I remember the days all four of us – Papa, Maa, Brother and I – used to sit together in the living room ( which was more like a multi-purpose hall ) and watch Gopi Bahu and the soaps that followed. It was the time when our ancient tv ran on cable. There were limited channels, and that sonofabitch cablewallah kept trimming English channels every month. He first removed Pix, and then CC and AXN, and soon, Fox Crime and TLC were also taken away. The day he removed Fashion TV, he became a certified arsehole. And from that day, I started watching soaps, because the continual existence of soap channels was almost guaranteed. Nobody dares to mess with housewives, afterall.
I was never interested in these pathetic operas, however, the only other long-term availability was CID, which severely lacked hot women. I mean they had Dr. Tarika as the female lead, whose job was almost always confined to pulling dented bullets out of dead bodies and beholding them in a contemplative glance. On the other hand, soap operas, despite featuring a torturous plot, had hot sluty vamps and steamy suhagrat scenes. I was in love with Sanaya Irani and Jennifer Winget for quite a long time. My mother had often caught me gaping at the romantic scenes, and she would always have something to say in those situations.
“Would you, like, close your mouth at least? “She’d say, and I’d be red with embarrassment.
In the early stage of adolescence, I had faked asexuality for a long time; but then, one day, we were watching a comedy show and they started showing Durex Condom commercial in the break, and instead of switching the channel, I saw it full, sitting between my parents. Nobody moved a muscle for the next few minutes.
Once they figured out their son knew more than they’d assumed, they were okay with me watching soaps. But my mother never missed a chance to troll me.
“Only watch, okay? Don’t do it. “She’d warn me, and I’d only feel like a sex offender.
Papa had been nicer, and we often watched monkeys and elephants mating on Discovery Channel. But that didn’t mean I could tell him about the porn DVDs hidden behind the stacks of textbooks in my shelf. Nor could I tell him about the sultry magazines, nor what I usually did when they weren’t home. This level of frankness doesn’t exist in India, and I’m grateful for that.
Soaps became quite interesting with time. Earlier, the gaze of the hero was sufficient to make the heroine orgasm, but now, there was some caressing and skin-show, and also, the distance between the lips had shortened. The plot continued to suck, but it didn’t matter. There was always some hot bimbo trying to seduce the hero, and the hero, no matter how pure and all, always fell for the bait. Later, they covered it by showing in flashback how the vamp had mixed viagra tablets in his milk or something.
In fact, after some time, I was so hooked that I’d often watch those soaps in the absence of my parents, and fantasize the sexy bombshells. But there were some exceptions to my fantasy. Nobody can fantasize Gopi Bahu, for instance, because she is weird as hell. The people who write such characters should be quarantined in the first place. Even Homo Habilis (800 cc) had a better conceptualization!
But vamps were smart, except in their last days, when they made unbelievably silly mistakes, or the heroine’s favorite God got angry and screwed up their game. My mother would tell me to note how girls were evil and all, and I’d always laugh it off.
“They trap you, son. Stay away. “She’d say and I’d exchange looks with Papa, and we’d chuckle, and she’d silence us with a glare.
“You’re right. “Both of us would say, and she’d nod in acknowledgement.
It remained like that for some time, and then, IPL came up, and as it ended, the cablewallah returned Fox Crime and Fashion TV.
I stopped watching soaps after that.