The Hat-tip: When you feel like reviving a blog but have absolutely no material in mind, what do you do but borrow ideas from others' posts. Just as Swaroop's article on Rahman albums inspired a follow up on this blog, Soumithri's post on television has given me the incentive to write about my viewing experiences with British Television Shows.
The entry point for me dates back to 2007, while I was over at Ghanashyam Anna's place during my internship in Hyderabad. With not much else to do, I watched his DVDs of The Thin Blue Line and Only Fools and Horses, acquisitions from his days in the UK. TTBL, starring Rowan Atkinson, is a sitcom about the goings-on in a Police Station with some particularly hilarious banter between the officers and the CID detectives, while 'Only Fools..' takes us through the misadventures of two con-men, the Trotter brothers. I'm not really sure what drew me in, but it was refreshing to see Atkinson play someone other than Mr.Bean (he is ten times the actor when he actually opens his mouth), and the simple but well-executed plots in 'Only Fools..' had me hooked.
My curiosity aroused, I went back to other old shows I had paid little attention to when they had earlier been broadcast on STAR - Yes, Minister and Blackadder - and then started searching for something more contemporary. High-speed internet in the US turned out to be a godsend. Why British TV, you may ask? It belongs, as Soumithri says, in its own separate slot of awesomeness. It makes for viewing that is fundamentally different, if that's what one is looking for. I'm not going to suggest that it is better or worse than American Television; but since most couch potatoes around me agree that American shows (since they dominate the airwaves here) form the accepted 'template' for English-language programming, I shall use American TV as a basis for comparison.
To explain further, I give you one of my analogies: British TV is to its American counterpart what Tamil Cinema is to Bollywood. Many people who watch films in both Hindi and Tamil feel that, while Tamil Cinema lacks the glitz and polish of Bollywood and has a more low-budget feel, there is a grit factor and down-to-earthness about it which makes it more compelling at times. Its characters tend to be more everyman (or everywoman) than glossed-up. The experience of watching the US remake of The Office soon after seeing the original was a bit like watching Saathiya after Alaipayuthey. The US adaptation is a fine show in its own right but, when compared to the poignant, farcical world of the UK version with its quietly desperate inhabitants, seems a little watered-down; I know which one hits me harder.
There's also an 'out of the box' element to these shows which keeps me interested. They don't enjoy the sort of financial backing from networks which their American counterparts have, resulting in much smaller teams of producers and writers (and about 6 shows on average per series); but a relative lack of resources is often made up for with innovation. The Crystal Maze, which many of us who grew up in the 90s fondly remember, ran on a shoestring yet was a wholly enjoyable game show, especially with Richard O'Brien at the helm. In Q.I, which Soumithri also wrote about, Stephen Fry and the contestants elevate the world of quizzing and trivia to something, well, quite interesting. And there's the irreverent sitcom Coupling, which took the FRIENDS formula and turned it on its head.
The humour in Brit-coms can be fairly unsanitised. Sometimes this means they go to lengths which American shows won't, and sometimes it simply means the characters get to say "fuck" a lot. The Inbetweeners is an American Pie-esque adolescent comedy with a mean streak and rougher edges, and is quite watchable although it covers no new ground. British drama, on the other hand, can be refreshingly understated. Judge John Deed, whose reruns are being shown on the BBC Entertainment Channel here, is an intense courtroom show without the unnecessary trappings of Boston Legal, for example.
Of late, I've been a sucker for shows which try to incorporate realism through the single camera setup and by focusing on the mundane. The Office is the most obvious example. There's also the downbeat Outnumbered, which portrays the chaos in the lives of a couple having to deal with their three pesky, oversmart kids; it's funny in a low-key sort of way. My personal favourite is Peep Show, which I wrote about earlier. David Mitchell and Robert Webb make a brilliant comedic duo, and this is the show for those of us who tend to find ourselves thinking a bit too much. When I first saw it, I wanted to go to the nearest rooftop and shout about it to everyone I knew. These days, I look at it as a highly potent recreational drug, to be taken on occasion. Try it and let me know what you think.
It's not all solid gold though, and I've discovered a fair number of duds along the way. I'm often disappointed by the geek sitcom The IT Crowd; great concept, but poorly executed. Not Going Out, of which I caught a few episodes on BBC Entertainment, is heavy on bad puns and little else.
