There was an era in the commercial Kerala soap universe when devotional daily serials were all the rage. There are so called ‘bhakti serials’ even today, and they continue churning out high ratings. Nevertheless I lived a major portion of my childhood part of a generation alien to novel technology beyond the good old TV. Computer Labs were exotic places with limited access. We learned key positions by heart and could apparently count the no of actual screen time spent typing and rolling the old setup. With laptops, pendrives and tablets ruling the arena all those academic gibberish on RAM, ROM and CPU almost seem primitive. .again only almost.
With limited exclusive screen time, more than a fair share of us were serial junkies. We discussed the odds of poor girl heroine landing the rich guy, weighed down by our insolent backpacks. Will the guy figure out the doppelganger in time? When would the protagonists have their happily ever after? Rhetoric paraphernalia we hardly had answers to, with the daily soap travesty crossing yearmarks and milestones!
The secular arrangement part and parcel of the Indian establishment permeated this discussion too. We had television serials catering different religions. The pleasure of watching miracles on screen had us glued on the media. The train journey turned sour for us soon enough. Like that dastardly whim to capture Mayavi for Kuttoosan and beloved Dakini, the protagonist, always an ideal devotee saved from the perils of conniving evil bored us down. The younger generation soon switched language, dropping our mother tongue altogether for the visual treat ‘Hindi serials’ promised. But what of those good old days when we were faithful attendees of the Malayalam soaps? Memories of our time (well) spent remain poignant.
Perhaps the incident with the girl about to be turned cow best frame my naivete and expectations, which were let down by native television. This was the time of weekend devotionals. Miracles performed by Velankanni Mathavu was a personal favourite of mine, with my grandmother a patron of the series within our family. Never a weekend went by, without our family (more like me and my grandmother) tuning into the channel to watch Mathavu blessing and uplifting the faithful. Manorama weekly, our periodical ran advance pieces on the weekend’s story; almost always we had an idea about what to expect the following episode. But one fine day, they played a number on this young viewer’s naivete.
The weekend’s story is of a poor girl turned ‘milching cow’ for her family’s benefit, the advance piece ran. While I loved me some good old drama, my interest had begun to wane a little by then. Week after week of virtue rewarded had me predicting the plot twists beforehand. This announcement served to sate my writer’s thirst for drama. While I have read and seen my share of miracle tales, never before had I seen a demure human turn on screen, to a cow of all animals. All too eager, I found my place by the box, way earlier. If my mother was curious at my gusto, she made no comments.
Soon enough the tale of sacrifice and goodwill unveiled. The weekend’s story featured a poor girl Annie, who loses herself, taking care of her extremely selfish family. She spurns the advances of a good man and sacrifices her little chances at happiness, only to be bested by the horrible family members. When the protagonist catches TB slaving over the ungrateful wretches, the Holy Virgin finally plays her hand. All is well in the end and the girl finally has her much deserved share of happiness.
The episode concludes underlining the necessity of standing by one another and loving one’s dear and near. A paradigm of poetic justice, what a tale! And what about the little drama queen? I am left baffled with a sense of absolute betrayal. Even when the girl was turned out after contracting TB, I was expecting a miracle! Not the comeuppance that was served soon enough (not that it wasn’t necessary), but some very zoological transformation! This was the good old tale of sacrifice with no alternate plot-twist! The girl never was a cow!!! What a letdown!
It is then that I update my dictionary and in the process learn a new idiom. ‘Milching cow’ need not always mean in the literal sense, a cow. It can serve as possible synonym for self-abasing protagonists and quintessential doormats. Lesson learned. I did follow future episodes before giving up on devotional series altogether.
Nevertheless, watching a very far-fetched ‘Nandanam’ today, a new, popular series, passing by I retrace my steps and gape, with my little brother, this adult in her twenties. It is always a pleasure watching the devotees saved, even when we know it’s coming. Miracles have a way with the audience, for the audience is comforted then in belief that there is indeed justice in this world.
