From soap operas to Instagram reels: Have we lost the plot on love and marriage?

Between the Asiatic cholera and the Covid pandemic, another scourge that had afflicted the subcontinent was the television soap opera . The typical symptoms of the contagion that hit every household in the region, irrespective of religion and social status, included nausea, vomiting, and headache among others. A venomous mother-in-law, and a slew of daughters-in-law battling each other to win her over and snatch the key to power and richness hanging from the chatelaine of the lady of the house.

The victims, or martyrs, in the conflict that rocks the haveli from the very first episode to the last over several years, include DILs who self-immolate, hapless sons who shoot own mums, and revengeful sisters-in-law setting fire to the kitchen, et al.

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Fast forward to another decade, we have had a series of mythological productions where deities, demons and even biblical characters used drone-like machines to kill dragons and snakes, fired fake patriotic missiles and threw fake rocks and even mountains made of cardboard.

Those were the days of 24 carat harmony with the have-nots who couldn’t afford to buy the idiot box crammed into the living room of any good neighbour to watch those mega serials. The Muslims opened their doors to the Hindus and the Hindus to the Christians and the Christians to the Dalits so that no Indian was left out of the last bus to salvation.

Then came the era of the smart phone which offered a handy alternative to the television. Movie clips to soundtracks to falsehoods were watched and shared by millions in a few seconds. Social media, even at its nascent stage, turned out to be more contagious and deadlier than the Covid pandemic. The elixir to all maladies that have afflicted humankind — samples of Ganga jal to zamzam and the holy water blessed by a priest in St Peter’s Basilica in Rome— were bottled and sold through social media. Greedy humans mint and lose money on the platforms. Love is pronounced and divorces are handed through social media. Life is at the mercy of digital creators like Mark Elliot Zuckerberg, Sam Altman, Larry Page and Sergey Brin.

Coming to this moment, when I write this column with no help from ChatGPT or DeepSeek or Copilot, humans are entertained, educated and serenaded by reels of few seconds. Corporate marketing to financial tips, movie to tech reviews, infotainment to terror classes, and philosophies to literature were reeled out by those who haven’t even stepped into the corridors of knowledge in a university. Some uncanny real estate influencers lead you to bankruptcies, some yesteryear stars promoting shortcuts to richness show you the door to hell, self-styled literati rendering verses of love push you down the nunatak of romance, and self-styled educators promoting unlisted unis abroad shut the doors of knowledge on unscrupulous youngsters.

The reel-o-mania is so deep-rooted in every stratum of society it sucks the juice of life from the veins of a civilisation. Yours truly, who typically hits the bed past 2am, now wakes up before sunrise and lies down on a recliner to watch reels about key institutions that make up a perfect marriage. Not because I am going to a divorce attorney tomorrow morning, but because I am aghast at the negative campaigns these influencers have embarked on.

To me about 90 per cent of reels that come up on my screen make a mockery of marriage, mostly painting the female partners in bad shades. They are invariably portrayed as wicked, power-hungry, money-minded, plotters and dumbos whereas the men are clever, hardworking breadwinners and loving and caring yet victims of a one-sided game called marriage. The same old soap opera of patriarchy and misogyny.

Like my colleague Karishma asked me the other day, why is the universe plotting against the institution of marriage? It’s a sacred union of two minds solemnised to last forever and ever, regardless of what they are. It’s on the partners to work towards becoming inseparable soulmates or to make amends to live and let live under one roof as best friends. It’s small things that make a successful marriage: Respect for each other’s personality, giving and taking the much-craved-for freedom and space, being there for each other and being the first to wipe each other’s tears and share each other’s joy. And the rest, as they always say, is love and luck.

And there’s this new breed of love-fluencers who eulogise hearts that never unite. They celebrate and cherish failed romance as the one that is heavenly. As if the planet is like a pigeon-hole too small to accommodate genuine love.

But there are some geniuses like India’s ‘spoken word artist’ Shachi Pathak whose rendering of a verse transports me to a different world. She prefers love to be nipped in the bud in order to preserve its purity, sanity and sanctity. Like a stillborn child. The verse serenades me into a trance where the Father sprinkles holy water in Commendation of the Dying of a big dream. In the hope of a second coming. Amen! 

suresh@khaleejtimes.com

Suresh Pattali

suresh@khaleejtimes.com