From politicians to molls, Bollywood stars to stand-up comics, reality television is the launch pad for a million ambitions
Everybody wants to be on television. Hanit Taneja did. So, five months ago, the 28-year-old from Ludhiana, shut his flourishing business, gathered his lakh-plus savings and headed for Mumbai—to be a singing star on the family singing contest, Waar Parriwar on Sony TV. With him was another rebel smitten by primetime, his cousin Amit Sharma who skipped his MA examinations and fought with his parents to get to the small screen. You wouldn’t have forgotten that petulant wannabe, RPI chief Ramdas Athawale. The politician from Maharashtra threw a tantrum and his supporters ransacked the office of the new channel, Colors, because he wasn’t included in Bigg Boss 2. At least, he got his 15 minutes of notoriety.
Former MP and political has-been Sanjay Nirupam got more than his share of attention during his brief stint on Bigg Boss 2. Though the first to be evicted from the show, Nirupam hopes it will help him find his way out of political wilderness. For the moment, though, he has “item girls” gunning for him and a Facebook group titled ‘Sanjay Nirupam’s fans’, with members from Mumbai to Milwaukee. “This has definitely increased my popularity among women and kids. I was able to reach out to people who neither understand nor have the inclination to understand politicians,” he says.
The small screen today is a crowded place, thanks to an explosion of reality television. From Bollywood biggies Shah Rukh and Salman Khan to wannabe singers from Jharkhand, from gangster’s moll Monica Bedi to the freshly-divorced son of a murdered politician (Rahul Mahajan), it has become the launch pad for a million ambitions—not to mention the billions of rupees riding on it.
According to a FICCI–PriceWaterhouse Cooper’s report on Indian entertainment and media industry, the television industry in 2007 was Rs 226 billion. Reality TV accounts for a substantial part.
The Indian reality show, however, has little to do with real life. It’s a version of Bollywood masala, complete with razzmatazz, song, dance and judges bent on melodrama. But if television and how it’s transforming the country is the big story of our times, its protagonist is the aam aadmi. At the moment, over 10 reality shows are on air across channels. More than half are dedicated to common-man aspirants.
Shows like Waar Parriwar and the recently concluded Rock-n-Roll Family (Zee TV), that had three generations of families dancing together, give encouraging parents and elders a chance to graduate from being cheerleaders to participants. A shy grandmother, Rita Chakraborty of Naihati, who had never danced all her life, agreed to take part in Rock-n-Roll Family to bail her daughter and dancer son-in-law’s family out of financial crisis. “If I can hop, skip and jump, I can shake a hip too.” She did and won the show and the prize of Rs 50 lakh.
If contestant profiles are any indication—from Bangalore-based dentist Mayank Chang (Indian Idol 3) to Amritsar-based businessman Rajiv Thakur to Bikaner’s music makers Ali and Ghani Mohammad—reality TV has reached the farthest corner of the country. Zee TV even shot the grand finale of Rock-n-Roll Family in Indore, hometown to one of its finalist families. One fact that shows the spread of the medium—there was just one entry from metropolitan India; 11 of the 12 participating teams were from suburban towns and mini-metros.
Look at the stories of aspiration that television has thrown up. There was Sonali Dogra, who braved riots in Jammu to make it to Star Voice of India 2’s J&K auditions this summer; there was farmer boy and toli singer from Jharkhand, 12-year-old Deepak Tirkey, who along with Udaipur’s Nishtha Nath Chowdhry, won the Chakde Bacche finale on 9X. “Why only reality shows, even our national cricket team, which once had five players from Mumbai alone, looks a representative interiors-India today. I call it the Dhoni effect, a sweep that defines the aspirations and spirit of young India, and irrespective of their location, that hunger is there in every child,” says Ajay Balwankar, programming head, Zee TV.
Gajendra Singh, the brain behind at least one reality show on each channel—Waar Parriwar (Sony), Voice of India (Star Plus), Junoon (NDTV Imagine), Chakde Bacche (9X), including satellite TV’s first reality show, SaReGaMaPa (1992)—is quite happy with the fever he’s unleashed. “The urge for fame was always there. Now because of the many platforms, channels and the desire of programmers to audition in the interiors, opportunities have increased for the common man beyond the powerful cliques in the film and music industry.”
With new idols, come new aspirations. You had to be at Mumbai’s Andheri Sports Complex in March this year during auditions for SaReGaMaPa Challenge 2009 to understand what other shibboleths TV is breaking. Contestants lining up from the night before ranged from hobby singer students to working executives. Ten years ago, it was a frenzy you could have seen only at competitive examinations. A consultant by profession, “but musically inclined by passion,” 50-year-old Atul Pandey was there to cheer his son Nitin, an engineering student. “He has a good voice and the looks but he was rejected. We have admitted him into personality grooming and music classes so that he is better prepared next time on the same or another reality show. There is a lot of opportunity on TV today; even if he makes to the show and fails, he can multi-task like Amit Tandon or Qazi, who have ventured into soaps and films.”
Thanks to reality TV, singing and dancing is no longer a career-path fraught with risks, say most participants and even parents. Says social psychiatrist Anjali Chhabria, “Parents don’t mind pushing their wards to TV as a personality development avenue even if it doesn’t amount to tangible gains. In the hinterland, it’s still the ultimate short-cut to urban acceptance. There’s nothing like being on TV and who doesn’t want to be famous?”
The fame addiction has spawned a fraternity of pushy parents. “I was appalled by the way a parent barged into the auditioning room after we rejected her daughter in a Mumbai audition of Indian Idol,” says Anu Malik, Indian Idol selector. “We made her listen to her daughter sing and only then did she back out…Children are an important part of their parent’s personalities. Many parents also come to reality shows to realise their own dreams.” Agrees Chhabria, “Reality TV creates a misplaced ripple-effect of opportunities for all, which isn’t true.”
The explosion of lookalike shows across channels might signal democratisation but the quality of programming has taken a plunge. “Everybody may want to be on TV. But what they do on the TV too is equally important,” says Malik. No wonder, on the TRP scale, unimaginative song and dance contests have been consistently slipping off.
Vipul D Shah, chief creative officer of the 29-reality-show-old Optimystix, says, “It’s high time our reality shows got real. Eighty per cent of Indian reality shows today are scripted, celebrity-based studio shows. Real reality shows are unscripted ones like Bigg Boss where lies the future of this genre.”
Agrees Balwankar, “As an audience, we still haven’t become as voyeuristic as the West, but we are definitely heading there. Reality TV is here to stay and grow, with more innovative formats.”
Taneja and Co would say amen to that. The cousins, having won the show, are now the toast of Ludhiana and a family reconciliation is on the way. After all, what’s bigger than the small screen?