You are lounging on your couch, sipping hot koffee, watching a glamorous reality show. Karan Johar and a bunch of celebrities—seven women, three from Delhi and four from Mumbai—are discussing, well, everything that the rich generally talk about, at a high-end Mumbai restaurant. There is fun and banter and a lot of leg pulling. The mood (predictably) changes, and there is (scripted) tension in the air. And then something happens that makes you keep your koffee aside. The conversation suddenly feels real, genuine. It feels very you.

“I’m on medication every morning and I have an SOS medication every evening. The idea of going to a party, a social event or a crowd scares the daylights out of me. I throw up in the mornings when I think about it. My knees shake. And yet, I have to go outside, face cameras and smile,” says Johar.

It was rather startling to see one of the most popular directors of Bollywood—known for his penchant for talking directly into the camera—share pearls of wisdom on how to cope with mental health issues in the third season of Fabulous Lives of (Vs) Bollywood Wives. This tailored vulnerability seems to be the running theme in the entire season—which has Bollywood wives of Mumbai and fabulous lives from Delhi reveal aspects of their personal lives.

Reality television has had a solid run in the entertainment scene for nearly two decades now. Ranging from music, dance and talent shows, to cooking, quizzes and adventure sports—the audience has now seen it all. Regional industries, too, have replicated these shows across the country and tasted popularity. Though shows like Bournvita Quiz Contest or Antakshari had started off quite early, reality TV really caught on only with the launch of Indian Idol in 2004 and Bigg Boss in 2006. Both the shows were based on popular reality TV formats from the UK and the US. Fabulous Lives, too, takes inspiration from the popular US-based reality show, Keeping Up With the Kardashians.

The major selling point of this format lies in its “unscripted” nature—but the occasional well-timed controversies reveal strategic scripting for the eyeballs. Even with this awareness, the thrill for the viewer lies in second-guessing how much of these shows is genuinely unscripted, not to mention the high-octane drama amongst the participants, which keeps the viewers hooked. The show is driven by the popular, albeit misogynist, perception that women fighting with each other makes for good TV.

The third season of Fabulous Lives too, has certain instances of petty fights that the makers gloss over in its trailer. In the Karwa Chauth episode, the Mumbai ladies—Maheep Kapoor, Bhavana Pandey, Seema Sajdeh and Neelam Kothari Soni—find out that Delhi-based socialite and art collector Shalini Passi and designer Kalyani Saha Chawla have commented on an Instagram post by journalist Shobhaa De, where she calls the Bollywood wives “thakela” and “vacuous”. The Bombay ladies are furious and Johar has to intervene.

In another episode, a face-off between Passi and Chawla unfolds when Passi says that she “doesn’t do lunches”. Chawla counters her, saying that she’s seen quite a few posts of her at lunch on her Instagram. To this, Passi takes offence and flings her phone in front of Chawla, asking her to show what she is talking about. Both Chawla and Riddhima Kapoor Sahni are baffled by Passi’s response, when she eventually leaves the room, stating that “she doesn’t want her life trivialised at all”.

The latest season, however, also has a major chunk of its episodes diving deep into their personal struggles. While Kapoor discusses her battle with diabetes, Sajdeh addresses the aftermath of her divorce with her son. Soni’s revelations about being confronted by her daughter about her earlier life and divorce also find significant screen time. A sequence in Episode 3 shows Passi in session with her psychotherapist, Samantha Spiro, on camera.

Why this indulgence in vulnerability? It is clear that the show relies on the formula of offering glimpses into their unattainable lives. However, the last few years have seen an increase in the trend of revelations on personal mental health, both on social media as well as in entertainment shows. Koffee With Karan has also seen recent episodes where superstars have offered insights into their personal battles with deteriorating mental health. These episodes have helped the show gain a lot of traction among viewers. Perhaps, Fabulous Lives attempts to mirror these trends in a bid to stay relevant in a hyper-saturated mediascape. The attraction for the viewer lies in the fact that despite all their wealth and social stature, the personal lives of these celebrities also echo the same crises that many of us mango people go through. One can only wonder about these formal choices of the show. But one thing is for sure: Fabulous Lives has made it cool to have fifty-something women—with grown up children, sometimes divorced and single—as stars of a show that appeals to viewers across age brackets. It has managed to bust the myth of women in the entertainment industry having shorter shelf lives. Somewhere, very gently, we can hear a glass ceiling cracking.

The Ocean of Privilege

In the second episode, Sajdeh meets social-media sensation Orry over drinks. She wants him to help promote her new fashion line. Orry tells her how her fashion line doesn’t need him, but her own unbridled, unapologetic ‘true’ self. The sound piece of marketing advice falls on deaf ears, and Seema continues to prod Orry for a favour. She wants her brand to go viral, but by latching on to the closest ‘viral’ entity around her.