Of course, there are many sides to British Television I haven't explored - those panel shows which Soumithri mentioned, a number of interesting sounding sci-fi programmes, and sketch shows. And there are serials which tap into the country's deep reservoir of myths, legends and culture such as Merlin, Robin Hood, Jeeves and Wooster. The one I'm really looking forward to watching is the recent mini-series Sherlock, though I hope the positive reviews haven't set my expectations too high.
I've said enough. What have you been watching?
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The Blogger's Dilemma
Right. You haven't blogged in ages, you wonder why the little ideas for posts which once ran in your head simply refuse to take root. Probably just another case of writer's block, you think, only to remember you've been writing on cricket fairly regularly. Is this finally it, a state of semi-retirement in which you stick to writing about the stuff you know best?
But. A part of you wants to feel otherwise, to keep it going if only for the reassurance that you are indeed, still, a "Blogger". So you rummage through your head for possible topics, and lazily scan through the list of unfinished posts in the hope of seeing your link rise to the top of all those blogrolls by the end of the day. (Aside: "Blogroll" is "bogroll" with an added "L". I vote for a change in terminology.)
You straightaway zero in on a number of things you could pour derision on - religion, the city, the uncoordinated moves of IPL cheerleaders - and then decide that ranting is the last refuge of the frustrated. You're above all that now.
You come up with a general updates type post, detailing which book you started on the way to office, which friends you caught up with after X years, and how comfortably boring life is. You then realise that these updates are already plastered, in more concise form, all over Facebook and Twitter. You then remember you still haven't actually joined Twitter, and make a mental note to do so.
You start on this wacky story that's been brewing in your mind for a while now, in which you've casted your friends as these bizarre characters based on their individual quirks. It suddenly strikes you that the only people who'll get your story, don't read your blog.
You think perhaps you should try your hand at poetry, after all everybody seems to be dabbling in rubbish verse these days. This idea is aborted after five minutes when you've managed to come up with "'Twas a warm and sunny afternoon".
You excitedly start on a review-type post which describes how crazily addictive Peep Show is, or how Mark Knopfler's lyrics once made this deep impact on you, and then decide you're in no mood to "put shag" (as any IIT-M bloke would likely say).
So you finally settle for this vaguely existentialist post about your latest attempts at putting keys to editor, and predictably end up writing it in second person.
But. A part of you wants to feel otherwise, to keep it going if only for the reassurance that you are indeed, still, a "Blogger". So you rummage through your head for possible topics, and lazily scan through the list of unfinished posts in the hope of seeing your link rise to the top of all those blogrolls by the end of the day. (Aside: "Blogroll" is "bogroll" with an added "L". I vote for a change in terminology.)
You straightaway zero in on a number of things you could pour derision on - religion, the city, the uncoordinated moves of IPL cheerleaders - and then decide that ranting is the last refuge of the frustrated. You're above all that now.
You come up with a general updates type post, detailing which book you started on the way to office, which friends you caught up with after X years, and how comfortably boring life is. You then realise that these updates are already plastered, in more concise form, all over Facebook and Twitter. You then remember you still haven't actually joined Twitter, and make a mental note to do so.
You start on this wacky story that's been brewing in your mind for a while now, in which you've casted your friends as these bizarre characters based on their individual quirks. It suddenly strikes you that the only people who'll get your story, don't read your blog.
You think perhaps you should try your hand at poetry, after all everybody seems to be dabbling in rubbish verse these days. This idea is aborted after five minutes when you've managed to come up with "'Twas a warm and sunny afternoon".
You excitedly start on a review-type post which describes how crazily addictive Peep Show is, or how Mark Knopfler's lyrics once made this deep impact on you, and then decide you're in no mood to "put shag" (as any IIT-M bloke would likely say).
So you finally settle for this vaguely existentialist post about your latest attempts at putting keys to editor, and predictably end up writing it in second person.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Burning Bright?
(Taking the cue from Shom's post)
One of the (many) sobering things about this is, fifteen or even ten years ago such a statistic would have sent a chill up my spine; today, it almost comes across as just another piece of bad news.
Then, I would struggle with basic maths but could name practically each and every one of the designated Project Tiger Reserves. I would reel off "40,000 at the turn of the century, only 1800 in 1972, 4000 today", and not always be met with looks of recognition. I'd stay up late and trade the homework completion hour for watching Land of the Tiger on the BBC (the episodes of which are available online - do watch), or devouring Nirmal Ghosh's Jungle Life of India. There was much inspiration to found in the work of people like Billy Arjan Singh, Valmik Thapar, and Ullas Karanth - I missed a day of school once to attend a seminar conducted by Dr.Karanth. Where has the passion gone?
