Something About Serials.

            I’ve never liked watching television. Whenever I see moving images on a flickering screen, I fall asleep. Perhaps in the medical lexicon there’s a term for this condition. Maybe rare, because there is a very large majority that doesn’t suffer from this affliction. I say affliction because I suffer: imagine me sitting in a ‘hall’ in someone’s flat where the television is on. Everyone’s either watching the news or a bit of soap, and me… I’m fighting drooping eyelids. I’m neither bored nor tired. Just full of sleep. No one understands and certainly no one listens to my explanations.

             Over the years, thanks to a husband who loves the news, I’ve got used to seeing who’s being killed, arrested, murdered, abused, bombed, bribed in the country, the world. Occasionally, also have seen awards given to film-stars, sportspersons, film-stars, sportspersons again and even more filmstars.

             I am a fan of Doordarshan (no, seriously). I get to see the status of crops, hear some real music, listen to scientists/writers speak in an unhurried way by anchors who aren’t out to bully or badger the invitees. Sure, the technology and appearance is not as sophisticated, but it makes up in content quite often. When I tune in to We The People, I wonder why the audience is always in tune with Barkha Dutt. I’ve never seen a majority voting for something she doesn’t agree with. Intentional? I guess inviting well-chosen friends’ friends’ friends, helps. Are they paid? Dunno. Am I cynical? Yup!

            Of the many channels my remote controls, I see two, maybe a third. Watching television is a recent activity… or passivity… in my life. I was ‘into’ Marathi soaps for a couple of months. I liked the titles and the advertisements. Of the former, my favourites were Mazha Kunku, Kulvadhu, Jis Desh Mein Nikla Chand (hope I’ve got this right, it’s such a forgettable line), and then there were the Bahoo series. It’s a wonder no one’s started a spelling war on that word: Bahu, Bbahu, Bbahoo, Bahhu, Bahhoo, etc. It’s something to do with numbers and luck, I’m told, the number of alphabets and which ones, in a name. I’ve been trying it out with my name: Sshila, Ssheela, Shheela, Sheellaa. Though I use a spelling a day, no way Lady Luck is getting attracted. Perhaps I should change it completely. To something from the other side of the planet: Zoe, Zzorra, Cipi, Lie, … Americans are so innovative; we have boring names like Subbulakshmi-vedashankara-dharini-durga which these days get shortened to the most interesting syllable: Bul in this case.

              Staid Marathi soaps have taught me that Dad and Mom is what the young call their parents, especially if they (kids, not parents) are going astray. Nothing’s changed from the Hindi fillums of the ‘sixties. Good daughters wear salwar kameezes and good sons shave every day. The villains have a stubble (ok, some heroes sport them, too, but shave at some time in the film or serial, villains never do), bad girls wear stilettos and walk silly.

              What I really like about the serials I’ve begun to watch with some regularity is the way they don’t let you forget what you’ve seen before. Repeat, overlap, repeat is the mantra. In case you’ve missed something, you can catch up. If you’ve seen it before, you’re likely to remember it for the rest of your life.

            Academicians can learn much from these techniques. Show the same shot, the same dialogue, shove it down the throat until it’s absorbed at cellular level. If I can remember, without skipping a word or syllable, why someone in a pathetic crumpled sari is bemoaning her fate, I can’t see why I won’t be able to remember formulae and tables if they are shown as frequently.

                Indeed, I’ve got the idea which will make my fortune. I’m going to tie up with a financer and start up homework serials: Who’s Afraid Of Teacher Math, What Akbar And Humayun Really Thought Of Indira Gandhi, Mayawati Bhi Kabhi MP Thi, How English Now Konkani (titles that don’t make sense are super hits, they say), When Raindrops Become Dam Water, Why Raindrops Can’t Become Damn Water, Corn Banega Kadipatta, etc.

                You remember those UGC programs? They were boring. They had boring names, boring themes. We need to get modern, update our methods, study these super-hit soaps to see how we can make school-n-college lessons popular.

                If only I could stay awake long enough to figure them out.