...there was TV in India, and it was good; not always, but we at least had a fair average of having at least 3 programs a week that we genuinely wanted to watch on the telly, which is at least 3 more than what I feel like watching these days. To an extent, it's a question of age and naivety: we that were weaned on India's first wave of TV are now crossing over to middle-age, and cynical beyond fashionable limits. But I'd say that accounts a good deal less in this equation than the degree of retardation that has been brought unto television by the bottom paisa obsessed powers of this world. In what MIGHT be a small series, I'd like to reminisce about some of the good stuff that we saw on TV in the old days...

Malgudi Days

Most of you would have heard of R.K. Narayan's fictional town where all his works are set. Some of you would have even read a few of the books (available at very reasonable prices under the Mysore Books label). Some would have been lucky enough to have caught the unbelievably awesome television series adaptation of these books.

Malgudi Days – The TV series was made by the brothers, Shankar Nag and Anant Nag. As seen on TV, MD included two 13-episode seasons of short story anthologies, and 2 half-seasons dedicated to the novels Swami and Friends and The Vendor of Sweets respectively. Unlike most of the things seen in childhood that lose their appeal once a certain maturity (or jadedness, if you put it) sets in, MD on TV was something that on later re-viewings only increased one's respect and understanding of the amazing creativity and effort at went into making the series.

Consider for example, the very first episode of MD shown on TV. This was The Hero, a short story in which RK made use of the character of Swami from his first novel. The story is a simple charming affair of how Swami is forced by his father to show his courage by sleeping alone in the latter's office-room and he ends up catching a thief. A modest idea, and one that could have been executed to the letter with a minimum of fuss. But Shankar Nag in his quiet way went way beyond the call of duty: in a scene where Swami is playing cricket and chatting with his friends, you can see in the background, a procession of independence movement workers sloganeering with flags and placards. Remember here that the Swami and Friends TV series was quite far ahead in the future, and RK Narayan's prose for The Hero contains no such background reference; this gesture, for which numerous extras and props would have to be arranged and paid for,was a gesture that would register with and appeal purely to those who had at that point of time read RK's novel. This moment clicked with me when I saw the re-telecast of MD at a latter point in life, when I had read a fair number of RK's books, including Swami and Friends. At that point I could have weeped for the sheer overwhelming awe I felt for Shankar Nag's sincerity in capturing the flavor of RK's world. In the adaptation of the actual novel of course, Shankar Nag rises to an altogether new level, and that season remains undoubtedly one of the best things that one saw on TV at any point in life.

Consider another example: In the novel The Vendor of Sweets, the protagonist Jagan sends his son Mali to America for higher education and is ostensibly receiving a series of letters from Mali during the course of his stay abroad. In Shankar Nag's adaptation, we get the contents of the letters as voice-overs from Mali while Jagan peruses them. Initially the voice-overs are in broken English, with a thick south-Indian accent, as would be characteristic for a small town Tamilian. As time is shown to progress, the voice-overs become more fluent and even develop the archetype NRI-in-America twang, which then dovetails into the return of the converted Mali from America with the newfound ideas and domestic convolutions that will have further consequences in Jagan's life. A small but immensely significant gesture that is but one of the things that makes this TV adaptation even more appealing than its source text.

In The Hoard, the short story about a miser that takes his grandson out for a movie, Shankar Nag tops RK's descriptions of the fantasy flick that enthralls the miser by undoubtedly digging out from some hallowed source of long-buried Kannada B-flicks, one of the most mind-bending and hallucinatory fantasy sequences ever filmed, with a dancing ghost, a tortoise and a princess-swallowing giant snake. Even more laudatory is his filming of the creepy, surreal and incredibly sad climax sequence of Ishwar (in the second short story series).

Shankar Nag's genius and humility made other rise to grand heights. Actor Vishnuvardhan, normally known for being the typical Kannada masala hero (*), gives a performance of astounding sublimeness as the father who is unable to fulfill his promise of taking his daughter for a film. Deven Bhojani, now seen almost exclusively as the fat tub of lard that produces eunuch frog noises in the name of amusement, is dignified and utterly believable in his frustration as Nitya, the teen forced to get his head tonsured for a vow his parents made when he was a child.

Lots more to rant, but you get the picture. Malgudi Days was a textbook example of what entertainment on TV could be like when it didn't have to cater to the perceptions of the lowest forms of intelligence.

Most of the series can be streamed for free at the Rajashri Broadband portal (If so inclined you can also download them for $ 1.99 apiece). I personally will wait, since I am informed that there will be a DVD release of the entire 39 episode set of Malgudi Days. The rest of you, especially the younger crowd that didn't catch this when it first happened, see this series any which way you can. Before the pod people fully claim you.

* I have been sounded by Vishnuvardhan fans for my apparently unjustified generalization of this talented artiste and I apologize. When I see other examples of his non-stereotype work, I will accordingly modify this statement