The right to not know

Hereacirc;euro;trade;s a little question to nudge your keen intellect out of its holiday season lethargy. And in a fashionable concession, you can enjoy the luxury of having your hand held and being led through four options. So, here goes the question. Which among the following is the principal prime time fundamental right? A the right to knowledge, B freedom of expression, C the right to not know, or D the right to association? If after exhausting a neverending series of helpful hints 8212; like picking the brains of your next-door neighbour, or ceding your fate to an assembled gathering which evidences no reason to be considered any more well-informed than you are 8212; the answer still remains elusive, Computerji will most obligingly guide you right to it: it8217;s C, the right to not know, the millennial statement of global parity.

Welcome to the information age. Amidst an IT revolution that is redefining the terms of engagement for gigantic corporations and frisky teenagers alike, amidst all the gloomy predictions about millions across the world looking bleary-eyedly into a future imperilled by information overload, prime time television offers more heartening news. Just check out the short, but prosperous, existence so far of India8217;s most successful game show ever, Atilde;sup2;f40Atilde;sup3;Kaun Banega Crorepati. Just check out, too, the interest and speculation occasioned right across the social spectrum by the launch of Atilde;sup2;f40Atilde;sup3;Sawal Das Crore Ka by a rival media group. The message is clear: it is okay not to know. In fact, the less one knows the better, for it only increases the pleasure offered during those deliciously tantalising moments of suspense as the bearded or bald host, as the case may be, indulges in almost cruel banter before confirming the right answer. It would be most petty at this point to digress into the level of questioning inprogrammes that have made most of India 8212; most of the India that matters in the television stakes at any rate 8212; rearrange hectic schedules to ferret out a few precious hours every week to devote to fingers-crossed vigils as a string of wannabe crorepatis secure their 12 minutes of fame.

Some have deemed the crorepati quizzes a most welcome way of demonstrating to the multitudes the dictum that knowledge is wealth. Others have hailed them for making quiz shows accessible to eager learners otherwise alienated by stiff-upper-lipped contests. Yet others, however, express reservations over utilising ignorance as a great leveller, over acceding to contemporary political correctness and refraining from passing judgement on a society so enthralled by pretty elementary nuggets of information. Be that as it may, it is evident that the idiot box is offering early 21st century India some rather conflicting reflections of itself. Indeed, it is also offering a still hazy picture of things to come. As viewers involuntarily consign to memory trivia about the participants, as they encourage the celebrityhood of lucky winners, they may just be heading towards reality television. Surely, the Indian avatars of Atilde;sup2;f40Atilde;sup3;Survivor and Atilde;sup2;f40Atilde;sup3;Big Brother cannot be far away.