Every family has its own characteristics My father, my brother, and I are all miserable. None of us experience instant gratification. The reasons are all different. My father is irritable, my brother is anxious, and I am bitter. Between the three of us, there could be one moderately unwell person. Instead, we are more optimistic than ever as a planet orbiting the sun, hoping that some of its brilliance will come our way on a regular basis.
My mother believes in a positive spirit. Things do get better, everyone is doing their best, and it's better to be surprised by harm than to always expect it. I was laid off from my job in April 2023 and she immediately put me at ease. “Everything always works out,” she said. But for the first time, I noticed a tinge of anxiety on her face. It looked like it was losing its luster.
Later, I found out that my mother had hidden something important from my brother and me for a month. Her mother had undergone a biopsy to find out if she had breast cancer. Within weeks of her 69th birthday, she underwent surgery to remove the tumor. Her doctors told her she would need a debilitating surgery, and then she would need extensive radiation therapy. For just under a year, she underwent treatment and steadily changed. She became like the rest of us: sour, nihilistic, impenetrably dark. I had never seen that before and didn't know what to do other than change her mind. Who was this woman? Every few weeks I went back to her house to find her mother.
Cancer robbed my mother of most of her joys. The food was tasteless at best and inedible at worst. She pantomimed vomiting after every meal, pushing aside plates of cheese and crackers like a child. The radiation made her head foggy and it was difficult to understand her books and movies. She couldn't find anything interesting on TV anymore. She didn't think I was very interesting either. No matter what the day was like, she was grumpy and crying. Amidst her discomfort, there was only a moment of joy. She ate Rummy after lunch, applied a heating pad to her breasts, and wore a mastectomy bra that she lied that was given to her for free to avoid any discussion about cost. But nothing brought her more consistent joy than the Hindi version of “American Idol.” New episodes aired twice a week and we used to record them and watch them after dinner. Only on “Indian Idol” did she stand upright and sing along with her eyes peeled.
I was thankful that there was no conflict. We focused on a world where everyone is a winner.
Indian Idol, which just completed its 14th season, has been airing since 2004 and has aired 179 episodes so far. My parents paid a premium for a South Asian TV channel ('this“But what's wrong with Cartoon Network?” I used to mutter as a kid), and the reruns seemed to play every day for months. “Why isn't anyone fired?” I asked her mother after watching the same contestant on the show three weeks in a row. “Oh, it’s going to take a while,” she said, which was a big deal. Whenever she spoke at all, it was always a big deal. “Everyone always seems to get the same number of votes.”
When you watch “American Idol,” or as I watched it as a kid, “Canadian Idol,” you realize that the most interesting part of the show is the brutal, often cruel criticism that the contestants face. You will understand. But that doesn't happen on “Indian Idol.” All the contestants there are some of the greatest singers I've ever heard (the show usually features contestants who sing the vocally demanding catalog of Bollywood songs very well). The show is structured in such a way that you can go weeks without losing. There is a non-competitive audition and coaching stage, which takes place over an extended period of time. Viewers seem to appreciate the chance to watch months of truly great karaoke, no matter who wins in the end.
I don't like reality shows, but I've grown to like “Indian Idol.” I cherished that repetition week after week. The rules made no sense, the music was redundant, and there was no real tension. When I watched it with my mom, the judges rarely had a bad word to say about someone's performance. In fact, there was no friction at all. The worst thing this show did was engage in vague poverty porn, portraying most of the cast as low-income, desperate people who only care about family and religion. However, I am thankful that there were no conflicts. We focused on a world where everyone is a winner. In the episode we watched together, all of the contestants survived another week.
It was that sameness of “Indian Idol'' that sustained us as we weathered the unpredictable reality of our mother's illness. “Will my mother eat today?” Will her pain be so debilitating that she will cry all afternoon? Will she sleep? Do drugs make clarity impossible?Is today the day for she, or because of her cancer? Who cares! You could also placate her with a THC edible or two, maybe a piece of fruit, during “Indian Idol.” Her eyes will open. We were able to forget about the loss of the daily life we had taken for granted.
My mother just turned 70 and is currently in remission. I went back to her house to meet her on her birthday. She rejected most of my advances. There were no big parties, no banquets, and no great attention. “Maybe some dim sum would be nice,” she said of the dinner reservation just for us, the sun, and our ugly little planets. It was the first time since her diagnosis that food seemed to be able to bring her joy again. I can trick myself into believing things are fine the way they are. There are few guarantees in life, but there are two things I know for sure. My mother is currently cancer free. And no one will be kicked off “Indian Idol” this week.
Source photo: Getty Images
Scaachi Koulis is an Emmy-nominated reporter, podcaster, and writer. Her second essay collection, Sucker Punch, will be published in March 2025.