TV’s grim hospital tales

Those of you who follow the writings of The Man from Madras Musings will know that he has contempt, only contempt and nothing but ­contempt for the Tamil serials that are beamed on the various channels every evening. He has written about their terrible production quality, poor acting skills, awful story lines and ­obsession with tragedy. You may want to ask as to why MMM persists in watching them. MMM assures you that he does not, but there are times when, while pacing up and down some regions of his house, he cannot but help overhear a dialogue or two. And such is the slow pace and trite plot of most of these productions that you can pick up the story line at any time  and any point in the ­narrative.

But amongst all of these, the very nadir is an offering that rejoices in the name of Divine Daughter. The drama­tis personae includes a short-tempered hero, his estranged wife, his aged parents, her ­bewildered and grief stricken mother, a well-meaning uncle, a half-witted sister, an evil ­sister-in-law with a submissive husband, and a couple of hangers-on whose existence, like that of the serial, has no meaning or purpose.

Whenever time hangs heavy on this cast, which is ­often, the producer or director or screenplay writer, if there is one, has a character fall ill or suffer an injury. The afflicted person (and by that MMM does not mean the viewer) is then wheeled into the ICU of a hospital where he/she rests for a whole week, with all the other actors weeping and moaning and saying how sad it is all. MMM wonders as to what kind of a hospital it is where not one but a whole dozen people are allowed into the ICU where they can talk loudly, quarrel, swear and even come to blows.

It is the considered view of MMM that the actors draw lots to decide on whose turn it is to get admitted to hospital next. A fortnight ago it was the hero who drew the short straw. Now, being a specimen of physical fitness, it was not easy to get him to fall ill or suffer an accident and so they had someone knife him. He was then rushed to the hospital with the weapon inside him with, of course, the entire chorus following him headlong into the operation theatre. ­After a couple of episodes of wailing and lamenting in which activity the heroine’s mother, like Abou Ben Adam, led all the rest, the doctor pronounced that it was imperative that an operation be done on the hero for which, hold your breath, the family would have to cough up Rs. 12 lakh! MMM wonders what kind of a surgery it was, perhaps all the organs of the hero needed ­replacement.

This decree of the doctor was received in melodramatic style – old parents aghast, ­estranged wife weeping (though why she should weep after the way he treated her in episodes 203 to 243 beats MMM), her mother lamenting for the nth time as to why God had chosen her, like Mona Lisa, for all the world’s sorrows, the evil sister-in-law pursing her lips in joy while her hus­band simpers, and the half-­witted girl making a half-witted pronouncement as is to be ­expect­ed. Last seen, each mem­ber of the family spent a full episode trying in vain to muster the Rs. 12 lakh though as to why they cannot each contri­bute just one lakh to make up the amount is beyond MMM. All this while the hero is still in the ICU with the knife or whatever it is stuck in his abdomen, fifteen days after the stabbing. MMM recommends the grand­mother’s remedy – feed him bananas and watch his stools. But that would mean the story­writer has to come up with some other plot, would it not? In the meanwhile, watch this space in 2019 for further updates.

Chenn-eye

The annual scourge is back. The Man from Madras Musings does not allude to ­income tax, which has much the same symptoms – suffering ­experienced during the period August to November with ­irritation and redness of the eye, followed by much watering. This is accompanied by the wringing of hands and a general sense of helplessness. You can only take precautions to avoid it and if you neglect it, there is a huge penalty to pay. There is no one-time amnesty either. MMM speaks of the notorious Madras Eye, which is sweeping through the city, sparing nei­ther prince nor pauper.

It is the great leveller. And, at the same time, it also causes class distinctions to come sharply into focus. There are only three castes here – those who have had Madras Eye and recovered, those who are suffering from it and are therefore technically untouchable, and those who are yet to get it. The last named category practises apartheid to the utmost, not wanting to even go near the other two varieties. As for the lot that has suffered and recovered, it goes to great pains to establish that it can no longer infect anyone. But catch the third category believing that. To them, both groups, one and two, are birds of the same feather or, to quote from a great political leader of the past from our State, planks that have marinated in the same tank. Rather aptly he said that about two political parties of our State, both of whose leaders wore dark glasses like Madras Eye sufferers.

Last week, MMM had barely entered a wedding hall when a good Samaritan came rushing up and whispered to him that the bride’s father was best avoided because he was just recovering from conjunctivitis which, as you know, is the official name for the illness our city has claimed to be its own. There were several innocent people who assumed that the watery and red eye was owing to losing a daughter and gaining a son and so went up to embrace and shake hands with the supposedly emotional parent. MMM chose to stay aloof. This despite the best ­effort of the parent in question to envelop MMM with his affection. There is something in Madras Eye sufferers, MMM reflected, that makes them compulsive huggers, kissers and shakers of the hand.

In the dining hall, MMM did notice that several among the bearers who served food were festooned in dark glasses. He dismissed the notion that they were all into politics or recovering from cataract surgeries. As can be guessed, MMM came home hungry. But he has since then started, like Pontius Pilate, washing his hands every ten minutes and then checking his eyes in a mirror for any telltale signs of redness.

Tailpiece

Lotus smile, a popular actor of our city with a penchant for acting out multiple roles in his films, recently celebrated his 60th birthday with a much publicised cleaning up of a lake on the city’s outskirts. But what of the walls in the city that have been defaced by posters put up by his fans? The Man from Madras Musings hopes the actor will soon be cleaning those walls as well.

-MMM