Bachchanalia around the clock

Ever since he was admitted into Mumbai’s Lilavati Hospital, television and the print media journalists parked themselves outside the hospital lobby. Some of them perched on top of ladders to get a better view through their telly lenses. They bombarded viewers and readers with the minutest and the most mundane details of the superstar’s hospitalisation. We have been told how he looked when he arrived, were treated to a description of his floor, told what his room cost—with taxes. A record has been kept of every known and unknown visitor to the venue. A child patient who happened to be in the same elevator when Bachchan was being wheeled in, as well as the security guard who escorted Anil Ambani to the ICU were persuaded to describe their encounters. We have been told about a roadside hotelier who has been serving free meals to earn some goodwill for his idol, as well as an ageing nurse in Bangalore who apparently attended to him at the Breach Candy Hospital in ’82.

That’s not all. The media have arbitrarily played doctor, speculated over whether his ailment was cancer, and recommended that he opt for a high fibre diet and home cooked food. They have played the astrologer and counselor, and generally concluded that it was his long travel hours that increased his stress levels. They advised him to slow down and keep early hours—one wise person even concluded that it was the habit of eating kachoris at night which had caused Bachchan’s system to go for a toss. Meanwhile his ailment, Diverticulitis, was explained in painful detail, along with diagrams.

The media have been equally concerned for Bachchan’s producers as well. They have suggested ways by which filmmakers can recover lost time and reschedule shoots. They have played the numerologist and have helpfully calculated the financial losses caused by Bachchan’s illness, in terms of film, TV and ad revenue. They have had an explanation for the family’s every move and expression. When Abhishek pleaded for space, they concluded that he was arrogant. When Jaya evaded cameras, they assumed she was close to breakdown point. Over the last few days, reams of newsprint have been expended, innumerable hours over innumerable television channels have been beamed. By now readers and viewers all over the country know the number of doctors on Bachchan’s team, the antibiotics he has had to swallow, the number of nights he had to spent in the ICU following the surgery…For those who missed out these details, there were frequent replays packaged with the familiar commercials endorsed by the actor. No newspaper, radio programme, or news channel wanted to miss out on its share of the commercial pie.

What was amazing was that all this didn’t seem to worry media practitioners. They did not seem to realise that they were invading somebody’s private space. By making Bachchan the focus of their obsessive attention, they were stripping their idol, layer by layer, of his dignity and pride. Some years ago, when the paparazzi drove Princess Diana to death, we had unanimously condemned the invasion. Yet today, with sophisticated media technology now widely available, we seem to have stooped even lower.

In this hour of crisis it is Amitabh Bachchan’s filmmakers who have emerged with their stature enhanced. All of them have been extremely graceful and nobody so far has even casually lamented over the expenses/losses they have had to incur because of his illness. In contrast the media which have no moral right over, or financial investment in, Amitabh Bachchan has exploited the moment and turned it into a feeding frenzy…And this for an icon who has always smiled into their camera, always co-operated with a soundbite, who has never hesitated to shake the hand of a fan, never refused an autograph or an embrace… Somewhere, we have failed Amitabh Bachchan. It is time we introspected over the way we framed this story.

The writer is editor, Screen, a film weekly of The Indian Express Group