Like most children of the 90s, I grew up on a healthy diet of Bolywood cinema. When it comes to melodrama, nobody does it quite like us. Estranged sons dying in mothers’ laps, long distance lovers united after 30 years, fish mongers turning into bomb disposal experts so they can play with fate, pet animals coming to the rescue of damsels in distress because heroes turn villains by cheating on their wives...really, few things amaze me these days as far as Indian television goes. But last evening was different.
It was a regular weekday evening. My roommate (let’s call her T) and I were having a cold meal as we mindlessly switched between the evening news and Junior Master Chef. As to why we faithfully watch a cookery show involving 10 year olds each evening is anyone’s guess. I suppose we are fascinated by these children who talk texture and flavour, while we barely get past making a somewhat passable meal of rice, poriyal and curds. But I digress. At some point T switches to Colors which broadcasts Bigg Boss on prime time. We laugh over the concept of the reality show, while graciously acknowledging that it takes a fair amount of resilience to be holed up in a house that looks more like a high end furniture store, with a bunch of conniving roommates who have all day to plot your exit from the show. That house is nothing short of a devil’s workshop.
I don’t follow the show, so I am not sure as to why the scene changed from the house-that-looks-like-a-furniture-store to this little hut with only three people in it. But let’s cut them some slack and move on with what happens next. There is a knock on the door and the three inmates-one lady and two men get ready to welcome a new person into their ‘home’. Standing at door is this small woman very obviously a victim of dwarfism. But somehow, what was obvious to me despite my drifting attention span was not clear to the three inmates. They greet her with much enthusiasm, except that it’s the kind of excitement that most of us show when a little child enters the room. The lady proceeds to give the new inmate a hug, pecks her on the cheek and chatters away in baby-talk, all the while believing that it is indeed a child. The group soon finds out that the ‘child’ is in fact 19 years old and holds a record in the Guinness Book for being the smallest 19-year-old in the world. After understanding that the lady has a health condition which has resulted in her short stature, one would expect that the three inmates would treat her as an adult must be treated. Not on this show! The lady picks up the ‘child’, continues to baby-talk as she shows her around the house. Mid-way through this drama, the lady breaks down in a wave of sympathy for the ‘child’.
By this time I am very uncomfortable. But for some strange reason, we continue watching, flabbergasted. Perhaps this is exactly what Aristotle referred to as the cathartic effect of drama. But that was Greek tragedy. This is trash that goes under the garb of reality TV.
Many years ago I had the chance to work on a video about differently-abled people. I was an undergraduate student at that point and it was something of a coming-of-age experience for me to interact with people who live with pride and dignity despite their disability and fight each day to be included in every aspect of life. During the assignment I spoke to an inspiring young man who was suffering from cerebral palsy. He was studying to be lawyer and dreamt of eventually impacting India’s disability legislation. Over a casual chat, he spoke to me about why he did not approve of Mani Rathnam’s Anjali, which was quite a land mark movie in its time. He found the movie unacceptable because the protagonist, who suffers from a mental disability, is portrayed as a rather good looking child, like any other ‘normal’ baby, whereas in reality a child with Anjali’s condition would indeed look very different. “It made me feel like we are ugly...so ugly that we cannot be accepted for what we are, the way we look.” His statement bothers me till today. I wonder what he would have to say about Bigg Boss. Is this real enough? Perhaps so real as to strip off of all sense and sensibility that one exercises while dealing with people, disabled or otherwise. Actually, I hope he didn’t get to see this episode of Bigg Boss. He would have realised that amidst TRP ratings, starlets who want their 15 minutes and the janatha that watches on, his dream of being included and accepted is a distant one.
Thankfully the commercials come on, breaking the spell. “Change the channel T, this is weirding me out.” After a moment’s pause, she changes back to Junior Master Chef. We watch on, quietly letting Bigg Boss and its star cast slip out of our minds.
It was a regular weekday evening. My roommate (let’s call her T) and I were having a cold meal as we mindlessly switched between the evening news and Junior Master Chef. As to why we faithfully watch a cookery show involving 10 year olds each evening is anyone’s guess. I suppose we are fascinated by these children who talk texture and flavour, while we barely get past making a somewhat passable meal of rice, poriyal and curds. But I digress. At some point T switches to Colors which broadcasts Bigg Boss on prime time. We laugh over the concept of the reality show, while graciously acknowledging that it takes a fair amount of resilience to be holed up in a house that looks more like a high end furniture store, with a bunch of conniving roommates who have all day to plot your exit from the show. That house is nothing short of a devil’s workshop.
I don’t follow the show, so I am not sure as to why the scene changed from the house-that-looks-like-a-furniture-store to this little hut with only three people in it. But let’s cut them some slack and move on with what happens next. There is a knock on the door and the three inmates-one lady and two men get ready to welcome a new person into their ‘home’. Standing at door is this small woman very obviously a victim of dwarfism. But somehow, what was obvious to me despite my drifting attention span was not clear to the three inmates. They greet her with much enthusiasm, except that it’s the kind of excitement that most of us show when a little child enters the room. The lady proceeds to give the new inmate a hug, pecks her on the cheek and chatters away in baby-talk, all the while believing that it is indeed a child. The group soon finds out that the ‘child’ is in fact 19 years old and holds a record in the Guinness Book for being the smallest 19-year-old in the world. After understanding that the lady has a health condition which has resulted in her short stature, one would expect that the three inmates would treat her as an adult must be treated. Not on this show! The lady picks up the ‘child’, continues to baby-talk as she shows her around the house. Mid-way through this drama, the lady breaks down in a wave of sympathy for the ‘child’.
By this time I am very uncomfortable. But for some strange reason, we continue watching, flabbergasted. Perhaps this is exactly what Aristotle referred to as the cathartic effect of drama. But that was Greek tragedy. This is trash that goes under the garb of reality TV.
Many years ago I had the chance to work on a video about differently-abled people. I was an undergraduate student at that point and it was something of a coming-of-age experience for me to interact with people who live with pride and dignity despite their disability and fight each day to be included in every aspect of life. During the assignment I spoke to an inspiring young man who was suffering from cerebral palsy. He was studying to be lawyer and dreamt of eventually impacting India’s disability legislation. Over a casual chat, he spoke to me about why he did not approve of Mani Rathnam’s Anjali, which was quite a land mark movie in its time. He found the movie unacceptable because the protagonist, who suffers from a mental disability, is portrayed as a rather good looking child, like any other ‘normal’ baby, whereas in reality a child with Anjali’s condition would indeed look very different. “It made me feel like we are ugly...so ugly that we cannot be accepted for what we are, the way we look.” His statement bothers me till today. I wonder what he would have to say about Bigg Boss. Is this real enough? Perhaps so real as to strip off of all sense and sensibility that one exercises while dealing with people, disabled or otherwise. Actually, I hope he didn’t get to see this episode of Bigg Boss. He would have realised that amidst TRP ratings, starlets who want their 15 minutes and the janatha that watches on, his dream of being included and accepted is a distant one.
Thankfully the commercials come on, breaking the spell. “Change the channel T, this is weirding me out.” After a moment’s pause, she changes back to Junior Master Chef. We watch on, quietly letting Bigg Boss and its star cast slip out of our minds.
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