They say the camera does not lie. They lie. The camera may not blink but it can be hoodwinked. It can take a long view, a close up or change focus depending on how it’s manipulated by human hands. Last week, a number of politicians were on television and you weren’t quite sure whether they were using the medium for a message or were being exposed by it. Take Atal Behari Vajpayee and Pervez Musharraf. Such a contrast in style and content. On Thursday, in Ahmedabad, the Indian Prime Minister spoke with moving eloquence about the carnage. He addressed a crowd but he knew his speech was being heard throughout the country. His face and voice reflected distress and dismay, a sense of disappointment in human nature. Whenever you see him on TV nowadays, he appears forlorn, lonely. Is this what he really feels or does the camera tend to exaggerate and distort? In President Musharraf’s case, the camera reflects what he wishes to project but simultaneously betrays and exposes him. Ever since he assumed power, the General has successfully used television to promote himself and make contact with those watching him. Think of the Agra summit. Unlike Vajpayee, he favours a no-nonsense style which lends him a son of the soil honesty. On Friday’s PTV broadcast to the nation, Musharraf began by stressing his sincerity: he only wanted the well being of his people, blah, blah, blah. Then, right before your eyes, it happened: his modesty gave way to presumption. Suddenly, every sentence was prefixed by ‘‘I’’ - ‘‘Mein’’: ‘‘I will support this. I will back that. I will not allow this. I will tell you what I think is functional democracy. This is what I want.’’ In a trice, he had redefined democracy and deftly equated himself with the ‘‘national interest’’. It was masterful, but frightening: you saw signs of megalomania in his clear, hard stare. Narendra Modi shares something of the same scary impassivity. It’s in the stillness of his eyes and expressionless voice. He blinks without ever really blinking. On Wednesday’s Seedhi Baat (Aaj Tak). Modi sat before Prabhu Chawla as though he was playing a game of ‘Statue’. Chawla quizzed him: ‘‘You have divided Gujarat, you’ve lost credibility.’’ Modi, in a soft (menacing?) voice, calmly claimed that he had succeeded in bringing the situation in Gujarat under control, that normal life was going on, that he did not believe in divisive politics. he reeled off statistics of previous communal violence. ‘‘So,’’ asked Chawla with that permanent, trademark grin of his, ‘‘you’re trying to break the record?’’ Sarcasm is lost on television; it was lost on Modi. Chew on this gham Amanat: Lead character dies suddenly, followed by best friend Mehndi Tere Naam Ki: Husband passes out in wife’s arms on nuptial bed, is in a coma Koi Apna Sa: Husband dies of poisoning, wife arrested Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki: Blind girl raped Chhoti Ma.. Girl drugged and photographed in the nude Tu Kahe Agar: Groom is six-month death sentence on prospective wife Sanjhi: First wife tries drugging second wife Koshish.: Main character, Neeraj, agonised because he is a step child Kyunki..: Gautam agonised because he is long lost child Justajoo: Young woman agonised because she’s in love with her jija and having his child You’ve got to hit someone like him below the belt, the way Tim Sebastian landed Iraq’s Foreign Minister (Hard Talk, BBC World) repeatedly with questions about his country’s missile and chemical warhead stockpile. Sebastian does not permit himself the familiarity of a smile. He badgered the man regardless of his objections, so much so that the FM threatened to walk out of the interview. Jammu and Kashmir Chief Minister Farooq Abdullah appeared on Star Talk (Star News). He tries to create the impression of fire and brimstone and quite extraordinary self belief: ‘‘God chose us. to make India a better place. As long as God wants me to do this job (I will). I will not turn my back on my nation. (on the Presidency).’’ Shades of Musharraf till he reveals a soft underbelly: Vir Sanghvi, a smile on his lips, asked if he wasn’t a happy go-lucky sort, who liked women. ‘‘I love the company of women,’’ admitted Abdullah., ‘‘it is like admiring a rose. I can smell it, I don’t have to pluck it.’’ Ahem. He added that he believed in enjoying himself. It was enough if he did ‘‘five hours of good work’’ and then took time off. Presumably to smell the roses. Lastly, Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki (Star Plus). We’ve heard about blind dates, but a blind rape is a novelty. Anyone who watched the daily soap last week, would have been appalled by the manner in which ‘‘domestic rape’’ was perpetrated on a blind girl, Khushi. Her wild, unblinking eyes, her hysterical screeches — horrible. The rape sequence in psychedelic slow motion was bad enough, what followed worse. During Holi celebrations, the peals of pleasure from revelers mingle with Khushi’s screams as she (and we) experience the rape again and she runs amok with shell-shocked eyes. Later, she’s a broken doll, half-crazed with frenzy and fear. The rape is concealed, there is no police report. It is left to family members to try and discover the identity of the rapist. This melodrama is C-grade filmi. TV producers live in society not on the airwaves alone. They should exercise some sense of responsibility. Even if we agree that it is not the duty of popular TV serials to display sensitivity or good taste, this wasn’t good television: anyone who saw Audrey Hepburn in Wait Until Dark, play a blind girl, knows that you can create real suspense without crude gimmickry. Kahani. is not the only offender. The accompanying box gives you an idea of how melodramatic TV fiction has been in the last few weeks.
