hindi and English. They included news bulletins, political messages and speeches by prominent nationalist leaders. Listeners heard accounts of resistance that were absent from the censored press. The station also carried appeals urging people to continue the struggle despite mass arrests. For many Indians, Congress Radio became proof that the movement was still alive.

A constant game of cat and mouse

The station's survival depended on mobility. The British knew the broadcasts existed as they could hear them, but what they could not do was locate them easily. The underground team therefore adopted a simple rule -- never stay in one place for long.

Transmitters, recording equipment and programme material were repeatedly moved across Bombay. The operation shifted from one location to another before the authorities could establish a reliable fix on the signal. Mehta later recalled that the station changed locations six or seven times during its short existence.

Every broadcast involved risk. Equipment had to be transported discreetly and safe houses had to be secured. Programmes had to be prepared under constant pressure.

Meanwhile, British monitoring units worked relentlessly. Police wireless teams recorded broadcasts and attempted to trace transmissions. Detection vans cruised through the city trying to pinpoint the source.

Mehta later remembered the tension vividly: "(Police) vans used to chase us regularly and very often it was merely a question of touch and go." The station survived because its operators stayed one step ahead. But only for a few months.

The knocks on the door

By November 1942, the police investigation had intensified. Radio dealers and communications businesses came under scrutiny and raids were being conducted across Bombay. One important breakthrough came when authorities targeted shops connected to radio equipment, including Chicago Radio. Nariman Printer was arrested. Investigators were getting closer to the underground network.

The pressure on Congress Radio mounted rapidly. Then came the day that ended the operation.

On 12 November 1942, events moved quickly. According to Mehta's later recollections, police raided the office of Babubhai Khakkhar while she was present in the building. Realising the danger, she gathered broadcast material and rushed to the recording location where colleagues were preparing that evening's programme. The team was determined to go on air one last time.

Working with the assistance of one of Printer's associates, they assembled a fresh transmitter and prepared the broadcast. The programme began with the patriotic song "Hindustan Hamara". News bulletins followed. Then came a speech. The atmosphere inside the room must have been tense. The operators knew the police were closing in, but they continued.

As the broadcast approached its end, the station played "Vande Mataram". That was when they heard pounding on the door.

Mehta later recalled the dramatic moment: "We played Hindustan Hamara, then we relayed some news bulletins and a speech. Just when we were at the end of the program, playing 'Vande Mataram', we heard hard knocks on the door." The police forced their way in. "They ordered us to stop playing 'Vande Mataram'. We did not oblige them," she had recalled.

The equipment was seized and cases containing Congress photographs and sound recordings were confiscated. The voice from "somewhere in India" had finally been located.

Mehta and several colleagues were arrested. What followed was a lengthy investigation and intense interrogation.

She later described the experience as mental torture. Investigators tried to persuade her to reveal information about other activists. At one stage, she recalled, officials even offered to send her abroad for higher studies if she cooperated. Three members of the group, including Mehta, were eventually convicted, and she received a four-year prison sentence.

Despite the hardship, she never expressed regret. Looking back on her imprisonment, she said: "I came back from jail a happy and to an extent a proud person." She was released in April 1946, less than eighteen months before India achieved independence.

Scholar, teacher and national icon

After her release, Mehta returned to academic life. She completed her doctoral studies and spent decades teaching at Wilson College and Bombay University. Unlike many freedom fighters who moved into electoral politics, she remained associated with education, Gandhian thought and public life.

Recognition came much later. In 1998, the Government of India awarded her the Padma Vibhushan, one of the country's highest civilian honours, acknowledging both her role in the freedom struggle and her lifelong public service.

She died on 11 August 2000 at the age of 80, but the story of Congress Radio never faded. Historians, filmmakers and generations of students continued to be fascinated by the young woman who challenged an empire with a microphone, a transmitter and extraordinary nerve.