Those of you who grew up during the Doordarshan era would know that there are privacy issues involved in watching English films. You can’t really watch them with family members, especially if they happen to be members of your own family. Which was why DD used to play these films late at night, on Fridays, if I remember right.
Just to be clear, by ‘English’ films I don’t mean only English films. The term also includes French, Hungarian, German, Albanian, Bulgarian and Romanian films, and films from every other country where people do all kinds of Kamasutra -type things that cannot be disclosed in public. But these days, not only have Indian films become more like ‘English’ films in such matters, ‘English’ films are also available round the clock. Now you need privacy to watch any film in any language, for who knows when something will suddenly happen on screen.
Conduct in front of a screen
All this means that I am not a very social person when it comes to entertainment. I prefer to be entertained on my own private screen exclusive to myself — not a cinema screen, not a TV screen, not even a laptop screen. Only the cell phone will do. Apart from privacy, another reason why I prefer my phone is that Indians don’t know the basic etiquette of communal entertainment. Lest I am misunderstood, by ‘communal entertainment’, I don’t mean genocide. Just the passive consumption of audio-visual content in the company of others.
Even my immediate family members have no clue how to conduct themselves in front of a screen, especially when something is playing on it. My father won’t let a single villain carry out his on-screen villainy in peace. He has to make a comment comparing him to a politician who must not be named, provoking an instant and acrimonious defence of this politician (and by default, the on-screen villain) from my mother. It was during one such spat that I understood why Netflix had English subtitles even for English films: how else could you follow the dialogue when audience members are debating demonetisation at the top of their lungs?
Now that I have the Netflix app on my mobile, I avoid such scenarios by simply picking up my cell phone and plugging in the headphone. Unfortunately, this defensive manoeuvre, while effective against most immature adults, doesn’t work with adults of smaller size and recent vintage.
Yes, I am talking about Kattabomman. He will soon be 2.5 years old. But put him in front of a screen, and he is no better than the average Indian in a Delhi multiplex, though with one difference: he doesn’t take calls from property dealers in the middle of a film.
Bursting with questions
Last Sunday, for instance, I was watching the greatest zombie series of all time, The Walking Dead , when Kattabomman turned up from nowhere and managed to insert himself, like some kind of a toddlerised Aadhaar, between my face and my phone. Just like with Aadhaar, he started giving me tasks. Thankfully, he did not ask me to link my mobile to a dinosaur, which he would have had he been a true avatar of UIDAI. But he did want me to show him the yellow dinosaur. I told him there were no longer any dinosaurs in my phone. “Where they go?” he wanted to know.
“You see this uncle?” I said. “He killed and ate all the dinosaurs.” This proved to be a strategic blunder. My mini-Doklam. I had calculated that if I convinced him that there was no hope in hell of him getting to watch a parade of yellow dancing dinosaurs, he would lose interest in my phone and go trouble someone else, maybe his mother.
But he seemed to find it intriguing that an ugly, middle-aged American could kill and eat dinosaurs. Instead of going and finishing his first work of non-fiction, tentatively titled, ‘Why I am a Liberal in the Morning, Hindu in the Afternoon, and Vendakkai Naxal in the Evening’, he settled down in my lap. After ten seconds, he said, “Papa, why is uncle cutting off aunty’s head?”
“Because the aunty is a zombie. Now be quiet.”
He watched quietly for 15 seconds. Then started again.
“Papa, can I see yellow colour car?”
“You can’t see it now, uncle has sold it to the hippopotamus.”
“I want to see hipomatapus!”
“Be quiet or I’m calling Mum.”
Silence for 20 seconds.
And then: “Papa, why is uncle taking off his shirt?”
“Because he’s feeling hot.”
“Papa, uncle is taking off his diaper... Papa, why is aunty taking off her shirt?”
At this point, I had no option but to abandon The Walking Dead . There was serious danger of me ending up as one myself. I’m now convinced about one thing: it’s only fair that the common man also receive his daily dose of entertainment with some real privacy. Say, in a sealed envelope or something.
G. Sampath is Social Affairs Editor, The Hindu
