Daily Times

Oh boy, I’m running late, my chai is still brewing on the stove; my stomach is grumbling these morning weddings I tell you, they can create a sense of panic in the attendees. My favourite celebrity who got married without inviting me is recreating all the events from her wedding, this time on a new TV channel. I will watch with anticipation as she goes through all the rituals and traditions once again for the audience. If at any moment my level of interest drops I simply have to switch the channel to witness another wedding of a different kind.

For the uninitiated, breakfast television in Pakistan roughly translates to bright blasts of energy with an overjoyed female host at the helm of affairs. She is the wedding planner, counsellor and gossipmonger all rolled into one. So effervescent is she that in comparison your own morning mood would appear as you are hung-over.

These morning shows cater mostly to housewives, a big part of the population that stays back home to bring up children and build their identity around family life. They deserve as much respect as any other professional. Not easy to work tirelessly without much incentive or gratitude, it’s a tough call, yet most of them make for great managers, overlooking everything from birthday parties to funerals.

I don’t know if your grannies were aeronautical engineers but mine were controlling all ministries of home life with their paandaan in tow! A different kind of power resides with these women; they are the builders of society, preparing people you and I will have to face tomorrow, both professionally and personally. However, with a fast moving world, these women need to be exposed to more discourses of life to broaden their horizon, and television is one school they regularly feed from. A simple Google images search on morning shows throws visuals of revelry surrounding weddings, all from Pakistan only! Morning transmissions in the west tend to talk about traffic updates, community news, or in the case of Canada people mostly tune in to watch the weather forecast, in order to decide the kind of jacket they need to wear for the day.

Many channels, countless nonfictional shows in Pakistan, but most remain religiously focused on keeping women where they ‘belong’: in front of the dressing table or in the kitchen, given the plethora of cooking shows beaming across as well. These females have been tricked into believing they are learning something new each day; this subliminal misogyny by TV producers cannot be overlooked. The topics are limited, and even if a few programmes have tried to tread off the beaten path they’ve all had to resort to doing their ‘dulhan’ (bride) week for the sake of ratings. Over the years a need has been created for such content: offer a handful of offers, a handful of options repeatedly, and the audience will soon become addicted.

The bridal industry generates huge revenue; at every corner there is a parlour ready to transform you; the Pakistani bride is a different species altogether as makeup artists have the herculean task of painting a new face over an existing one. The artist is both a plastic surgeon and a desi (local) avatar of Leonardo Da Vinci. They are invited on these shows frequently to display their talent. The average salon also charges a hefty fee for face decoration, so much so that it is advisable that a father of a newborn baby girl open a separate savings account for her right away, in order to cover the costs of her shaadi (wedding) ‘looks’ in time.

Our homemaker also graduated from knowing only Pakistani or desi Chinese dishes a few years ago to adding Indonesian and Malaysian cuisine, amongst others, to her résumé, thanks to the advent of private channels. The idea remains the same though: submit to your fate in the kitchen and channelise all efforts towards pleasing your in-laws through their potbellies.

Maybe today will be my lucky day because if it’s not raining marriages early morning on TV then it is home remedies day, weight loss day. Last time I drank a concoction for seven days, and I lost nothing but my mind. Maybe they’ll inform us about a new way to feel bad about our bodies. She, our host, has been given the task to keep women’s mind from exploring further, perfectly in line with our highly patriarchal society. Yes, they may dedicate a show to talk about the Kasur child molestation case but only as an after thought not as precaution. Rarely will there be a serious discussion on reproductive health, community service, or human rights in a morning show. In a country plagued with many issues it becomes pertinent to empower the homemakers so they too can evolve into independent thinkers, in order to add more value to a society whose foundations are shaky at the moment. Breakfast shows have this two-hour window of opportunity daily, but most are hell-bent on keeping women in a perpetual state of giddiness: mirroring the emotions of a new bride.

So when the aunty from upstairs goes on and on about the new lawn print out in the market and how she must attempt robbery on her husband’s wallet, I am reminded of a Jaun Elia couplet: “Kis liye dekhti ho aaina/Tum toh khud se bhi khoobsurat ho” (Why do you stare in the mirror, you are more beautiful than even yourself). As for me, I will just let my remote control find its way to Baby TV for it seems to enrich its innocent viewers more every day than the stagnant hullaballoo of the typical women-centric shows.

The writer is a freelance columnist with a degree in Cultural Studies and a passion for social observation, especially all things South Asian. She tweets @chainacoffeemug