Sbba Siddique: Finding strength and courage in dark times
The co-founder and director of London-based AsianStar radio shares her emotional journey of resilience from diagnosis to treatment and advocacy to normalise conversations about cancer.
By Eastern Eye May 24, 2024
LIFE was going great for Sbba Siddique until her world turned upside down in March 2022.
The devoted mother of three, wife, and host of a popular radio show was 53 years old when she received an ovarian cancer diagnosis. After surgeries and chemotherapy, she received an all clear and has subsequently become a campaigner for cancer charities to raise awareness of the deadly disease. The co-founder and director of London-based AsianStar radio shared her emotional journey of resilience from diagnosis to treatment and advocacy to normalise conversations about cancer with Eastern Eye.
“I was working full time running my own media and events company and leading a charity knitting group. In 2022 my world turned on its axis. Ovarian cancer symptoms can appear as something else. The symptoms I had didn’t seem cancerous. After 25 years of having periods coupled with cramps and aches, my symptoms seemed to be a part of life. As they became persistent and frequent, I visited my GP. I was told I was peri-menopausal and might have irritable bowel syndrome.
Siddique during the cancer treatment
“Thankfully my dermatologist (who I had an appointment with to discuss my psoriasis) urged me to go back to the GP, when she noticed my stomach was distended and out of shape. Without her, who knows where I’d be.
“Cancer was the last thing on my mind. I had no idea what the CA125 blood test marker was, but it came back raised and within two days I was undergoing an ultrasound, which showed a growth on both ovaries. 10 days later, my diagnosis came. That moment, sat in the room, with my husband at my side hearing the words ‘stage 3 ovarian cancer’ is still etched in my head. The doctor’s mouth was moving, but I wasn’t hearing. As we got into the car all I could think was how was I going to tell my children. Together, we sat and cried.
“The traumatic treatment didn’t go as I’d hoped. I opted to have surgery followed by chemotherapy but after hours in the theatre, and horrendous hallucinations because of the morphine, all I had to show for it was 48 stiches. The cancer was still inside and had spread further than originally thought. I had a fight on my hands.
“I began intravenous chemotherapy and experienced every side effect possible, including sleepless nights, peripheral neuropathy, nausea, and debilitating fatigue. It felt like everything was failing. My hair had started falling out at that point. At the mid-way scan, the tumour was still too big to operate on, so we switched to oral chemotherapy. The side effects of this were unbearable, but I persevered.
“I was hospitalised on numerous occasions due to my body becoming exhausted. Thankfully at the next scan, I felt a huge relief as the surgeon said surgery could be possible.
“During the deepest and darkest times, I felt utterly broken both physically and mentally. There were times when all I wanted was the pain to stop and for it all to end. But my Muslim faith and the love around me instilled strength into my being. Prayers became a source of strength and helped me deal with the side effects from treatment. I couldn’t let any doubt or negativity seep in and had to believe the surgery was going to work. I had to let go of anxiety, fight and be strong.
“I entered a military style regime of sleeping well, eating properly and doing anything possible to make my surgery a success. I had to be the miracle patient. A big fear after diagnosis was not being heard, but every question I asked was answered and this had a calming effect.
“The anaesthetist was really reassuring before the operation, which also helped. My surgeon went into the operation hoping to remove 70 per cent of the cancer.
“Four days later, she appeared on my ward. She gave me a hug and told me I had given her a miracle. I was 100 per cent tumour free.
“Since coming out of surgery in spring 2023, I’ve been determined to use my experiences to make a positive change. We must ensure that every woman feels empowered about their health and that the taboo around gynecological health is dispelled.
Everyone must have the much needed support to get through diagnosis, treatment, and recovery. The conversation around gynae cancers needs to be far more open. I was at stage 3 before being diagnosed and know that if it wasn’t for being prompted, I would’ve left it.
“During treatment, I felt seen and heard by healthcare professionals, who really knew how to respect my heritage. But there was no one who looked like me and that was scary. So, in that regard we must increase visibility of ovarian cancer within the south Asian community. While it is great to have information leaflets in different languages, we need to do a lot more.
“South Asian women could be missing out on early stage diagnosis as they don’t know the signs or may be embarrassed to go to the GP.
“Cancer in the south Asian community remains a taboo subject, as are conversations around gynae health.
“Cancer has taught me patience, strength and positivity. Every day I get up and look forward to what the day will bring. Despite the long term effects of chemotherapy and its trauma, I want to feel all that happiness throughout my body.
“I want to empower women to have their own voice, make informed decisions and give them the best possible chance of surviving ovarian cancer. I hope that me speaking about my experience inspires change and helps raise awareness of the symptoms.”
Jay's grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere.
Ditched the influencer route and began posting hilarious videos online.
Available in Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free
Jayspent 18 months on a list. Thousands of names. Influencers with follower counts that looked like phone numbers. He was going to launch his grandmother's popcorn the right way: send free bags, wait for posts, pray for traction. That's the playbook, right? That's what you do when you're a nobody selling something nobody asked for.
