A top executive of a satellite channel asked, “Could you write a serial for us, adapted from the true life story of a film star?” Huh, whatever for?

“See Madhubala has terrific TRP ratings,” he explained. “Although it isn’t a replica of the story of the actress, the title has made it an immediate success.”
“Right,” I nodded “Even Vanraj was recommending it to me the other day.” “Vanraj who?” “Vanraj Bhatia, the music composer, who did so many Shyam Benegal films. Remember him?” “Huh?”the executive rushed to change the topic. “Yeah but as I said, we’re looking for a serial which is vaguely inspired by a yesteryear Bollywood star… his or her love story, you know. These serials can go up to a hundred episodes if not more… they appeal to every generation, young and old... Mr Vanraj must be old. Correct?”
Dear 75-year-old Vanraj Bhatia had, irrelevantly popped in our café conversation (my fault). Stirring green tea, the gym-bodied executive looked at his file to list possibilities of another Madhubala-like serial. He mentioned the names of Raj Kapoor, Dilip Kumar, Kishore Kumar, Guru Dutt, Dharmendra, Meena Kumari…”
“Stop,” I pleaded. Not my scene. The serial would have to be largely based on vintage gossip. Moreover, the surviving families could raise objections. One wrong word or scene, and that would amount to distortion. “It would also be unethical,” I gaped at my waiting chocolate nut brownie. “No, no. The adaptation would be free form. A star’s real life would just be the springboard to dive into,” the executive persisted, but I knew he had given up on me. His face suggested, “This guy won’t be easy to handle. Not flexi..”
Brownie devoured, the meeting was over. Practically, all the content that the satellite channels crave for is rooted in Bollywood. Earlier, another satellite honcho had proposed a “loose adaptation” of Damini, in which Meenakshi Seshadri took up cudgels for a sexually-abused domestic help. Its characters had tremendous potential: An entire upper class family whose honour was in jeopardy, a heroic heroine, her virtuous husband, and a boozed-out lawyer seeking redemption.
“But won’t this amount to plagiarism?” I had moaned. “It can all be rehashed to look like an original,” went the counter argument. “Think about it.”
I didn’t. The honcho did and got back one afternoon, “You remember the Damini idea?”
“Yes, sort of.” “No point in doing it. There’s a new serial on air which has beaten us to it.” Aah great creative heads think alike, obviously.
Perhaps that’s why I don’t watch television at all. It’s second- or third-hand Bollywood. In the good ole Doordarshan days, though, serials would be inspired by the life story of Mirza Ghalib, Pandit Nehru’s Bharat Ek Khoj, the stories of Munshi Premchand… and there would be originals, too, like Rajni, Buniyaad, Nukkad and Fauji. Hey but no point living in the past. If I do reach for the remote button, it’s for Kaun Banega Crorepati and once in a cheesy moon for the reality shows. It seems the fees paid to the jurors are staggering.
But when a production person of dance reality show ‘phoned me, I was aghast. The voice over the phone said happily, “Sir, we want you to dance on our show this season.” “What! Is this is joke?” I screeched. “We are very serious,” he stated proudly. “We offer good money.” “Sorry but I cannot dance properly.” “You’ll be trained. You will be competing with Sanjay Kumar.” “Who?” “The famous chef.” I had to end the conversation right away, “Sorry, I don’t know how to cook either. Thanks, bye.”
To be honest, I do feel bad about this. That man, with the tempting offer, never called again.