Is your life worth being on TV, worth sharing with millions? No, not your special moments — not when you get married or have a baby, or get your dream job. Not those special outings, those awesome dates, hot-hot foreplay.

I mean your everyday life — getting up in the morning, groggy and in your night suit, making chai, rushing to work, texting, SMSing, talking on the phone, taking your kid out for a spin, arguing with your husband/boyfriend/girlfriend, cribbing about mother, money, in-laws, husband’s friends, boss, planning a dinner party, having golgappas with father-in-law, waiting for the maid to turn up, playing Eeny Meeny Miny Moe with the boys in your life, or, in fact, waiting, real time, for a break in Bollywood?
Paromita Vohra, a fabulous documentary maker, seems to think so, provided all ye are women. Actually, it’s not her idea. The Israelis thought of it first and now their concept has gone global. They called it Connected. Zee TV calls it Connected Hum Tum.
Following the Israeli template, Paromita and her team picked six women out of a line-up of about 800, and handed each one a camera and asked them to film themselves, their lives, for an hour every day, for six months last year.
There’s Malishka Mendonca, 34, an RJ who is trying to figure out who she should marry and why; Preeti Kochar, 33, a dentist and belly dancer who is fed-up with her lazy husband who lolls about while she juggles work, child and her emotions; there’s Pallavi Barman, 30, a former brand manager who has just gotten married for the second time and though she tiptoes into her new life, as the show progresses she regains confidence and fear of failure begins to evaporate.
Then there’s Mahima Chaudhary, 25, a struggling actress from Meerut, who has a boyfriend her parents don’t approve of; Sonal Giani, 26, an LGBT activist who has a live-in girlfriend not ready to come out about her sexuality just yet; and, finally, Madhavi Mauskar, 53, a language expert, corporate trainer, and a divorced woman who is mostly happy with the choices she has made.
These women, like you and me, are, by turns, simple, complex, fragile, tough, confused, clear, loving, indifferent, sad, happy, determined, vacillating, fun and dull.
Every day, five days a week, these women and their problems are brought to us by a chubby and annoying sutra-dhar, Abhay Deol. Abhay is supposed to provide the “male perspective” on these females, but he is more like a male dadi-amma. He pulls faces, sighs, frowns, feigns irritation, thinks he is discovering tension-shattering gender insights, but is either patronising or plain banal.
The women themselves — because they are real and the footage is not “enhanced” for entertainment — are adorable and warm and it’s easy to form a bond with each one, invest emotionally in their lives.
Yet, I have a problem with this show. It probably was the channel’s and Vohra’s decision whom they picked, ticking all the issues they wanted to showcase — single, working mothers, struggling actors; familial ties and tanav; sexuality and gay rights, marriage. And this is where I have my first problem. Though boys hardly ever cross the camera frame, most of the syappas in the lives of at least five women are because of the men they have chosen to be with, or without. Sonal’s issues are different — her grief comes less from a scared girlfriend, and more from our samaj which refuses to even make eye-contact with gays.
In the 65 episodes telecast till now, there have been a few wonderful, powerful moments, all fortified with Bollywood songs. But these moments are fleeting, kunjam kunjam.
Also, a big deal is being made out about how candid women are on this show, and how hatke this show is from the usual reality shows. Sure, the women share stuff about their lives, emotions, anger, doubts, confusion, and there may be some stray scenes that may leave their gharwalle hake-bakke, but candid? No. I've seen, heard much more on my telly.
And yes, the concept of this show, even its politics is hatke. But that alone cannot make it a great show. Most episodes are dull and slow, with the camera running aimlessly while we sit and watch either nothing or nonsense. For this the blame rests squarely with Vohra’s editing.
After watching about 15 episodes of the show, I was reminded of the day when my cousin Bobby came home with a large bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken and seven hour-long CDs of his wedding which, incidentally, we had attended. He made us all sit around and insisted on playing one CD after another, and gave a running commentary of who was who, where they worked, what gift they had given. I felt impaled that day. And I felt impaled again today.