21 November,2010 07:10 AM IST | | Paromita Vohra
Occasionally the government helps you. Really. At dinner one night, between a director of well-intentioned, arty movies and a writer of hard-core commercial films, I fall into a hushed, intense conversation across the table with someone.
Illustrations/ Jishu Dev Malakar
Our voices rise as we begin arguing. I hiss -- it's going to be Ashmit Patel. He says no, Sameer Soni! The writer shrieks, "I don't believe it! They are betting on who will win Bigg Boss."
We immediately look guilty, smile weakly thinking how to defend our bad selves. The filmmaker looks at me with tragic disappointment: Paromita, you cannot do this. "But..." I counter. He shakes his head: "No, no you cannot." The writer chastises us, "It's poison! It's slowly poisoning society!" I know he's right, sort of.
"But so many things are!" I want to say. "And I have reasons for watching!" But they have lost interest in us. Seizing the opportunity, I turn to my co-better: "Psst, 5000 bucks, it's Ashmit."
Why do I watch Bigg Boss? Can I find no other way to feel one with my compatriots? I watched the first season with curiosity but also trepidation, about ugliness and sensationalism. I found some of that, but was also sucked in for a reason: however fake the 'reality', the conflict at the heart of this story was genuine.
Working class Rakhi Sawant, with her brazen desire to make it in a world full of class hierarchies, the snooty chikna actor (whose name I rightly forget) who felt violated by the fact that 'that kind of girl' could dare have a crush on him, Pankaj Parasher and Bobby Darling defensive and unsure in a pre-lifting of Article 377 world -- these were real stakes.
A houseful of losers, who competed for superiority on the basis of being English speaking, "decent" (meaning I know how to be discreet about the casting couches I've been on) represented some truth about the battles around us -- even if the presentation was shallow, and admittedly a little toxic. Rather like a masala movie, which, though regressive, is also resonant and a goodish yarn with outstanding characters.
I missed following seasons until the current one. Right away I was disappointed, but I waited, in hope. There seems to be nothing at stake between the characters -- despite their slightly differing backgrounds, no dramatic difference of worlds or value systems has emerged (Sameer Soni's sanctimonious decency doesn't count).
There's nothing serious to set Ashmit apart from Hrishant or Shweta from Sara, and we watch them doing limp tasks like PT, wearing dog costumes, like earnest children from an expensive school.
For a while, some sex and romance started up, but soon Maine Pyaar Kiya turned into Hum Aapke Hain Kaun with a shaadi. Everyone is Pops, Chachu and Didi -- it is as bland as an Archies card shop. By the time Dolly Bindra flexed her gaalis, I had begun half-watching while half-reading a magazine. Pamela Anderson's hint of nipple made me blink just once.
Bigg Boss has transitioned from masala movie to contemporary Bollywood i.e., it has lost the plot. Almonds and items are being chucked in frantically to disguise the fact that the cake hasn't risen.
So why am I still desultorily before the TV? Yes, habit and hope die hard, but do I feel having once defended this I can't recant? Well, for once the sarkar has arrived at the scene on time and given me the excuse I needed. Bigg Boss has moved to an 11 pm slot. I am saved.
Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. She runs Devi Pictures production company.
