The Agonies and Ecstasies of Knowing Television for The First Time

It took 32 years for television to cast its first spell on the indian audience after it came into existence, 23 years before it held Shillogites in rapture, when a Low Power Transmitter was installed in the premises of Shillong Radio station near P&T office (courtesy Asiad '82).

Something akin to that gleeful exhilaration which filled our hearts during those incipient moments of dalliance with a medium of entertainment till then heard of, but yet not seen, tends to rise again in me when I recall those heady days of the past.

But it took a while before those black and white pictures with their dreamy bluish tinge, filling the bulging TV screen, with a pleasing accompaniment of a hollow bass emanating from the speakers, afforded us the luxury of uninterrupted entertainment.

I clearly remember that thrilling Sunday evening, when for the first time I experienced what I considered virtually impossible at that time - the charm of watching a movie in a drawing room - as I jostled for space with a crowd of children outside the window of our neighbor's living room to watch the classic Hindi movie Arzoo, playing on a 51 cm Keltron TV set with collapsible wooden doors. At the end of the show, during which we remained unbudged from our positions outside the open casement, I remarked that I had never seen an uglier heroine act in a film, that too opposite the dashing Rajendra Kumar. Later, I realised that the actress was Sadhana, one of the most beautiful to have graced the silver screen, but whose comely features were disfigured beyond recognition due to distortions in the video signal. It appeared that part of Sadhana's face was spiked horizontally outward by some strange contrivance of the TV screen. The situation did not improve for several days, by which time our attentions were diverted by the advent of color screens, one of which was installed in the house of one of our family friends Mr Hari Sarma. So, to Mr Hari Sarma's place we went, where we were warmly welcomed and treated to snacks and tea while we watched "Navrang" on their new Weston TV, and on a subsequent occasion, "Geet Gaya Pattharon Ne", both V Shantaram classics.

But cordiality and gentility are qualities that demand respect, and are not to be taken advantage of. So, we did not have the heart to trouble the good Sarma family much longer with our intrusions. The video parlours which burgeoned in Laban were the next available option, and we started frequenting Nishi's parlour near Appayani restaurant, which charged two rupees per hour.

Meanwhile, the clamor for our own TV was growing more and more deafening to father's ears, and finally, the unbelievable did happen. We got our very own B&W portable Crown TV, bought from Laitumkhrah, in the excitement of which acquisition I remember I had fallen into an open drain, as I wasn't looking where I was going. Our friends from the neighborhood wasn't any the wiser about it until a couple of them peered inside our bedroom the next day (at the persistent waggling of my brother's head in that direction) and let out exclamations of surprise, and remarks like "is is really yours?"

However, our TV was not going to give us our much anticipated fruits of excitement on a platter, rather, we were to toil for them. First of all, the embarrassment, as several of our neighbors gathered in our house to congratulate us and have a first look at the TV playing, but it played whimsically, at best, with its pictures flying continually away with some mysterious wind that seemed to blow inside the box. Some of the watchers-on were disappointed, some amused and others delighted at this comic aberration, which did not evoke any smiles from our family.

After twisting and turning the indoor antenna out of shape, we hadn't made too much headway in the positive direction. So, the decision was made to get the outdoor antenna, and a long steel pipe to mount it above the highest gable of the roof of our house. This arrangement was highly effective in stopping the "wind" from blowing away the pictures, but it posed a problem of another kind. Whoever came on the screen now, be it the actors of Dadi Maa Jaagi, the news anchors Tejeshwar Singh or Meenu or Neethi, or the heroes and heroines in Chitrahaar and the Sunday movies, each came invariably accompanied by their ghosts. It was really vexing to see four people on the screen when there should have been two, and a crowd when there should have been a few. So started the painful exertions of turning the outdoor antenna to drive away the apparitions, which of course meant we had to turn the long steel pipe with our hands, or a pipe wrench or whatever. After many despairing sessions of turning the pipe and wringing our hands, we managed to sort out the problem, and lived with our TV happily ever after, watching the Asian Games, Michael Jackson winning 7 grammy awards, Kapil Dev's team winning the World Cup, and lots more.

Over the years, TV has evolved to an extent that would have been impossible to visualize back then. But our pleasure, which saw such great heights then, lie almost close to their nadir when we talk about watching TV today, which is also something we would have found hard to imagine if we were told how many more options we would have in the future, and how better the quality of viewing. Such are the ironies of life.