For some time now, critics and analysts have been observing that modern Bollywood cinema has forgotten the “real” India. A Peepli Live does not make up for the undisputed fact that most films are now made for urban multiplex audiences or the non-resident Indian market and the themes, stories, acting, songs and production design are completely alien to the masses. What relevance, for example, does Stepmom, with its designer apartments and colour-coordinated cast, have for the aam janta in the small town and villages? This, it is argued, is the real India for whom films were made in the past.
The potboilers of another era, even if set in the cities, worked for all Indian audiences with their mix of family drama, emotions and songs done in easy to understand Hindustani (as opposed to hybrid, English-Hindi mix which is the fashion today) and music rooted in the soil. An Aisha, where the heroine is little more than a model for international brand names, has little or no emotional connect with a small town viewer, and seems to have been made solely for the city-based, mall-visiting consumer.
Bhojpuri films are said to be fulf­i­lling the entertainment needs of the hinterland crowds. Their stories us­u­ally hark back to an earlier era but are still relevant for the mof­u­ssil viewer. Migration to the city, intra-family fights, class tensions are issues that are no longer the themes of choice of our urban filmmakers. For the hero of a multiplex movie, unrequited love is not usually a problem; how can it be when our couples often live together (Salaam Namaste) or are divo­r­ced (We Are Family). Nor are class differences such a problem. And the settings are uniformly middle or upper middle class. In Bhojpuri cinema the entire milieu is different, and has a distinctly lower middle class feel about it. These are made for the vast numbers of migrants who leave their homes in the Hindi belt to work in far away places.
But there is another viewer too — the urban and semi-urban (small town) Indian who may have the mo­ney, is no less a consumer than his (and chiefly her) city counterp­art but feels alienated with films set in Australia, Miami or New Yo­rk. Economically they may be in st­ep with urban Indian, but their se­n­si­b­ilities are quite different. The mo­­­­­re liberal commentator may find them regressive and backward, un­a­ble to come to terms with the rap­id pace of social change in India; but they prefer to think of themse­l­v­­­es as fa­i­thful to their roots. For th­em tradition, culture, ritual, family and ri­v­aaz are the benchmarks of being Indian and they find urban mo­­­­der­nity, with its emphasis on the individual, too foreign for their tastes.
To cater to this vast and powerful audience, a new entertainment industry has opened up and can be seen on a television screen near you. Night after night, these shows, with their peculiar take on life in middle India beam their programmes into our living rooms. Their titles are revealing — Betiyaan Apni Ya Paraya Dhan, Kabhi Sautan Kabhi Saheli, Banoo Mein Teri Dulhan, Agle Janam Mohe Bitiya Hi Kijo, Hamari Betiyon Ka Vivaah and, of course, Balika Vadhu. All of them have the whiff of the soil about th­em, an earthiness missing in conte­mporary Hindi cinema which see­ms to have moved off to another planet.
The storylines too are different. These soaps are high on emotional content and on intra-family relati­onships. Intra-family politics pl­ays a big part in these stories. Along with that one gets a large dollop of “tradition and culture”, which is manifested through honour killings, suppression of female rights, har­a­s­s­ment for dowry, child brides etc. The honour of the family, nay the entire clan, rests on the shoulders of the female members. Often the most outrageous and re­g­ressive st­o­ry points are woven in — child ma­rriage, bride burning etc — but ask the makers and they will tell you, “this is the reality and be­s­ides, we always make it a point to say th­ese things are bad”. A gratuitous def­e­n­ce, but for the audiences wh­i­ch lap them up, it really doesn’t matter.
It is incorrect to say that there are no viewers for such soaps in the bigger cities; after all that is where the bulk of consumers, whom the marketers want to reach, reside. But channels are aware that the vast hinterland out there is the real market, both for the soap operas and the products that are advertised during the breaks. The more sophisticated and progressive-minded viewers may turn up their noses at these shows, but no channel can afford to be without a few in its prime time band.
The channels will also claim that audience tastes dictate what they show; once the TRPs start flagging, these shows will die a natural de­a­th. This is too simplistic an argum­e­nt. A mass media must take its re­s­pon­sibilities seriously, otherwise there is nothing to stop someone from showing porn films. The­re can be no curbs on creativity, and certainly censorship should be kept to a minimum, (and of course we understand commercial compulsi­o­ns), but the channels need to take a look at some of the stuff they spew out. This is not “real” India either.

n The writer is a senior journalist and commentator on current affairs based in Mumbai