Several among us might have genuinely cared when we were young (and privileged?) enough to do so. The rat race soon beckoned, and we threw in our respective lots; we found a myriad of reasons to not head off the beaten track, and work towards landing a position from which we might be able to make a difference. Perhaps, as far as Project Tiger is concerned, this is where the plot was lost.
I'd like to believe the situation is redeemable, and this looks like a good place to start.
One of the (many) sobering things about this is, fifteen or even ten years ago such a statistic would have sent a chill up my spine; today, it almost comes across as just another piece of bad news.
Then, I would struggle with basic maths but could name practically each and every one of the designated Project Tiger Reserves. I would reel off "40,000 at the turn of the century, only 1800 in 1972, 4000 today", and not always be met with looks of recognition. I'd stay up late and trade the homework completion hour for watching Land of the Tiger on the BBC (the episodes of which are available online - do watch), or devouring Nirmal Ghosh's Jungle Life of India. There was much inspiration to found in the work of people like Billy Arjan Singh, Valmik Thapar, and Ullas Karanth - I missed a day of school once to attend a seminar conducted by Dr.Karanth. Where has the passion gone?
Several among us might have genuinely cared when we were young (and privileged?) enough to do so. The rat race soon beckoned, and we threw in our respective lots; we found a myriad of reasons to not head off the beaten track, and work towards landing a position from which we might be able to make a difference. Perhaps, as far as Project Tiger is concerned, this is where the plot was lost.
I'd like to believe the situation is redeemable, and this looks like a good place to start.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Of Time Mismanagement and Such
There's this theory about life in graduate school I once read about (I can't recall the source I'm about to paraphrase here - PhD Comics?). Broadly speaking, there are three kinds of activities available to the grad student - working, partying and sleeping; however, the average student has only two degrees of freedom. To put it another way, time and energy constraints ensure that one can only go through grad school doing any two out of those three things.
While this is not absolute, it nevertheless rings true when I think back to my University days. I usually can't do without my eight hours of sleep a day, never mind which hours of the day they may be, and so my student life was largely a combination of stop-start slumber, and hours of work which proved just sufficient to stay afloat academically; any partying I might have hoped for was pretty much sacrificed as a result. The few occasions when grad school would bite me in the bum, were usually because of an untimely deviation from this routine - such as a sudden trip to the movies, or a visit to the bar when work needed to be done. Now, I did have my share of fun at University (even if there may be little photographic evidence of the same on my facebook profile), but not to the extent that it could significantly alter or affect the way things were going. If I had really utilised all that 'wasted' time on work instead, I might have marginally improved my GPA, and little else. In hindsight, I had quite a delicately balanced system in place.
An external condition, however, is all that is needed to upset such a balance. When the time came to turn my attention to a job search, and the preparations it involved, my system was thrown into chaos. If I sleepwalked my way through most of grad school, I ended it crossing a busy street on roller-skates during rush hour. I got my degree, but not the job I had been looking for.
The months of being without full-time work were initially a mixture of anxiety and relaxed resignation, for there's little you can do when the market is running on empty. Slowly, however, I found myself having to divide my time almost exclusively between the job hunt and sleeping; anything else seemed like a luxury, yet all that didn't stop me from indulging in what Krish Ashok aptly calls "focussed inactivity and alternative non-value-adding hobbies". The search, not surprisingly, hasn't ended. And now, back in Bangalore, I've volunteered to work for a startup to give myself something constructive to do on the side - effectively, an external condition.
I wonder how I might have dealt with this long spell of joblessness had it arrived, say, just after I was done with my undergraduate degree. Every move I made back then was somehow calibrated with the intention of not screwing up, which has ironically made me rather inertial now (Comfortably numb, but I'm trying to avoid Pink Floyd references!). Would it have been better to mess up earlier? I doubt I would have been preoccupied with pondering time management issues, at least. Anyway, now for some much needed shut-eye.
