Leaving Ekta to her own devices, lets address the question at hand: how to make TV serials. Not the high-brow stuff from BBC nor the investigative ones by Panorama which shut down banks and make dictators quake in their highly-polished boots; but simple ones in Hindi. Some might say that all Hindi serials are simple, in the Shakespearian sense, but that is stating the obvious.
Why would anyone want to make Hindi TV serials? A fair question especially if you have seen any. The prospect of making oodles of money is as good as any. Despite all that has been said about money, the way it is made, how it corrupts people etc, I would any day settle for more of it than less. Even if I had to make Hindi serials to accomplish that objective.
OK, now that we've gotten out of the way Ekta Kapoor (and her jumping jackass father), money, and the philosophical reasons for making TV serials, we can get on with the ingredients. Like we need eggs (and parsley, chopped onions, mushrooms, cheese) to make omelets there are certain essential ingredients we need for making Hindi serials. Like some Indian mothers and mothers-in-law. These should preferably be in ghungat, widowed young, extremely domineering and ready to shed a tear or two to bend the son's ears. Ah yes, with the cunning of Machiavelli, wily as a fox and ruthless as Hitler, all rolled into one. Sort of Sonia Gandhi on steroids.
Then you need some menfolk. Sons: Effete, stupid, sucklings and wholely without any redeeming features. That is if you don't consider well-shaven chests as redeeming. Metrosexuals on opioids. Fathers and Grandfathers galore: misogynistic widowers in ridiculous stick-on hair on scalp and upper lips. The types who believe that women's place is in the kitchen and a daughter in law is merely a “maid with benefits”. The latter should have attractive names like Rollei (as in the now defunct German camera), be sati-Savitris and entirely without any attractiveness. In short well-accomplished bur asexual domestic maids. Despite their nicknames they are neither toasty nor do they simmer. They are far from hot. They also address their boyfriends / husbands as Mr.so-and-so or Dr so-and-so. If a martian were watch an Indian TV serial he could be excused for thinking that human relationships are based on sense of duty where affection and attraction have no role to play.
Then you need some assorted royal families, complete with Maharanis, Yuvrajs and Yuvranis. Never mind that Indira Gandhi abolished them over 40 years ago; somebody forgot to tell the producers and the audience. The list cannot be complete without mentioning the expressions on the faces of the princesses which is best described as one of surprise occasioned by ingress of unpleasant objects in unmentionable places. They all call each other Maharaj-ji or Maharaniji- or Princess-ji or whatever-ji and have great big dinners wearing funny outfits in great big gilded halls. Oh, by the way, no matter how middle-class the family is with howsoever many mouths to feed, they all must live in great big houses. With interiors by a deranged designer (or a Gujju, which is the same thing).
Put all these ingredients in whacking a great box and give it a great big shake and pick your combination or permutation.
Add some accidents, hospitals, grievous injuries treated with bits of BandAid and hideous knock-off of western musical themes and voila! You have been transformed into Ekta Kapoor .
I don't blame you if you don't want to be so transformed.
