TV-ation Gap.

From gaudy make-up to fashion faux pas,
Predictable story-lines to jarring music scores,
Flabby protagonists to hideous looking heroes,
High voltage melodrama to migraine-provoking twists and turns!



Like brain washing of the third degree, these Works of supposed CREATIVITY have been hammered into my brains till there was room for little else. I did not choose, simply because there was no choice!

Welcome to My World! A world marked with permanent clashes. What may seem like a normal conversation may soon engulf into a full blown battle. Where there’s a diarrhea of words and constipation of topics for discussion. The focus of our banter begins and ends at the same point.

Alright, with no further ado, let me introduce to you the protagonist of my household drama…without whom life seems almost unimaginable, unthinkable and undreamed of. The nucleus of my house... The one and only, His Highness ‘LORD TV!’
There’s one particular question that just struck my mind… “Why do people sit and watch serials?” err…actually, “How do they manage to accomplish this indescribable feat?!” Well, on second thoughts, I guess my Grandmum will be at the forefront to answer this million dollar question. Personally, the influx of TV channels has been a ‘curse in disguise’. With a potpourri of channels to choose from, variety no longer seems to be the spice of my life. Forget the fact of grasping and understanding anything, TV has simply been an answer to my I-am-bored and I-have-nothing-else-to-do syndrome.

Right from my kid hood, my Grandmum has been living in with us. Well, with regards to issues relating to the TV, it’s been hard-hitting. It’s not once, that we haven’t fought for the remote. Each one of us lingers around until the commercial breaks, so that we can juggle between Sun TV and VH1. It’s almost like opium for the two of us.

Quite recently, while I was in one of my unexceptional I-don’t-know-what-to-do moods, I decided to spend some ‘quality time’ with my Grandmum. Well, mind you, ‘quality time’ had got to be watching some stupid Tamil soap opera with her. I wasn’t really keen on doing it, but well, I thought I’d take a shot at it anyway! Oh boy, it was a blunder! A big time blunder! What ensued surpassed even the wildest of my imaginations. Right from the start, I was knocked for a loop! Imagine, a 3 minute title song, showing the entire family singing and dancing in a garden while the camera zoomed in and zoomed out of their faces! Gosh! The family members weren’t even a tad good looking. So ogling at them was not even the last thing on my mind. Fortunately, I had missed around 752 episodes and I was more than confident that I would not understand a word. But to my despair, I did.

Five minutes into the serial coupled with my Grandmum’s nonstop running commentary in the background, I concluded that all these serials revolve around a structured storyline. Backstabbing; Mothers-in-law and Daughters-in-law arguing over featherbrained issues; Over-the-top violence, where at most times the *dishooom-dishooom* failed to co-ordinate with the hand and leg movements; Random pregnancies, generally lasting for over 9 months- well, the story lines are implausibly predictable. If a woman vomits, she is ought to be pregnant. If they focus too much on people traveling in a car and being saccharine sweet to one another, a fatal accident is just two episodes away. If two people are happily married, it’s understood that a courtroom scene zooming in on their divorce is just about 75 episodes away. Oh yes, the serials are peppered with casual scenes of stray characters vigorously popping pills into their mouths from a bottle which is clearly labeled as ‘POISON’(in case the viewer gets confused).

However, these serials which are anchored to melodrama and fuelled by kooky twists and turns are thoroughgoing entertainers. They do tend to get on to your nerves very often, and at times, coerce you to wonder whether we, as audience members are at our ‘Progressive Worst’ or ‘Regressive Best’?!

But, on the personal front, though I cringe to see these brain-destroyers on a daily basis; I do experience this peculiar sense of blitheness when I see the glow on my Grandmum’s face, the minute the clock strikes 9. It’s her only aperture to the outside world and, if four hours of absolute gobbledygook succeeds in giving her another four hours of food for thought, it isn’t a raw deal after all.
As they say, “If life gives you lemons, make a lemonade out of it” – likewise, even

I, being a victim of circumstances, have learnt to cachinnate and poke fun at these otherwise stereotypical, tear-provoking serials. Trust me, it isn’t that hard!

