Here is the second and final part of the
Beauty Pageant experience.
The anchor,
remember that damsel in westerns?, came and spoke Punjabi with an accent. On camera she would speak Punjabi, and off camera she would start speaking Hindi. I wanted to speak in the collar microphone they had pinned to my dupatta, “Oye, someone tell this female to speak Punjabi like a Punjaban.” Incidentally, did I tell that the mic they had pinned on my dupatta kept pricking me with those harmless but irritating little electic shocks they give in Siberia? (Okay, it was a big gapp, they never gave any shocks in Siberia.) It was the channel people’s revenge on my big mouthedness. LOL. Now I am again overdoing it, they in fact, gave me all the respect due to me.
Another thing about this fashionista - she kept forgetting K’s name. She kept asking his name again and again from him and made it visibly known that she had a trouble remembering it. Somehow I felt very sorry for his ego. I mean it might have been okay if she had forgotten mine or Capt D’s name, but forgetting a singer’s name was really bad. He is not a very great hit but then three or four of his very decent songs have been a blast. He would have liked it if she had cared to remember his name. At the end of the show, when she once again forgot or pretended to forget his name about 4th time, he smiled and whispered to me, “No problems, every dog has his day.” I liked it that he was so cool.
We all sweated, partly due to the sultry weather, partly due to a hot and closed environ, and partly due to the sharp, hot camera lights. The best part in the entire show was Sachin, the makeup assistant with a tireless trot and a wonderful smile. The moment the director shouted a number, he would run towards us. Number 1 was Capt D, I was number 2, and K was number 3. Sachin was a cute boy, very smart, very attentive and very accommodating. I tried to bully him into using my tissue but he provided us all with our individual pieces of very soft muslin cloth which he insisted on using on our faces. Before every shot, he would come running and would dab the ‘required’ person’s face with his/her cloth. “Required” because if it was No. 1’s turn to ask question, he would be freshened up for the camera, otherwise he would wait till his turn came, and so on and so forth. But we were all welcome to add to the question, which we all gracefully avoided just so the person asking question should have a free hand.
Okay, the girls started off, with the cue. On the yell of “action” they would walk towards the camera, stop on a round rug. Most of them would start with “sahsshri akaal ji” (they should have been saying “Sat Sri Akal Ji”) though we were fine with a ‘good afternoon’, or’ hello’ instead of a wrongly pronounced greeting. But they wanted to make it sound like a typical Punjabi setting, though some of them looked like they had walked the sets off the K-serials with their fake jewellery. A few wore traditional Punjabi jewellery but unfortunately knew nothing about it. Some of them were just out of school, some were the students of 11th or 12th grade, a few were there after their graduation, one was a law graduate, another an experienced lecturer. And I wondered what their dreams were, and if they were going to be realized. Except that they were not clear about their dreams. Whenever a question veered towards, “why do you want to participate in this contest?” they replied with, “I want to do charity”, “I want to do something for orphans,” “I want to do something for child education,” and the staple, “I want to promote my culture and heritage.” But if I asked what a maun (ਮੌਣ) is, they cut a sorry figure. Now, maun in Punjabi is the top brim of a water well and any girl who wants to represent Punjabi culture, should know what it is. Because well-sites were the women’s entertainment before the times of the Kitty Parties. If I asked one to name the Desi-months of the Indian year, she was lost.
All the while I was wondering, which culture are they going to represent, they are a lost generation themselves. They come here and try to speak their own language in an accent that wants to pretend they are Phoren-returned. They want to say proudly that they cannot write in Punjabi, and at the same time, we find they do not know how to write a straight sentence in English. Hindi is out of question for these girls. How do we expect them to represent a culture and at the same time be well versed with the Indian realities in the global context? They have dreams alright, but no efforts directed towards reaching for those targets. They want the stars to drop in their laps but they don’t make an effort to reach out.
One of them said “joking is my hobby”.
Please ignore the bad English. It comes straight from their bio-datas. The singer K asked her to crack a never-before-heard-joke. She related a godforsaken joke which blooped up badly. I ended up laughing hysterically simply because I didn’t know what to make of the joke, but thankfully the girl never came to know why I laughed. I hate to be a part of that cruelty issued from the judgment chairs in reality shows though the organizers did try to spur us to give out a little drama. I didn’t tell him, but I know I am a very boring person and would not enact any drama for anything- not at least on stage or camera.
Lest you think that all of them were there just with looks and make up, let me tell you that some of them came up with really brilliant answers on female-foeticide, social problems, and laws concerning women. There was this pretty girl, very simply but elegantly dressed up in simple Punjabi attire. She, in her bio-data had written that she had a story to share on why she wanted to be a part of this pageant. (Basically we took the questions from their areas of interest as mentioned in their introduction in their entry form). She fell in my lot. I mean I was the one to ask question, I crossed my fingers and asked her what it was. She said it was personal but she would share it. I was amazed at her courage. She said, “When I was conceived, my mother was pressurized to abort the baby in case it was a girl because there were already two girls in the family. Somehow I survived. Through this contest, I want to show the world that I m the same foetus which might have been aborted.” I wanted to ask her if it was her mother who saved her, but then I thought she might cry on camera. I let her go and gave her the maximum points – for her courage, her presentability, for the way she carried herself. I hope to find more about her later.
Then, there was this girl whom I asked, if you were to be reborn, would you like to be born as a Rakhi Sawant, a Mayawati or a Maneka Gandhi. She chose Maneka Gandhi and in detail told us about her work for animals. It was brilliant; the way she responded was confident and very positive.
I was sorry for some of them who deserved far more than this. One of them was a wonderful singer who had earlier appeared on live shows on TV and made a great advertisement for herself when her turn came. But we forgave her that, after all she is a child of 18-19. All three of us thought that she should concentrate on singing and not waste her energy elsewhere.
All through, there was no AC; I wondered why the channel was pinching its pennies. If only they had rented a Kitty hall in some hotel, everybody would have been saved a lot of time, energy and water, because I could actually feel sweat running in streams down my back. On top of that there was the makeup which had finally found its way in the tissue papers and that cute muslin cloth. I asked for a mirror to touch up my lipper. An assistant came and asked what I needed, D said, “Madam ka makeup dubara kar do”. That smart assistant was baffled. He said, “Kya breakup kar do?” I was crazy with laughter. I said, “Rehney do, tumhara qusoor nahi, garmi bahut hai.” He was genuinely puzzled, went away nodding his head and we all couldn’t help bursting into laughter.
I must mention those three cute girls; I think they were assistants to the director. They sounded very sensible, practical and pleasant. Every few minutes, the organizers would turn the pedestal farratta fan after the director called CUT, K was sitting onto my left and the fan was to his left. Every time the fan was turned on, he would be lost in his thoughts, his papers would fly away and he would look helplessly at them. The spot boys would gather his papers and then the contest would re-commence. I was reminded of Uncle Podger’s antics. D needed spectacles to read but he did not wear them. I think he did not want to look old by wearing them. As a result, all the time he kept making tentative guesses on what might have been written. Some of these guesses were really really wild, irrelevant and funny. I was giggling inaudibly all the time at his plight.
At about 5, we were done with the entire grilling process and were looking like sweaty, shiny, grilled but hungry chickens ourselves. Then they fed us with some greasy poories with chanas and a sugary cold drink. So much for the beauty…
It was a great learning experience for me - in terms of human communication, human psychology and the working of TV shows on sites away from TV Studios. The crew was, all in all, a very supportive, energetic and decent one. The one thing I am happy about is, the judgment was fair and was valued; otherwise the channels are sometimes known for promoting their own favorite candidates and pushing them through the pliable judges.
