Crowded Camera

I HAD just surrendered my belongings to a complete stranger, and was being shepherded onto the sets of the erstwhile Kaun Banega Crorepati, ...

I HAD just surrendered my belongings to a complete stranger, and was being shepherded onto the sets of the erstwhile Kaun Banega Crorepati, now Siddharth Basu’s Bluffmaster. Tiptoeing in, I managed to catch the final instruction bellowing out: ‘‘Smile a lot!’’ On that cue, the hand that had helped me up the rickety wooden planks leading to the stage propelled me into a world of jazz—transparent acrylic flooring, futuristic podiums and red, blue and green strobes.

Unlike what I presumed, crew members don’t fill audience seats. So who were these folks willing to queue up for hours, and spend a couple more witnessing retakes?

Homemakers definitely, like my immediate neighbour Pragnya Chauhan. She had already logged three hours,

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wiping her brow and powdering her nose in anticipation. It was her first time too, and we both giggled nervously. Having been through the instructions phase, she became my mentor. “They told us not to fidget too much, and to look like we’re having a good time,” said Chauhan.

The viewers for the schedule were a motley gathering of veterans, newbies, and past contestants trying to live vicariously. Seated behind were Rajesh Mhatre and 10 friends who’d been back-benchers at virtually every game show on air in the recent past. “We love the thrill of being on camera,” he grinned. One of them works at Star Plus, so they’ve become a part of the backdrop. Besides them, associations like Lions Clubs and Mahila Samitis are contacted for participation.

Everyone knew it was going to be a special episode with celeb guests. An hour later, the shoot finally began. Hosted by Vinod Sherawat, Bluffmaster tests the participants’ threshold for fabrication. The more they lie, the bigger the reward. It’s a rapid-fire of questions and answers, just the way quizmaster-turned-producer Basu likes it.

Guest Mandira ‘Noodle’ Bedi sent adrenaline levels through the roof. As she stepped forward and waved, a woman in the front row complimented, ‘‘Aapki sari bahut achchi lag rahi hain.’’ With professional eagerness, Bedi asked if we’d watched the recent matches, and everyone raved about how young the opposing team is in the India-South Africa series.

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I had expected gleaming neon signs that said ‘Applause’, instead the cheerleader was a young man in a tight tee who kept waving his arms frantically as guests sashayed onto the stage.

What happened next would have made for great TV. One minute a bespectacled man in a denim shirt was sandwiched between wife and father-in-law, the next, he was hopping. In case they edit him out, here’s what happened.

In the midst of Bedi’s introduction, Jumping Jack stood up to excuse himself. He was promptly asked to sit down. “But I have to go,” he begged, even holding up his pinky. “No,” growled the production guy. So he headed back, quite uncomfortable, and sat through the rest of the shot.

After an hour of passive observation, the time came for the audience to vote out the Bluffmaster (I can’t reveal names; they swore me to secrecy). When the electronic mini keypads were dragged out in huge Santa-style bags, it felt like toffee time in kindergarten.

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The drumbeats reached a crescendo, the cameras zoomed in, and we smiled our broadest. I even frowned slightly, a thoughtful face torn between choices.

Since I missed bits of the beginning, I’m absent from a few shots. So in case someone in a red kurta catches your eye in one frame, and disappears in the next, that was me.