While this is not absolute, it nevertheless rings true when I think back to my University days. I usually can't do without my eight hours of sleep a day, never mind which hours of the day they may be, and so my student life was largely a combination of stop-start slumber, and hours of work which proved just sufficient to stay afloat academically; any partying I might have hoped for was pretty much sacrificed as a result. The few occasions when grad school would bite me in the bum, were usually because of an untimely deviation from this routine - such as a sudden trip to the movies, or a visit to the bar when work needed to be done. Now, I did have my share of fun at University (even if there may be little photographic evidence of the same on my facebook profile), but not to the extent that it could significantly alter or affect the way things were going. If I had really utilised all that 'wasted' time on work instead, I might have marginally improved my GPA, and little else. In hindsight, I had quite a delicately balanced system in place.
An external condition, however, is all that is needed to upset such a balance. When the time came to turn my attention to a job search, and the preparations it involved, my system was thrown into chaos. If I sleepwalked my way through most of grad school, I ended it crossing a busy street on roller-skates during rush hour. I got my degree, but not the job I had been looking for.
The months of being without full-time work were initially a mixture of anxiety and relaxed resignation, for there's little you can do when the market is running on empty. Slowly, however, I found myself having to divide my time almost exclusively between the job hunt and sleeping; anything else seemed like a luxury, yet all that didn't stop me from indulging in what Krish Ashok aptly calls "focussed inactivity and alternative non-value-adding hobbies". The search, not surprisingly, hasn't ended. And now, back in Bangalore, I've volunteered to work for a startup to give myself something constructive to do on the side - effectively, an external condition.
I wonder how I might have dealt with this long spell of joblessness had it arrived, say, just after I was done with my undergraduate degree. Every move I made back then was somehow calibrated with the intention of not screwing up, which has ironically made me rather inertial now (Comfortably numb, but I'm trying to avoid Pink Floyd references!). Would it have been better to mess up earlier? I doubt I would have been preoccupied with pondering time management issues, at least. Anyway, now for some much needed shut-eye.
Friday, January 29, 2010
So you're an R.I? That don't impress me much..
An oft-recited quip from the Big Joke Book of Desi stereotypes suggests that, the acronym NRI would be more accurate if it were to expand to "Non Returning Indian". By deciding to abort my job hunt in the U.S and return to Bangalore, I have done the unexpected and, it seems, the unthinkable; I'm one of that rare breed, the Returned Indian (R.I for short).
I've said goodbye to campus life as an international student, morning cereal and americano shots, apartment maintenance, credit ratings, impromptu discussions on status and work visas, late-night walks on empty streets, super-fast Internet speeds, online television streaming, access to fifty varieties of beer, on-call drinking buddies, taking complete cleanliness for granted, being complimented on my command over English, and stuffing myself on junk food out of necessity. I say hello once again to filling breakfasts and great coffee, having people in my face all day, my own full-fledged bed (yes), downloading without fear of the authorities, surreptitious drinking and eating-out, the bustle of the streets, impromptu discussions on politics and films (and being expected to have strong opinions on the same), and being rebuked for my appalling Tamil and Hindi.
The reactions of people around me over the last two months have made for some interesting observations. As an RI, that rare being, family members and the extended ones are likely to look upon you as the local zoo management might a white tiger; initially, a lot of fussing over this recent arrival who draws in the eagerly-awaiting crowd, but this soon gives way to puzzlement about how you turned out this way, different from the rest. Recessive gene or not, what went wrong?
Yet, the attitudes of family members (and whatever vested interests they may have in your career path) are much more predictable than those of people who (apparently) have less of a stake in you. When dealing with the 'rest' - close friends, mere acquaintances and assorted hangers-on - you, the RI, can likely expect the following:
1. You will be subjected to intense scrutiny by people who know you well, not least in the way you talk. The slightest change in your accent is all the invitation needed to spark off a confused-desi bashing thread, which is typically kept going in the following way: use a moderately biggish English word and it'll be attributed to the Americanization of you; sprinkle your speech with some colloquial slang, and you'll be accused of trying too hard to fit back in. It's heads-they-win-tails-the-joke's-on-you.
2. Having been abroad and expanded your horizons, that heady citizen-of-the-world feeling will disappear soon; you will be brought down to your home-turf with a resounding thud by those people who are just waiting to pop the question, "So, where do you feel you belong?", and enjoy a knowing smirk at the raw nerve they've touched. Nevertheless, you could rescue the situation by replying "The stretch from Anna Swamy Mudaliar Road up to Wheeler Road extension in Frazer Town, that would be it", showing them that you are not to be outdone in the business of being insular, either.