Wealth and privilege might be bestowed upon many, but there are only a few who manage to break through the clutter. Orry is one such. A self-proclaimed ‘liver’, he’s made a name for his eccentric soundbites and for turning his narcissistic tendencies into theatre. His is an empire built on selfies. Orry shows Sajdeh a card-swiping machine attached to his phone cover. Each time someone wants to take a selfie with him, he can charge them for it then and there. While they monetise the attention he gets, these quirks make someone memorable, in an ocean of privileged folk.

It also explains the curiosity Passi has evoked after the latest season. Born into wealth, the 49-year-old is married to the renowned businessman, Sanjay Passi. The Bollywood wives might roll their eyes at her—but Passi’s got what none of them has—a self-assured personality. She might be called an ‘art installation’, her house might be dubbed a ‘museum’, but her over-elaborate ways communicate a fiercely curated image, which requires genuine commitment.

Seeing Passi dabble in classical music, dance, art curation and non-profit initiatives—it would be the easiest thing to dub her as another bored rich person. But over the course of the third season, we see flashes of self-awareness in her. We also see her asserting herself in situations where some of the other wives would simply be each other’s flunkies —purely so they’re not accused of being ‘difficult’. Passi rarely shows herself getting bogged down by the Bollywood wives’ ‘sophistication’, which always seems to be judging her.

They might be privileged, but the show’s primary characters—the Mumbai ladies—seem content in basking in the glow of the famous people around them, playing dutiful wives and fussing over their star daughters.

Kapoor seems to be trying very hard to fit into an Indian Samantha Jones mould—especially with her incessant F-bombs. What’s shocking is how the four women have failed to move beyond their bland, one-note, catty personalities over three seasons, while Passi has shaken things with just one.

Sure, some might ask why people like Passi and Orry can’t be more graceful with their wealth. Why flaunt? Well, when you don’t have mundane things to worry about, the question is rather: why not?

Friendships and Cliques

The show is a tug of war between two uber-privileged cliques—the Mumbai and Delhi groups—each arguing that neither of them is one. Both sides maintain tight, territorial impulses. The Delhi girls may get some extra brownie points in at least putting in an obtrusive effort to be welcoming. The Mumbai gang visibly keeps distance. The quartet doles out condescension and ample bitchiness.

Desperately trying to adhere to reality TV templates, the show especially accentuates the constant reactionary impulses of the women. Passi states umpteen times that she can’t fit in. She asserts that she can’t afford to bury herself in just reacting to what someone has said and fussing over that all day long. She has got to work. Hence, any chunk of time she spends with them is awfully precious. This show of one-upmanship, she insists, holds no appeal to her.

The Bollywood wives pride themselves on their intimacy with one another. It’s what they don’t see reflected in the Delhi group and they don’t miss a beat to rub that in. Kapoor and Soni gloat over the apparent lack of closeness among Passi, Chawla and Sahni. One in the Delhi trio adds that they do know each other but wouldn’t exactly call themselves BFFs. This only fuels the Mumbai clan to conclude that the Delhi clan isn’t tight.

The Bollywood wives are overeager to claim the mantel of best of chums. So, it’s not just a city comparison that’s hammered but also a brash pitting of one friendship against the other. Passi’s sense of style exemplifies what the Bollywood wives reiterate as the Delhiite’s OTT tendencies. She loves making splashy, head-turning, endlessly dramatic entrances. She has infinite quirks but keeps her private life reserved. Deferentially, the show works to sheath her enigma. Nothing is divulged on her past or how she built her art patronage, except a teeny-weeny backstory of a “simple housewife” who toiled away at being funnier and hip.

But the connections feel specious, the weave between the two groups under-addressed beyond the overt contrasts. Mostly, the show never leaves the perspective of the Bollywood wives, identifying Passi as an antique piece—one that inspires awe and eye rolls in the same breath. We get the drift of the patina of Dharmatic Production being the reason crunching the two groups together and against each other. The show charts failed attempts at bridging the chasm. Friendship and its non-judgemental space are posited as the prerogative of just the Mumbai troop. Johar pops up to play the mediator in two situations of conflict. Among the Delhi socialites, you encounter awkward, restive silences. The show denies the viewer any glimpse of the comfort, the trust they may find in each other.

This equation of how the Bollywood wives perceive themselves vis-à-vis the other pretends to shift over the season’s trajectory. It’s marked by a fair share of tussle, a refusal to ack-nowledge that one may have been a bit too hard-nosed about their self-worth. Ultimately, however, both coteries backflip openness and redraw the wedge between them. Despite intermittent candid chats, rifts that have grown over time, Fabulous Lives remains an incurious curation of portraits.

(This appeared in the print as 'Swagger Vs Sass')