Alas, my eureka moment didn’t come in a bathtub. We don’t have one. It’s bad enough trying to fit a commode in a DDA toilet – even Anarkali was provided more legroom for her swansong by her father-in-law. No, it came as I tried to shield my eight-year-old from getting to know more of Rakhi Sawant. Not more about, mind, but more of, given her outrageous belly-dancing clips that were dispatched in an endless loop on a news channel, just like how we as raucous kids used to dispatch an Ambassador to energise the damn thing.

“Who is this Rakhi aunty, Papa?”, he asked me as I came in-between him and the TV, trying to arbitrate some sense of morality in the family unit.

“Er…she’s an actress”, I said and turned around to see if this was indeed true. It most certainly was not! Her flesh-ripplings and judderings would’ve made a jackhammer operator proud. Bloody hell, I thought, can a human body really do that?!

I am sure, though, that my little brat knows more about Rakhi aunty than I give him credit for. Kids today, I tell you. Half his classmates have facebook accounts – those are the only friend requests I get incidentally. And you should see what they do when they meet-up: Lee-Hesh “chest-fives” and weird finger juxtapositions (I only know how to indicate a telephone receiver). And the songs they know, my god: Fevicol, Sheila ki Jawani, Munni Badnaam, Ishq Kameena…enough to make you go red in front of your father as he slaps his thighs intermittently while appreciating MLV. (“I say, son, where is that choir hum coming from? And who is Sheila?”)

One thing is clear. Our news channels are not meant for our kids. And I don’t mean to hurt the feelings of Rakhi and Munni – by all means it is a bona fide dance form that might even get the “Classical” label soon. But what about the rest of the stuff that’s there on these channels? How do I explain to my howling son that we can’t take a day-trip to the Indo-China LAC that’s gone all green and enticing, what with the fake night-vision layovers and video game-like atmospherics? Or for that matter to meet Sant Asaram Bapu, explained away earlier by me as the Indian Santa Claus. No amount of “Sorry, beta, but Santa uncle is presently away on special duty”, would stem the vigorous shirt-pulling.

Then there was this blasted ND Tiwari saga that I found particularly painful to explain. Yes, the interloper showed up unexpectedly on a news channel recently during a panel discussion on naughty governors, or at least his misdemeanours and one-foot-in-the-grave walk did. Aghast, I tried switching channels but it was too late. Here is a brief transcript of the conversation that flowed between father and son:

“How old is ND Tiwari uncle, Papa?”

“I don’t know – 90?”

“You can have a son even at 90?”

“Er…sure you can.”

“How?”

“What do you mean ‘how’?”

“Is Tiwari aunty also 90?”

“No. I hope not.”

“But you and Mummy were the same age when I was born, isn’t it…?”

“Son, look: a spider.”

“But why is Tiwari uncle saying he’s not the father?”

“Because he’s saying so. You want Gems?”

“But his son and his son’s mummy are saying that Tiwari uncle is the father.”

“Alright, dammit. What flavour?”

“One spicy tadka pan-personal, one garlic bread with cheese, and one chocolate truffle…”

So here’s what struck me: why not have a news channel exclusively for kids? After all, don’t we have children’s books and children’s films? Why should we banish our kids from the TV room the moment a hairy Cyclops takes over the screen with the day’s blood-curdling vaardaats? Why should I spend my quality-time explaining to my son all these sex and corruption scandals? And finally, why should Arnab uncle and Sagarika aunty scowl at millions of kids who might’ve exposed themselves inadvertently to their radiation? Don’t the poor sods get enough of the same – in tenor and spittle – from their teachers during the day?

Seemed reasonable to me, the idea. Very, in fact! I forgot about Rakhi aunty and her gyroscopic manifestations of the inner soul (that’d be what they’ll call it fifty years from now) and pounced on a pen and notepad and left the room, leaving unanswered the innocent query: “Papa? Why is Sagarika auntie shouting so much? Did she not get her return-gift?”

Within minutes I had the bare bones all sorted. This could work, I thought, this really could. I embarked on filling out the empty space the other side of the colons with my frantic scribblings. 

Name of channel: Kids Today. 

Type of channel: 24×7, and multiple re-runs with a ‘LIVE’ tag on top right-hand corner, as is the norm for all news channels.

News-gathering: Shit happens outside Delhi’s Lutyens Zone, so keep it bare minimum, with one reporter stationed in Noida, another in Gurgaon, and the anchor in LBZ. The Noida reporter will cover extensively all issues pertaining to the regions south and east of Noida, including UP, Bihar, Bengal, the Seven Sisters and all the southern states. The Gurgaon one will manage the area west of Gurgaon. This includes Pakistan, Europe and – if time permits – USA. The anchor, meanwhile, will see to it that the other two bastards work their socks off. He may occasionally make flying trips to war-torn regions for “blue-ribbon” reporting.

I pondered for a moment and struck off the last sentence. What war-torn reporting – this was a kids news channel, for crying out loud! If need be, a quick trip to the nearest playschool would suffice. Afghanistan is child’s play compared to this “theatre”.

Exclusivity: Keep it strictly news-based. No cartoons or films. Can have slot for entertainment capsules at night, though. But interview only child stars and starlets and children of celebrities. Can have Bollywood-based shows on weekends, but only kids’ songs and child actor-oriented feeds.

Funding: Equity based; all strictly above-the-table. Approach Ambanis. Behl. Jains. Shobhana. Marans. Kalmadi. Spectrum holders. Bansals. Coal-block owners.

Type of interview shows: Seedhi Baat. Takkar. Frankly Speaking. Devil’s Advocate. Find a child who can grimace and narrow his eyes and grind his teeth and at the same time have the ability to say whoopsie-daisy and happy-chappy and tally-ho. Bow-tie essential.

Type of news shows: Primetime debates. But keep studio costs to a minimum. Mothers to make most props, to design anchor counter-table as well. Panellist chairs stools – borrow from crèches.

Type of debates: Sizzling, vigorous, with lots of shouting. But no debates on shrinking economy or fudged GDP data. No reporting of the collapsed health system. No analysis of unkept government promises. No discussion of poverty or state apathy. Excellent! This’d make it like any other adult news channel and therefore eligible for TAM ratings. On weekends, to give the viewers a breather, exclusive emphasis on children’s events like birthday parties, picnics, jamborees, etc.

Type of panellist: All baba log. Provide an anteroom adjoining the studio where mothers and au pairs can wait and look after the panellist’s every need, like soothers, diapers, etc.

Type of questions: Unanswerable. Difficult. Painful. Thorny. Planted.

Accessories: Empty Ben10 water bottle in front of each panellist.

Type of Anchor: Crucial to get this right. Does Arnab have a little son or a daughter?? Check.

I slept with the idea. In the morning it sounded even better. That’s until I switched on the TV and discovered that the CBI was being whipped by the Supreme court like Hema Malini in Kranti. The officers were suddenly writhing like her, too, petrified of towing the government line and manufacturing false affidavits and charge sheets. Fat chance now of them declaring all coal block owners innocent. Oh, no, I winced – that’s my funding gone! Now I might have to wait another year, perhaps two, until the real brain behind the Rs 48 lakh crore Thorium Scam emerged from the woodwork.

But these things happen. I must not lose hope. As someone said: “No power on earth can stop the scam whose time has come”. Now who was that, I wonder…