Rakhi's Big Fat Groom-Hunt

I have a confession to make. I have been watching Rakhi Ka Swayamvar in sneaky snatches.

Rakhi Sawant is a self-promoting, baby-faced bimbo who has had her pug nose pressed to the glass of fame for a few years. She doesn’t have family connections, seems uncomfortable speaking in English, and clearly is small town small fry desperately wanting to make it big. Much of the buxom starlet’s fame comes from shaking her ample butt and cleavage in music videos and item numbers and kissing ass on reality shows.

Now, the trashy cherub is no longer a wannabe but the star of her own fake reality show, Rakhi ka Swayamvar.

Rakhi started with a line-up of 16 eligible bachelors who arrived by horseback and limo bearing gifts (a Ganesha to remove obstacles … a Bible … an outfit I designed for you) in this network extravaganza. They were Hindu, Muslim and Christian, perhaps even gay, and from a range of professions. They woo her as the show progresses and are gradually eliminated. Supposedly, she will marry Mr. Right at the end of this competition.

The show is the brainchild of NDTV Imagine, which televised the Ramayana. This has to be kalyug for us to have a reality show help us dredge up a 21st century Sita from our midst.

For the first time in Indian history, we have a television network pimping a parade of prospective eligibles for a starlet. How liberating that the woman gets to choose from a line-up of bashful men! And here’s the most amazing thing: it’s all approved for family viewing during prime time.

Why not take it a step farther for ratings? Since the network is picking up the tab for Rakhi’s big fat wedding, why didn’t its programming staff push for a Pandava style wedding where she ends up with five grooms like Draupadi (Didn’t the Pandava mother Kunti tell her sons they should share everything they won?) Think of all the shows and ratings they could have spun out of a five-some.

Rakhi ka Swayamvar is not a bad idea for a show. Indians love marriage. Most primetime television dramas have marriage as their central theme. Courtships that mature over months of sidelong glances are cemented in grand weddings with busybody relatives and vixenly in-laws in tow. Age is no barrier. Even adolescent brides play hopscotch in sarees and weep buckets at the slights of cruel in-laws. TV marriages are tested by infidelity, disease and every trick in the book, but prevail solidly.

My all-out favorite soap opera wife is Bani Walia in Kasamh Se, a character who surely must satisfy the fantasy of so many Indian men and women because the show had a run of 743 episodes over three years and propelled Prachi Desai to stardom.

Bani married and broke up with her husband so many times over the show, I lost count : She stepped in for her eloping sister and married him. She married him again to solidify her vows. She was wronged by him again and again, even divorced, but still stuck around. She was ejected from the house but worked secretly as a cook so she could serve him. She came back and married him yet again. She was killed, but had plastic surgery and still came back as another woman and married him again. These shows are under no pressure to be realistic; their audiences are willing to believe anything as long as the values and traditions they believe in come out strong after being battered by the impossible plotlines.

This obsession with marriage isn’t off mark. For most people in India, marriage is the central event of their lives. Everybody wants to get married. When you are a child, you live with your parents. When you become an adult, you “settle down” with your life partner. It is considered an aberration to live alone or to even want to.

Here’s something that would make a hilarious but truthful TV spot, on the lines of “I’m going to Disneyland:” a bunch of Indians from every walk of life … beggars, would-be astronauts, village girls, superstars each smile straight at the camera and affirm with thumbs up: “I’m getting married.”

But back to Rakhi’s show. There’s no such thing as too much marriage on Indian TV. So why should Rakhi be left out? As Rakhi tells us, she’s just a simple girl and all she’s ever wanted is to be married happily. Every week, there are surprises. Coy secrets tumble out of Rakhi. The grooms court her and have heart to heart talks with her. As in any reality show, the competitors are gradually eliminated. She ticks off one contestant for kissing her (not on the lips, but still! She’s not that type of girl!) and later eliminates him.

Only a few are left. Among those Rakhi has eliminated:her ex-boyfriend’s best friend who allegedly surprised her by showing up on Day 1 declaring that he had always loved her (you can tell it’s all acting; if Rakhi was really surprised, she’d have beat him up with her chappal). Also gone: a Muslim cop who is married and has kids. Too good to eliminate: a sweet-talker whose mother shows up and tells a stunned Rakhi she will have to give up showbiz and cook and clean once she becomes their bahu.

I doubt Rakhi will end up marrying any of these guys, or that they even want to marry her. Her mother is nowhere in sight, and hardly any Indian, even a trashy publicity hunter like Rakhi would marry without her family’s consent. That’s why I call this a fake reality show.

Rakhi’s fakery doesn’t bother me. I expect nothing less from her. It is the fakery of those you expect more of that should be more bothersome. So much of what is passed off as news in India is manufactured. Rakhi’s tramp-to-true-love shenanigans are at least more honest than anything one sees on the news channels. The constant fare on news channels is politics. Rakhi’s show wins hands down when it comes to intrigue, and she’s cuter than anyone in politics.