Sometime in the 90s, a film impacted Indian television almost irrevocably. Sooraj Barjatya’s Hum Aapke Hain Kaun with its success, established a certain formulaic, almost slavish dependence on certain images, ideas and belief systems. Sweeping, glinting staircases in homes that were more Plaster-of-Paris than brick and mortar and characters that were more cliched perfection than human began to dominate Indian television. Before the film reinforced an exaggerated idea of blissful domesticity where  women only cooked and smiled and sang and danced and agreed to loveless arranged marriages unless a little doggy or twists of fate intervened and brought two tongueless people in love together, we did not have Ekta Kapoor. But Indian television was a vigorous, full blooded story teller. It freely adapted Sarat Chandra, RK Narayan, literary giants from all over India and  the world, channelled progressive Urdu poets like Josh, Firaq, Makhdoom Mohiuddin and Jigar in shows like Ali Sardar Jaafri’s Kahkashan, resurrected Mirza Ghalib, dipped into rich pools of talent where writers like Manohar Shyam Joshi, Rahi Masoom Reza, Gulzar, Bheeshm Sahni and many others contributed to our understanding of India as a country of literature, poetry, untold depths and a myriad layers. That was then.

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Post Hum Aapke Hain Kaun, Ekta Kapoor hit upon the goldmine of derivation…a single story that was then regurgitated and retold across Indian television in show after show. A story that revolved around family politics, the power equations between “good women “who want to keep a family together and “bad women” who want to break it for unfathomable reasons. Loud costumes, over the top emoting, forced tragedy, opulent celebrations and the constant manipulation of audience with shock and awe surrounding deaths, births, second marriages, friction over property and lost necklaces. Realism, subtlety and detailing in characters be damned.
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For the generation that grew up in the 80s, Indian television is still a pang of sweet nostalgia but the younger generation today cannot relate to Indian shows because the narratives do not respect intelligence, curiosity or address the hunger for something new and stimulating. Most 15-year-olds today would prefer watching The Big Bang Theory, The Office, travel, technology or cooking shows across foreign channels than tune into Madhubala. The young in India are supposedly the most powerful game-changers today than why is it that Indian television continues to be so regressive and out of touch with fresh ideas? Some channels would have us believe that shows like Emotional Attyachar and Roadies represent the youth. Do they? Do these shows or elitist adventures like The Buddy Project represent all the youth in India? Except for talent shows that showcase young Indians from  even the unlit, neglected parts of the country, there are no credible young voices being heard in Indian television because programming is primarily being driven by economics that thrives not on connection but on mindless addiction.
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No, the television industry in India is not youth-centric or creatively aspirational. Formula is the king. The clout of big production houses and not their content decides what time slots they will get. Television award shows are more often than not PR exercises and seldom if ever reward small, lesser known shows. It is easier to make an offbeat film today and succeed than to make an offbeat TV serial and survive. A show runs on TRP fuel, on advertising revenue and clout, not often on the basis of how good or bad it is. There is no seasonal format. Episodes are shot on a daily basis, sometimes for over 18 hours a day and have to be delivered to channels against limitations of time, creative resources and even imagination. Few shows are written well, are memorable or linger on in the memory.
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The few programmes that do connect, do not last. The proposed axing by Colors of a series called Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha  created a furor among a sizable section of young television viewers who used Facebook pages and online petitions to protest what seemed to be a sudden curtain call.  The show began in January and immediately recalled the golden era of television with nuanced writing, subtle characters and a plot that though restricted by the joint family format dared to speak of individual choices and love against societal perceptions of widowhood. The show also gathered an overseas audience, had young bloggers writing about it and scores of fans across Asia, the US, UK would watch it on YouTube avidly. None of this however contributed to the TRPs. At some point the creative team was either forced or convinced to make the proceedings less subtle and more populist. The show underwent a painful identity crisis, the original integrity of the story was fragmented almost beyond redemption and evoked waves of protests from the audience. Though media reports say that the show will now be revived in a second season, and that it was saved by fan outrage, it remains to be seen what the future will be like for off-beat programming.
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There was a time when Indian programming was  driven by a engaging narratives, by the need to say something and not just to sell something. The hunger for more TRPs and ad revenues has created disjointed incoherence and nothing that we watch has a satisfying aftertaste anymore. No wonder then that the only thing the young can connect to today is their gadgets. Not stories that make sense to them. Or speak to them. Or of them.
A shorter version of this story appeared in the Student edition of The New Indian Express.
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Reema Moudgil has been writing for magazines and newspapers on art, cinema, issues, architecture and more since 1994, is an RJ, hosts a daily Ghazal show, runs unboxed writers, is the editor of Chicken Soup for The Indian Woman’s soul, the author of Perfect Eight (http://www.flipkart.com/perfect-eight-9380032870/p/itmdf87fpkhszfkb?pid=9789380032870&_l=A0vO9n9FWsBsMJKAKw47rw–&_r=dyRavyz2qKxOF7Yuc ) and an artist.