Why does nothing good ever happen on "Bigg Boss"?

Even though my parents and I grew up in vastly different media climates - in fact, there was no television when they were growing up - I have come to inhabit a not unhappy compromise between their choices in television consumption and mine. My father is a Nat Geo fan and my mother does not mind the occasional soap so long as it does not descend into brainlessness. On my part, Indian television programme is no longer kosher. I have burnt myself enough times with Indian TV to restrict myself to Netflix and its cousins. The only place where my parents and I have found common ground is Zindagi, the line-up of serials from Pakistan whose superior content is reminiscent to my parents of Doordarshan's early days.

There is one show, however, which draws daggers in the house, and that is Bigg Boss. My mother is an unabashed fan for reasons I cannot entirely fathom. She is an extremely decent woman: my mother is, a doctor who is famous for her generosity among her patients. It baffles me how she can so consummately enjoy a show which is premised on malice, shrewdness and backbiting. Since we all sit together for dinner, we end up watching the same thing on TV. Invariably, these days, it is Bigg Boss.

So I was there when Karishma and Gautam nearly came to blows, and I was there when Sonali slapped Ali. It is easy to dismiss the show offhand as my more cerebral friends tend to do. It is staged; it is only a showcase for a bunch of losers; it is all for TRPs; and so on. While all of those are legitimate reasons, they also reek of elitism. My main problem with the show is different: nowhere else on television is naked negativity celebrated with such aplomb as it is on Bigg Boss. Last week, the makers of the show decided to extend it beyond its usual run time, with a new segment called "Halla Bol". This entailed the entry of five new contestants, some of whom had stayed in the Bigg Boss house in earlier seasons, with the promise that anyone - even the newcomers - could now win the coveted crown. Farah Khan replaced Salman Khan as host and in her first appearance, cracked jokes, behaved as a teacher, and said not entirely nice things about the participants. It was all in the comic spirit that the show should aim for, so one hoped that maybe, just maybe we would have something better to look forward to.

But the very next day, a Monday, there was a big fight between Sambhavana and Dimpy. Sambhavana is one of the newcomers and was part of an earlier season too. She has a sharp tongue and had made it clear right from the time she entered the house that she would target Dimpy. Dimpy, one of the old-timers, was once married to Rahul Mahajan who also entered the house and enjoys the visible support of Sambhavana. (The first reason one feels awkward about the show is that one can so readily narrate, in spite of oneself, what transpires in it. That one has followed the unpleasant shenanigans of a bunch of paid actors is not merely bad for the soul but also brings into question one's creative consumption choices.)

On Monday's episode Sambhavana hurled a shoe at Dimpy. I came to know of this later, when all the old-timers nominated Sambhavana for her behaviour. The nomination itself, where every contestant takes three names he or she thinks should be eliminated from the house, is an exercise in dramatic aggression. It's done openly so the person you nominate sits before you. If that person happens to be someone like Sambhavana, you face all the humiliation and embarrassment that comes with speaking your mind when said speech gets on her wrong side. I don't get it. I know these people are being paid for living inside the house, and I know that the makers of the show put them in these antagonistic situations to boost viewership. But what is it that drives the show, and has helped it attain such high popularity, is a question that has not received proper consideration.

Suppose I am an actor struggling in Mumbai. (To imagine what this can mean, watch Anurag Kashyap's just-released Ugly.) I am in dire need of money because I haven't had any work for months. I get a call from Bigg Boss and I am promised a daily remuneration of, say, five lakh rupees to make an appearance on the show. The condition is I will have to behave like a feral dog inside the house. I will be expected to fight others for the slightest reason and every once in a while, create a ruckus that should increase blood pressures. I take up the offer, of course. Not only do I desperately need the money, being a feral dog is child's play. I am an actor after all.

Now consider this: this hypothetical scenario does not apply to anyone who comes on the show. True, none of the contestants are A-listers but none of them are on the road either. Even a Sambhavana Seth has a steady supply of roles in Bhojpuri films. Why then do they parade themselves in such blatantly inappropriate fashion? Most people who come on the show have had the distant gaze of (minor) stardom protect them until they entered the house. Once inside, everything, including their dignity, is taken from them. If the audience knew you as a harmless nobody before you came on the show, chances are they will think poorly of you after it. Yes, they will think of you, for Bigg Boss becomes a point of discussion during the months it runs, not to mention the faux intimacy one feels with the its participants because reality TV. But if recognition is what you are after, without consideration for what colour that recognition is, I am not sure we are on the same page.

Sure, this argument is not always true. For every Rahul Mahajan who comes across as an alcoholic for the permanent dazed look in his eyes, there is a Praneet Bhatt who vindicates himself in the public's eyes and confirms he has nothing in common with the diabolical Shakuni he played on Star Plus' Mahabharat. But the show's format is such that the "good guys" do not last. In fact, contestants are egged on to deliberately bring out their bad sides.Upen Patel was repeatedly told by guests to the show that he was not seen enough and that he should "do" more. This "doing" can involve anything from flirting to picking fights. Patel, after months of dithering, started complying with such requests in the weeks before his exit. (Ironically, he exited.)

As for me, I have sworn myself off Bigg Boss. Again. It happens every season. Every season I go through the four steps of grief - I kid you not. It starts with denial. I tell myself that maybe Gautam is not such a lost case after all. Maybe Diandra's friendship will redeem him. Maybe Puneet will show himself to be the father figure he is so clearly marked to be. All to no effect. When I realise that I have been summarily exploited, have had my emotions run through the grinder, I switch to anger. I can't believe that I have led myself into thinking, again, that these beautiful men and women are not who they appear to be. It's both irritating and humbling to realise how foolish one can be when it comes to TV, and how gullible. By now, the beautiful faces have slid into persistent rancour and abuse. I cannot take it anymore and I begin to slide into depression, or something like it. This is when I refuse to sit for dinner until we watch something palatable.

As for acceptance, the final stage, that I never reach, curiously. I don't know why but every season I approach the show with fresh optimism. I tell myself this one might be better. There might be less discord; some genuine friendships may blossom; relationships won't prove to be so brittle. It's only a show, I know, but I am just a fool who has high hopes for Indian TV. And so I grieve, properly.