Home entertainment. Should less be more?

Those of us who are interested in the infinite variety that life has to offer, ‘a man (or woman) of many parts’ we are occasionally described as, are more to be pitied than envied. It is true that, sitting in front of my state-of-the-art television set (which cost me more than an arm and a leg, festival offer notwithstanding), I have a mind-boggling choice of programmes to watch. In Hi Definition, no less.  And therein lies the rub. Do I dive into a BBC murder mystery serial or watch the interminably long Oppenheimer in three instalments over three evenings? Old Tamil and Hindi films beckon, as do some new crime drama in Punjabi or Kannada which ‘you simply have to watch, they’ve got subtitles, it’s mind-blowing.’ Not to forget the ubiquitous YouTube which offers an endless smorgasbord of music, drama and, if the mood takes me, some gent or lady in pink tights showing me how I can get rid of back pain. And that is not even scratching the surface.

Then again, the Australian Open has just commenced, and I cannot take my eyes off the exploits of Djokovic, Alcaraz, Swiatek, Sabalenka and all the other tennis bigwigs of the day. Federer and Nadal fans, eat your hearts out. Cricket, frankly is beginning to pall. Without batting an eyelid, I can give the India vs Afghanistan clash the miss-in-baulk, if you will pardon my drawing freely from the Master’s canon. In this context, if you do not know who the Master is, you are beyond help.

That being the case, this plethora of choice is really an almighty headache. You  yearn for the days gone by, when we had Krishi Darshan, Chitrahaar, and the DD News every evening (‘agricultural production up by 3.6%, exports down by 6%, train crash near Balasore junction, 35 dead, Gavaskar notches up yet another century’) and we all went to bed by ten. But no, I have squandered much of my hard-earned moolah on this Sony Bravia 55 inch, a thing of beauty ‘that takes vision and sound to the next level with Cognitive Processor XR, that understands how the human eye focuses, cross-analysing images to give real-live depth, extraordinary contrast and beautifully vivid colours.’ And some unintelligible guff about delivering ‘pure black.’ After a spiel like that, and having shelled out a prince’s ransom, I have to make every rupee count. So, I sit and wonder what to watch. A Hamletian dilemma. Even my regular reading must take a back seat.

After all that cogitating, tearing my hair out and agonising, my smart remote quivering in my hand, I fall back on our news channels on national television. That is just to give me some breathing space while I decide what to watch on OTT. There is our beloved (for some and not for others) Prime Minister in saffron robes deeply involved in some rituals prior to the big, impending Ayodhya jamboree. Here are some leaders from the opposition parties pooh-poohing the PM’s demonstrable piety as little more than an elaborate election stunt. In the blink of an eye, one of the channels rustles up a quick survey to share with us what the public thinks of all this and how ‘this’ might or might not affect the fate of the respective political parties at the upcoming hustings. The PM’s party wins hands down! So what else is new(s)? At which point, I upbraid myself. Surely, I did not need to blow a large hole in my bank account to obtain this monster television set, merely to watch our anchors and political pundits going hammer and tongs at each other. I can get all that on cable or even a common-or-garden TV set. And if you want the verbals to get really down and dirty, there’s always Musk’s X factor.

I have my conscience to answer to. ‘Go back to Netflix,’ my conscience goads me. ‘Every minute you spend on Arnab Goswami, Rajdeep Sardesai or Navika Kumar is a gross waste of your hard-earned cash spent on this brilliant TV set,’ my conscience-keeper rubs it in. Sometimes I think it is the TV itself, in the garb of my inconvenient conscience, that is chiding me for my irresponsible splurging and viewing habits. It is a smart TV after all. Thank heavens AI has not yet intruded into my life, but that is only a matter of time. AI may already have surreptitiously insinuated itself without my even being aware of it. Scary.

As it happens, being a music lover, my smart TV also has the Spotify app, to which I have subscribed. To make it clear, Spotify is actually free-to-air, but a subscription will ensure a screechy advert does not interrupt right in the middle of one of M.S. Subbulakshmi’s divine Meera bhajans. Spotify gives me endless music across every conceivable category. Literally at my fingertips. I tell myself that I shall now sit at my desktop and type out a few lines of sketch for my next blog and to provide a bit of background inspiration, some soothing instrumental music is called for. Vocals need undivided concentration and will not aid the process of writing.

That being the case, perennial favourites Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Rashid Khan and Sanjay Subrahmanyan will not be among the shortlists. So, I flirt around with Lalgudi Jayaraman, Ustad Vilayat Khan, Miles Davis and John Williams. JW’s sublime guitar-plucking on Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez (colloquially known as ‘Orange juice’) or Vivaldi’s immortal Guitar Concerto in D is just what the doctor ordered. I guess the point I am making is that even when it comes to electing to listen to some good music on my Sony’s super sound system, with a Bose soundbar to add fidelity and heft, I am still at a loss to arrive at a swift decision. In that respect, I envy some of my relatives and friends who are monomaniacs on just one stream of music. Depending on which part of the country you come from, it just has to be Suchitra Mitra’s Rabindra Sangeet or Semmangudi Srininvasier’s essay in the raga Sriranjani. Or even, Pandit Kumar Gandharva’s celestial bhajans. And their ilk, naturally. Makes life simpler.

In the final analysis, my quandary remains unsolved. Lashing out good money on fancy home entertainment gizmos is all very well. However, if your upbringing constantly makes you hop towards and away from a variety of different forms of entertainment, like the proverbial chamois on the Alps, then you begin to question your wisdom. Which is exactly why I fished out my My Fair Lady DVD, gave it a good wipe and played it through my new system. Luscious photography, brilliant acting, superb songs and the film was released in 1964! Ah bliss! Old is gold! I have got my money’s worth. Paisa vasool!

Postscript: Since I touched upon the forthcoming Ayodhya celebrations where music will doubtless play its part, I am baffled as to why Carnatic music’s revered saint composer Tyagaraja’s compositions have not found a place in the programme schedule, at least to the best of my knowledge. I bring this up because the good saint composed almost all of his songs in praise of Lord Rama and these kirtanas form the staple diet of almost any Carnatic music concert since the beginning of time. They were all in Telugu but that matters not a whit. What could be more appropriate than a choice selection from Tyagaraja’s wonderful oeuvre to present on January 22^nd in honour of Ram Lalla? Think on that Ayodhya committee and let us have a strong whiff of south India as well in your proceedings.