Then one interaction made him snap. The entitlement. The self-importance. The way some food blogger treated his family's recipe like a favour they were doing him. He looked at his spreadsheet. Closed it. Picked up his phone and decided to burn it all down.
Now he makes videos mocking the same people he was going to beg for help. Influencers weeping over the wrong luxury car. Creators demanding payment for chewing food on camera. Someone having a breakdown about ice cubes. And guess what? The internet ate it up. His popcorn keeps selling out. And from Gujarat, his grandmother's 60-year-old recipe is now moving units because her grandson got mad enough to be funny about it.
Jay’s grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere Instagram/daadisnacks
The kitchen story
Daadi means grandmother in Hindi. Jay's daadi came to America from Gujarat decades ago. Every weekend, she made popcorn with the spices she grew up with, including cardamom, cinnamon, and chilli mixes. It was her way of keeping home close while living somewhere that didn't taste like it.
Jay wanted that in stores. Wanted brown faces in the snack aisle. It didn’t happen overnight. It took a couple of years to get from a family recipe to something they could actually sell. Everyone pitched in, including his grandmom, uncle, mum. The spices come from small local farmers. There are just two flavours for now, Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala. It’s all vegan and gluten-free, packed in bright bags that instantly feel South Asian.
The videos don't look like marketing. They look like someone venting at 11 PM after scrolling too long. He nails the nasal influencer voice. The fake sympathy. “I can’t believe this,” he says in that exaggerated influencer tone, “they gave me the cheaper car, only eighty grand instead of one-twenty.” That clip alone blew up, pulling in close to nine million views.
Most people don't know they're watching a snack brand. They think it's social commentary. Jay never calls himself an influencer. He says he’s a creator, period. There’s a difference, and he makes sure people know it. His TikTok has around three hundred thousand followers, Instagram about half that. The comments read like a sigh of relief, people fed up with fake polish, finally hearing someone say what everyone else was thinking.
This fits into something called deinfluencing; people pushing back against the buy-everything-trust-nobody cycle. But Jay's version has teeth. He's naming names, calling out the economics. Big venture money flows to chains with good lighting. Family businesses with actual stories get ignored because their content isn't slick enough.
Jay watched his New York neighbourhood change. Chains moved in. Influencers posted about places that had funding and were aesthetic. The old spots, the family ones, got left behind. His videos are about that gap. The erosion of local culture by money and aesthetics.
"Big chains and VC-funded businesses are promoted at the expense of local ones," he said. His content doesn't just roast influencers. It promotes other small food makers who can't afford to play the game. He positions Daadi as a defender of something real against something plastic.
And it's working. Not just philosophically. Financially. The videos drive traffic. People click through, try the popcorn, come back. The company can't keep stock. That's the proof.
Daadi popcorn features authentic Gujarat flavours like Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free Daadi Snacks
The blowback
People unfollow because they think he's too harsh. Jay's take: "I would argue I need to be meaner."
In May, he posted that he's not chasing content creation money like most people at his follower count. "I post to speak my mind and help my family's snack biz." That's a different model. Most brands pay influencers to make everything look perfect. They chase viral polish, and Jay does the opposite. In fact, he weaponises rawness and treats criticism like a product feature.
The internet mostly backs him. Reddit threads light up with support. One commenter was "toxic influencers choking on their matcha lattes searching their Balenciaga bags." Another: "Influencers are boring and unoriginal and can get bent." The anger is shared. Jay simply gave it a microphone and a snack to buy.
Jay's success says something about where things are going. People are done with curated perfection. They can smell the artificiality now. They respond to brands that feel like humans rather than committees. Daadi doesn't sell aspiration. Doesn't sell a lifestyle. Sells popcorn and a point of view.
The quality matters, including the spices, the sourcing, and the family behind it. But the edge matters too. He’s not afraid to say what most brands tiptoe around. “We just show who we are,” Jay says. “No pretending, no gloss. People can feel that and that’s when they reach for the popcorn.”
Most small businesses can't afford to play the traditional game. Can't pay influencers. Can't hire agencies. Can't fake their way into feeds. Maybe they don't need to. Maybe honesty and humour can cut through if they're sharp enough. If the product backs it up. If the story is real and the person telling it isn't trying to sound like a PR script.
This started with a list Jay didn't use. The business took off the moment he stopped trying to play by the usual rules and started speaking his mind. Turns out, honesty sells. And yes, the popcorn really does taste good.
Daadi Snacks merch dropInstagram/daadisnacks
The question is whether this scales. Whether other small businesses watch this and realise they don't need to beg for attention from people who don't care. Right now, Daadi keeps selling out. People keep watching. The grandmother's recipe that was supposed to need influencer approval is doing fine without it. Better than fine. Turns out the most effective marketing strategy might just be giving a damn and not being afraid to show it.
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