Moral policing of God
Censorship ka zamana hai bhai, har kadam phoonk-phoonk ke rakhna padta hai. Who knows kab, kahan, konsi baat kis ko hurt kar jaye. Chalo, I thought, the one place where the censor people won’t have struck would be religious shows on TV. So I settled down to watch the coolest Hindu bhagwanji, on Devon Ke Dev Mahadev (Life OK).
Early this month, Mahadev got married to Parvati and the two are now in Mount Kailash, getting to know each other. Parvati lovingly made kheer for Shiv’s assorted gang members who, incidentally, look like the cross between Dolly Bindra and The Great Khali, with Hobbit ears and hygiene. On spotting the kheer, Shiv groupies started behaving like Ravi’s uncouth brothers from Satte Pe Satta. But unlike Hemaji, Parvati didn’t lose her cool and calmly gave them a lesson in table manners.
Next we cut to the asurs. Their leader Tarakasur is very upset at the union of Shiv-Parvati and is dreading their child. So the asurs decide to use the services of Miss Lekha who, apparently, is a 24-hour helpline to all kaam-vaasna issues.
Devon Ke Dev... is one of the better written religious shows on TV. Here Shivji has angst and is often found alone and weeping. He has all the must-have accessories — rubber cobra who nods occasionally, tiger-print knee-length skirt, wrist bands and anklets — except the chillum. Why isn’t Shivji maroing kash? Is it because India’s smoking police has said that every time he lights up there has to be running disclaimer: “Yeh jo kash pe kash laga rahe hain, reckless behaviour afford kar sakte hain because yeh Bhagwan hain, amar hai; Aap, unfortunately, tuchch praani hain and aap ke liye dhumrapaan karna Yamraj ko missed call dene ke barabar hai.”
But seriously, how far are we going to go on this antiseptic moral road to Moron Puri? Are we next going to show that Lord Ram didn’t dump Sita, but that he filed for separation on suspicion of Stockholm Syndrome? Is Ma Kali’s tongue going to be red from sucking on masala chuski and not human heads?
Main sochti hoon ki Something is really wrong when multi-national companies can flog their soaps, baniyans and colas, but we can’t get our favourite gods the way we know them — mast-mast, smoking a chillum.
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