There are at least two lessons Indian soaps can teach Indian cinema: the first is how to create something out of nothing and stretch it out till any elasticity left is sagging in the middle. The second is to create the illusion that something is happening when nothing is. Bid a warm welcome to television’s special effects, the real superstars of the soaps.

Begin with the mildest soap suds, a Doordarshan daily. It’s time to join Airhostess on a flight that seems perpetually grounded — if only the plane flew, the serial might take off. Meanwhile, on terra firma, we are at the heroine’s home. Mama, Papa and assorted relatives look very busy awaiting some action. A young man begins to think. The effort, clearly too much for him, he fades to black and white. Camera loses interest in him, switches to a car driving up in slow motion. At once, cymbals clash like the Gods in heavenly row, followed rather appropriately, by the incomprehensible but familiar sound of chanting. Something is going to happen.

What happens is that a woman in red (saree) alights from the vehicle and promptly walks through an invisible X-ray machine, which makes her look rather negative — that she is, of course, otherwise she would never be seen in red (heroines wear red only when getting married or remarried to their pati-dev). She knocks, papa opens door.

Responding to his astonishment, the camera reels — into a series of passports size close-ups of all those present (caught with their mouths half-open). Drums thud upon your heart with all the force of a doctor resuscitating a dead patient. Papa utters inaudible sounds (courtesy the drums) and the woman in red swivels around with the first spoken word “Bulls..t!”

... contd.