In 2002, a group of women from a rocky, feudal belt in Uttar Pradesh made an unusual that despite histories of exclusion from education, uneven levels of literacy, training in fields, brick kilns and forests, they would publish a local newspaper. It would be sold on the newsstands of Bundelkhandi towns and villages.
Over the last twenty-five years, this newspaper—Khabar Lahariya—seeped slowly into other districts, states and mediums. It grappled, as media across the country and the world has, with the digital transformation of our lives. It became the first hyperlocal digital news channel entirely run by women.
In The Good Reporter, through a slow and embodied process of history-telling, with layered and contradictory memories, this story is turned inside out.
Ten women take the pen to interrogate, and then shape a portrait-in-progress of complex, flawed, tenacious journalists and the continuing collateral damage of radical acts.
This is a story of an ever-changing rural India, and of the price we pay for chafing against the norms that still hold our worlds in place.
Although caste, class, and gender are not fixed in an archaic time, they are very alive and fluid in our world, aren't they?
Now let me come to the point. What is Khabar Lahariya? How was it formed? What is this book title about? Ten women emerged in the fertile environment of policies and programmes that brought women into the public domain. It is India’s only rural newspaper run entirely by women, reporting in Bundeli for remote audiences. It emerged from policies that brought women into public life: the Mahila Samakhya programme and the 73rd Amendment to the Constitution in 1992, which reserved one-third of seats for women in local governance.
The idea was piloted in 1993 at a residential adult literacy centre in Banda district, Uttar Pradesh, under Mahila Samakhya. Women students created a broadsheet in workshops, distributed it in villages, and sold it, wading through rivers to reach readers. It was the first mass media in Bundeli, focused on everyday rural stories. That success led to Khabar Lahariya launching as a permanent newspaper in 2002.
Khabar Lahariya had, at its heart, the desire to bring into the public domain stories about everyday rural lives from the perspective of those considered most unlikely, because of their castes and their history of exclusion from education, to have a public voice. And since it was written in the language that was spoken not just in the rural public, but inside homes, on fields, in brick kilns, by the well, in the panchayat bhavan and the tehsil office, it was anticipated eagerly, it resonated, and it was relished.
Now, who are these ten women? The “we” in Khabar Lahariya is a mixed group: some journalists and educationists from Delhi, and local rural women who had emerged from the literacy programme or who they trained to be journalists and publish a newspaper. Each edition had a local team of between five and ten women who did everything from reporting, writing, editing, and illustrating to designing, taking the newspaper to print, and then selling it in villages across the district.
This book is a story of an ever-changing rural India, and of the process these women pay for chafing against the norms that still hold our world in place. I really liked the honesty they showed about themselves. This is why reading non-fiction books is important. You will definitely get to feel somebody’s life, situation, tolerance, and fight against norms. Through a slow and embodied process of history-telling, with illustrations, the book gave such a strong voice to its readers, because you have to know about the stories of women who gain their position and voice after decades of humiliation and dismissal, of being taunted, "Where are you going with that bag on your shoulder, to become the district magistrate?".
The Good Reporter: A Memoir of Journalism in the 21st Century is a collective memoir of the women behind Khabar Lahariya. It is about women who are constantly becoming reporters, constantly testing what it means to tell the truth, and constantly learning how to carry their own histories into the public world.
The writing is deeply honest about how social, political and technological change moves through everyday life. The women write from within a world shaped by caste, region, gender, media pressure and digital transformation, and they show how those forces enter the body, the mind and the work itself. Their stories are rooted in rural life, Dalit experience and feminist practice, but they speak far beyond any single newsroom.
This is a candid, self-aware book about themselves who live in contradiction and do not hide it. They are strong without pretending to be invulnerable, committed without pretending journalism is easy, and honest about the compromises, fears and pressures that come with reporting . That honesty gives the book its emotional force and its moral clarity
What makes the book linger is its refusal to flatten these women into mere symbols. They are looking in and looking out at once, observing the world while also examining themselves, and that double gaze gives the memoir its power. It is a book of witness, labour and becoming, and it leaves you with the sense that journalism, at its best, is not just about news but about courage with memory.
The Good Reporter is not just a singular narrative, but the indomitable spirit and resilience of the women behind Khabar Lahariya.
These remarkable journalists hail from a variety of caste, religious, and social backgrounds, each bringing their unique perspectives to the forefront in an industry often fraught with challenges. They function in environments where defying societal expectations is not merely unconventional; it is a bold act of rebellion.
Despite the societal pressures and constraints they face, they continue to report from the heart of rural India, embodying courage, curiosity, and unwavering conviction in their work.
I was struck by the reality that while these women dedicated themselves to highlighting the struggles and stories of their communities, they often grappled with their own personal challenges. Their narratives illuminate a critical truth: journalism transcends the act of reporting facts; it is fundamentally about being present, truly listening to voices that are often overlooked, and bravely confronting uncomfortable truths that many would prefer to ignore.
In an age where journalism is frequently reduced to eye-catching headlines and superficial sound bites, these women underscore the noblest aspects of the profession—fearlessness, groundedness, and a profound human connection to the stories they tell.
One of the most compelling elements woven throughout the book is the theme of women supporting other women. Beneath the surface of their reporting lies a rich tapestry of solidarity, friendship, and collective strength. Witnessing these women challenge entrenched societal norms while carving out a rightful space for themselves within the media landscape was not just inspiring, but also empowering. Their collaborative efforts illustrate how communal support can amplify voices and foster resilience in the face of adversity.
The Good Reporter left me with a profound sense of respect and admiration for the journalists of Khabar Lahariya. Their journeys serve as a powerful testament to the belief that meaningful change often begins with ordinary women who, despite the odds, choose to refuse silence and boldly share their truths.