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Programmed to torture

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  • Shailaja Bajpai
    On the one hand we spent close to 48 hours in a ditch with Prince, hoping someone would rescue him from the torture; on the other, we have spent more than 48 hours on and off the ramp with Delhi’s flash and fashionable, hoping someone will rescue us from the torture. In between, we have stretched to the limit with Andre Agassi, hoping Becker (Benjamin) would rescue him from his torture.

    It just goes to show that almost anything goes on television as long as there is an element of desperation or torture in generous quantities. Witness our deep involvement in the case of Sabharwal; see with what relish we lapped up Natwar Singh after he had been arraigned by the ED. And, nothing could have eased the ache in our backs as we sat on the edge of our seats and watched Agassi clutch his (back) in the agony of injury on Sunday night. That had to be the most painful moment of the week.

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    The US Open Tennis Championship: to watch 25,000 spectators perform a Mexican wave each time Andre ‘retiring’ Agassi reached set point against Baghdatis was pure unadulterated suffering. For him. For us, it was a gladiatorial TV spectacle.

    Did you see Baghdatis after loosing the five-setter to Agassi? In order to capture the immediate agony of loss, the tennis telecasts insist on interviews with the loser as soon as the last point is lost. Poor Baghdatis and Agassi (the next day) had to set aside their grief and put a brave face on for the world. Poor chaps. Television is like that - it feeds on victory and defeat. Imagine living your entire professional life in front of the camera. Didn’t you weep with Agassi? Yes, but that’s why you were watching the match.

    Similar emotions of rage, sorrow when you watched footage of the Sabharwal seated on the chair in what were his dying moments. You wanted to pick up something and hit back on his behalf. The fact that all the news channels showed this footage again and again, only exacerbated feelings. Not merely ours - it sufficiently moved an eyewitness to come forward with the evidence of his eyes. That’s how pained he was.

    Nothing but nothing however, can be more painful than to watch the painfully thin ladies sway down the ramp of India Fashion Week as if they would faint any moment - as well they might, looking so deprived of nourishment. Ditto for all the beautiful people who attend those sumptuous after-show parties, who attend each and everyone one of them and never seem to gain anything other than plenty of TV coverage. The entire telecast is a torture: you can never attend those parties, never wear those clothes because were you to attend those parties, eat and drink what was served you would not fit into those clothes. So, all the telecast does is cause you a great deal of heartburn. Painful.

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