Column

Often the way to feel closest to your people is to be one with them in times of woe. Well, I missed that chance.

The people were woeful because their soap operas (or what a malapropic aunt called “soap dish operas” and these were in the days before home satellite antennas were invented) were off air. I do have a TV but I watch other stuff.

Equally mind-numbing but other. No, not TV news, that’s only when I have absolutely nothing else to do or I get there by mistake. Usually the latter. The last time I watched the most famous Indian soap dish opera of all was when Ba’s loud dressing style had not become a national imperative, Tulsi hadn’t killed her son and husband or whoever and what’s-her-name’s grotesquely bizarre eye make-up in that other soap had not yet become the rage. It was, you can guess, a very long time ago.

Actually, the most famous Indian family soap of all I remember very clearly. Everyone eagerly awaited the last episode when the simple middle class family with its powerful characters that had so enthralled us were finally saying goodbye.

Mumbai had a flash power failure and while the rest of the nation cried, we were left bereft. The government appealed to the rest of the country not to reveal what happened to us Mumbaikars and the last episode was shown again.

Er, this was on Doordarshan, so you can imagine how long ago it was. There were no mobile phones and no computers and no internet. That’s how long ago.

So basically, I didn’t weep with the rest of my people as they were forced to watch something else or do something else while the saas-es and bahus were languishing in some scriptwriter’s head. The shenanigans of the occupants trapped in a house in Lonavala who had to run away to eat because there was no food I watched once and read about in newspapers. Again, I could not connect to my people.

Clearly, I will have no career as a politician or as a holy person or as a monarch. Hopefully one day soon, I will be back to reading the sides of buses to find out who’s who and what they’re doing in the world of films and television.

Pick of the week:
Mumbai’s intriguing accents. A friend who grew up in Delhi, but is now based in Europe, came down to Mumbai for a quick visit. She and her husband went to an upscale Bandra beauty parlour for some hair styling and primping.

They came out raving about the service and their new haircuts but complained to their hostess, “We couldn’t understand a word of what anyone said. Their accents were so strange.” The hostess explained that that was Mumbai. That the contagion had started from the south of the city and has now spread northwards across several suburbs. When last reported, though, Vashi was still untouched.
b_ranjona@dnaindia.net