If it’s noisy, it must be TV

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.

That’s enough to drain the colour from Papa. It’s his turn to turn black, and then white as she adds with ferocity, “You will now get a taste of my generosity”. Before she can display her large-heartedness, mobile rings. Airhostess to the scarlet woman. “I will shove your family out of this house,” threatens the latter with glittering eyes to match the diamonds in her ears, nose... wherever. “Oh no you won’t, Miss Kambatta,” replies Airhostess in sweet menacing tones, “Aryan is coming to see me.” Now, we don’t know who Mr Aryan is but the mere mention of his name drains her saree — and face — of all colour, which in turn sets off a chain reaction: Papa & Co. turn into ghosts, the drums go berserk. Aryan must be very important.

... contd.