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This is an archive article published on March 26, 2006

Who do I want to emulate? Myself

Do you want to watch the human female posterior separated only by the barest minimum thong string...

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Do you want to watch the human female posterior separated only by the barest minimum thong string, receding from your outstretched eyes at dinner time? And do you want to watch them over a family repast when one of the children might ask why they are not permitted to bare theirs during meals?

The mostly naked woman has become a regular FTV dinner date: delectable morsels are offered to whet your appetite for more so you return to the channel same time, same place, another day. Why are we subjected to this? Could it be because (FTV thinks) people like to feast on these, er, morsels along with their lauki as it assists in the release of digestive juices?

The Femina Miss India (Sony) released a lot of gasps on stage as the winners were announced. The contest was keen, you couldn’t decide whom to vote for. You might have chosen the bright, sassy me-generation-next young thing who, when asked to name three things she wished for, promptly replied, the Miss India crown! Or you would have supported the other bright, sassy me-generation-next young thing who, when asked who she would like to be reborn as did not say ‘‘Mother Theresa’’ (a sure winner), but ‘‘herself’’.

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You are unlikely to have to voted for the lady whose reply was, ‘‘values, humanity and unity,’’ when asked what India needed most. And, you would have been wrong, because the self-assured ‘‘me-first’’ girls lost out to the latter.

Increasingly, TV reflects a young, vibrant India, bursting with a ‘‘devil may care but I matter most’’ attitude. However, we still tend to opt for the safe options. The Miss India winners were the ‘‘good girls’’ not the one who said said she wanted to win the crown — although that is why they were all there.

Which is why, contrary to the laws of gravity (like everything else, what goes up on TV must come down), and all reason, the K serials continue to be the most popular shows on TV and its middle-aged heroines its stars despite double chins, seedhi pallus and hair in false buns.

One woman who lets her hair down is Simi Garewal, probably the only TV anchor in the world of television to have inspired a TV show. MTV’s Semi-Girebaal sees Cyrus Sahukar in a fine male impersonation of Simi — apart from his cherubic rounded face where hers is as long and as shapely as her nose. He simpers the superlatives on cue — ‘‘that is so beautiful that is so stunning…’’ — but he must remember to add at least one ‘‘you are blessed,’’ and a teaspoon of sage counsel on foot care: ‘‘You know, Priya,’’ Garewal said to Sanjay Dutt’s sister on last week’s show, ‘‘you don’t have to fit into Dutt Sahib’s shoes because your own will do it for you.’’ (Never mind what ‘‘it’’ is.)

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The ‘‘guests’’ need to improve their performances: Cyrus Broacha as Bibek Oberoi and someone as Balwan Khan paled in comparison. Remember Girebaal, Simi always let’s her guests shine in the reflected glory of her compliments — and smile.

The Great Laughter Challenge Show (Star One) is great for a smile but last week it had to apologise for offending Sikh sentiments. This week it might like to say sorry to Indian women. One of its contenders had the happy idea of raising a laugh out of female foeticide. If there are fewer girls, he exclaimed, there will be more seats in buses for men, bikinis will stop selling, saas-bahu rona dhona serials will end and men will begin to marry men. How fortunate he is to be alive to crack such tasteless jokes, but someone at Star should teach him to walk and talk the line.

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