3. There are several contrasting initial reactions to be had from people meeting you for the first time, and learning of your return. Admiration, for example, typically comes from those who are about to (reluctantly) leave for the US or the UK themselves, and your 'bravery' is just the reassurance they need. There are those who will think you stupid for walking out on your chosen land-of-opportunity, but they'll store your email ID anyway in the hope of soliciting information when it's their turn to depart. You might encounter the odd armchair nationalist, who will reprimand you as soon as he hears the word "America". And, indifference is usually met with when trying to chat up that seemingly attractive someone, who could well be thinking "God please, get back to whereveritis you came from!"
4. The fixation with ordering mineral water "specially for him, he is US-return" wears off soon among people, but with toilet paper - that other great cultural differentiator which gets people inquisitive - it's another thing altogether. If (unlike me, I hasten to add) you're taking your time to acclimatize back to the Indian way, DO NOT let on that you still have rolls stocked up in your bathroom, unless you want to be the subject of much mirth as discussed in points 1 and 2. This being the 21st century, you could be entitled, however, to wonder out loud about an absence of a water-spray/hose-pipe. Just don't call it a health faucet!
It's great to be back.
I've said goodbye to campus life as an international student, morning cereal and americano shots, apartment maintenance, credit ratings, impromptu discussions on status and work visas, late-night walks on empty streets, super-fast Internet speeds, online television streaming, access to fifty varieties of beer, on-call drinking buddies, taking complete cleanliness for granted, being complimented on my command over English, and stuffing myself on junk food out of necessity. I say hello once again to filling breakfasts and great coffee, having people in my face all day, my own full-fledged bed (yes), downloading without fear of the authorities, surreptitious drinking and eating-out, the bustle of the streets, impromptu discussions on politics and films (and being expected to have strong opinions on the same), and being rebuked for my appalling Tamil and Hindi.
The reactions of people around me over the last two months have made for some interesting observations. As an RI, that rare being, family members and the extended ones are likely to look upon you as the local zoo management might a white tiger; initially, a lot of fussing over this recent arrival who draws in the eagerly-awaiting crowd, but this soon gives way to puzzlement about how you turned out this way, different from the rest. Recessive gene or not, what went wrong?
Yet, the attitudes of family members (and whatever vested interests they may have in your career path) are much more predictable than those of people who (apparently) have less of a stake in you. When dealing with the 'rest' - close friends, mere acquaintances and assorted hangers-on - you, the RI, can likely expect the following:
1. You will be subjected to intense scrutiny by people who know you well, not least in the way you talk. The slightest change in your accent is all the invitation needed to spark off a confused-desi bashing thread, which is typically kept going in the following way: use a moderately biggish English word and it'll be attributed to the Americanization of you; sprinkle your speech with some colloquial slang, and you'll be accused of trying too hard to fit back in. It's heads-they-win-tails-the-joke's-on-you.
2. Having been abroad and expanded your horizons, that heady citizen-of-the-world feeling will disappear soon; you will be brought down to your home-turf with a resounding thud by those people who are just waiting to pop the question, "So, where do you feel you belong?", and enjoy a knowing smirk at the raw nerve they've touched. Nevertheless, you could rescue the situation by replying "The stretch from Anna Swamy Mudaliar Road up to Wheeler Road extension in Frazer Town, that would be it", showing them that you are not to be outdone in the business of being insular, either.
3. There are several contrasting initial reactions to be had from people meeting you for the first time, and learning of your return. Admiration, for example, typically comes from those who are about to (reluctantly) leave for the US or the UK themselves, and your 'bravery' is just the reassurance they need. There are those who will think you stupid for walking out on your chosen land-of-opportunity, but they'll store your email ID anyway in the hope of soliciting information when it's their turn to depart. You might encounter the odd armchair nationalist, who will reprimand you as soon as he hears the word "America". And, indifference is usually met with when trying to chat up that seemingly attractive someone, who could well be thinking "God please, get back to whereveritis you came from!"
4. The fixation with ordering mineral water "specially for him, he is US-return" wears off soon among people, but with toilet paper - that other great cultural differentiator which gets people inquisitive - it's another thing altogether. If (unlike me, I hasten to add) you're taking your time to acclimatize back to the Indian way, DO NOT let on that you still have rolls stocked up in your bathroom, unless you want to be the subject of much mirth as discussed in points 1 and 2. This being the 21st century, you could be entitled, however, to wonder out loud about an absence of a water-spray/hose-pipe. Just don't call it a health faucet!
It's great to be back.
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