Mumbaichya Local Trains

“I’ll be holding one bag, you hold this one. Shove the bloody mobile phone into your bag, you moron. You just stick to me. Don’t you dare release your hand from the handle. Don’t dream! Don’t...” she repeated for the hundredth time, emphasizing on the word “Don’t”. She was none other than my bossy sister who claimed to be a more seasoned train traveler than I was. Unfortunately, she was right!

Even after these unambiguous decisions, she continued to eye me warily. There was no missing the threat in her eyes lest I disobey her. I glanced around imperturbably, as if what I was about to do was an everyday affair. I hoped I looked confident because I was wobbly from within. I was not the least bit ready for my first journey in the ‘Sardine filled cans’, aptly termed ‘‘Mumbai’s local trains”.

The din was deafening. The swarm was maddening. The ‘aroma’ of stinky armpits was unbearable. Yuck! I felt as though I was trapped in a vortex that was sucking me in. “Aah!” Someone was standing on my foot. I tried to turn to face the person who was inflicting such pain on me, only to hear an old woman garbed in a burkha yell, “Chikni…Zyada uchal-machalna mat!” Huh? ‘Chikni??’!! eeww! In the interest of peace, I apologized to her and went back to my original position. Phew! Turn left or turn right… there were women and only women all around me- blaring, gossiping, bitching, wrestling n discussing issues as extraneous as a 25% sale in the local sari shop…Oh yes, there were inestimable groups of assorted Bhajan buffs, who not only peppered their journey with the audio outburst, but also insisted that the rest of the unenthusiastic co-passengers join them in their spiritual expedition. The melodies had striking resemblances with apna Himesh reshammiya’s dinchak bollywood numbers! Grrrrrr...!! The entire atmosphere was claustrophobic!

To add to my miseries, there were hawkers and beggars continuing their everyday routine. Shucks! Their marketing strategies were impeccable! “Pardesi pardesi.. jana nahinn…”coupled with “Dus ka teen..dus ka teen..”-ideal mishmash indeed! After turning, rotating, revolving, spinning, whirling, spiraling-- it took a ride in a Mumbai train to make me realize how supple the human anatomy could be!

What ensued did not match my wildest imagination! As soon as the train halted at Kurla station, all hell broke loose. People went bananas! Their civic sense went astray in thin air as they charged towards the train like a famished man would towards food or a rapacious tiger towards its quarry. I realized that to get in and out of a Mumbai local train, it required impeccable expertise, perfect modus operandi, doggedness and most importantly, awareness about some universally used ‘gaalis’ to counter attack!

Soon, the train started slowing down near Chembur station and we multiplied our efforts to arrive at the compartment's door. Within seconds, the train halted on the platform. Again, two apparently unbending forces -people wanting to get out of the train and people wanting to get in -- tested their immense vigor against each other. Trampled between their aspirations was poor me. I had no insight as to what I was doing or where I was going??? If it had not been for the uneasiness, I would have thought I was some kind of a ‘V.V.I.P.’, enclosed by people whose sole objective seemed to touch me. Suddenly, I realized much to my dismay, that of the many souls breathing on me, none was the recognizable face I was supposed to ‘stick to’.
I jumped out of the train, still holding on to my bag and looked for my sister with utter desperation. I could not spot her. I was entering some kind of a stupor. I found myself suspended on top of a few people. “Idiot, who the hell told you to leave my hand?” Unquestionably, that shrill wicked tone had to be my sister’s. The earsplitting pitch petrified me and I was forced to behave myself. Finally, with a lot of pushes and punches, I managed to come out of the horde. Seconds later, I found myself standing breathless on the platform. Hah! Finally, I heaved a sigh of relief. I felt as though I was released from captivity after being subjected to 3rd degree torture! My hair and clothes were scruffy, but I was super happy. Still holding on to my bag, I raised both my hands in the air in triumph. Everyone was staring at me intriguingly but I did not bother. They had no trace of how proud I was of myself. I had successfully completed my first journey on one of Mumbai's crowded locals!!

Wooppiieee!! :)