A genre is usually defined as a category of programming that shares a set of codes and conventions such as program length, setting, characters, plot, social values, and ideologies. Although such generalised definitions are useful to begin with, they are rather inadequate to describe the specificity of a particular genre, or to address the many similarities across genres1. The question of genre definition is further complicated in post-colonial contexts such as India where the history of colonialism and the contemporary trends of globalisation disrupt neat categories and traditional distinctions. A key problem that confronts television programmers, academic scholars and media critics alike is that there are no easy markers to define a show as 'Indian', given the flexible capitalist structures of the global media industries and the hybrid cultural tastes of the viewers at home.

Some media scholars, such as Keval J. Kumar, have addressed the problem by simply defining 'Indian' genres as television shows based on Hindu mythological epics, such as Ramayan and Mahabharat, and film-based shows featuring song-and-dance sequences from Hindi cinema, such as Chayageet, Chitrahaar, and Antakshari2. Since most of the satellite television networks in India have now produced their own versions of Hindu epics and film-based shows in many regional languages, mythological epics and song-and-dance rotations are not only considered to be indigenous genres but also pan-Indian genres. By this definition, all other programming genres such as the sitcom, the soap opera, the police drama, the medical drama, the game show or the reality TV show are not 'Indian.' Instead, Indian versions of these genres, which are indigenously produced in English, Hindi and other regional languages, are seen as cheap imitations of 'Western' television shows. According to this view, what makes a television genre 'Indian,' is not just the physical location of its production, but also the certain sense of authenticity based on hegemonic notions of national identity and essentialist ideals of cultural history.

An alternative view, often embraced by many programmers and network executives in India, suggests that the growing competition among domestic and foreign television networks since 1991 has stimulated the indigenous production in a variety of genres such as daytime soaps, late night talk shows and reality TV shows to name a few . Although some Indian soaps, talk shows or reality shows may have started as copies or clones of American programs, industry experts argue that the intense competition in the television industry has forced both domestic and foreign networks to 'Indianise' these global genres to better connect with their viewers' cultural tastes and linguistic affinities.

Anand Mahendroo, the Managing Director of Advance Entertainment Network Ltd., believes that any genre can work in India if it can 'touch the hearts of the audiences3.' For Mahendroo, the key to successful television programming is 'getting the right mix.' A good example of a television show that has the right mix, Mahendroo argues, is Kaun Banega Crorepati (KBC) the Indian-version of the internationally-syndicated game show, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire4.

In 2000, when Star Plus Channel launched Kaun Banega Crorepati? (KBC), the Indian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, the show quickly became the biggest hit on Indian television. Hosted by the megastar of Hindi cinema, Amitabh Bachchan, KBC, and catch-phrases from the show such as 'lock kiya jaye,' 'computer-ji,' 'pucca,' and 'fifty-fifty,' became popular parlance in India. At first glance, KBC may seem very similar to the many versions of Who Wants to Be A Millionaire? produced in more than 30 countries under a franchise agreement with the London-based Celador Productions which produced the first version in Britain. The title of the Russian version of the show translates into English as 'Oh! Lucky Man,' while in the Spanish version the title reads '50 for 15' (which refers to the 50 million pasetas that the winner of 15 questions takes home as the grand prize)5. In the Indian version, 'crorepati' refers to the contestant who can win the ultimate prize of Rs. 1 crore (approximately US$ 220,000).

As with all the international versions of the Millionaire show, the producers of KBC were contractually obligated to reproduce, down to the exact detail, the trademark title design, the show's sets, music, question-format and the qualification process which are laid on in a 169-page document created by Celador Productions6. The studio setting for KBC consists of the standard blue background, while the foreground is well-lit to bring into focus an elevated stage with two seats in the middle for the host and the contestant, and a computer placed next to the host. The studio audience is seated around the stage, with the family members of the contestants seated prominently in the first few rows. The studio audience contributes to the pace and tone of the show by applauding for the correct answer, and observing in hushed silence as the stakes get higher for the contestants. The camera work, editing, lighting and music also contribute in creating a sense of suspense and relief in relation to the highs and lows of each contestant's fortunes. The host also plays an important role in creating and maintaining the ebb and flow of suspense and relief through the show by first making the contestants comfortable through light, informal conversation at the beginning, reminding them of the rising stakes as the show goes along, and nudging them to consider the use of lifelines for the more difficult questions. A quick conversation with the family members in the studio audiences, or an occasional joke at the expense of the contestant in the hot seat, a polite hello to the friend who calls in to help the contestant in a pickle, and finally a sense of empathy with the winners and losers alike; all help to personalise the host and make a connection with both the studio audiences and the television audiences.

In other words, the program format and the studio settings created for KBC are almost identical to all the other international versions of the Millionaire show. However, during the 2000-2001 season, when it was telecast for four days a week at 9:00 p.m. on Star Plus Channel, the show captured viewers' imagination in a manner not seen in Indian television since the serialisation of Ramayan and Mahabharat on Doordarshan in the late 1980s. Initially, the ratings for KBC were stratospheric with the first season enjoying a TRP rating of 14 (while most other shows on cable were struggling in the single digits). Although KBC's TRP rating fell to 10.2 in the following year, viewer interest remained very high, and Star TV continued to receive around 200,000 calls a day from potential contestants7. Fans of the show who could not, or did not want to, get on the show were just as eager to share a seat next to the Big B (as Amitabh Bacchan is popularly known in India).

Although some reasons for KBC's success may have to do with the trade-marked presentation and packaging of the Millionaire franchise around the world, it would be difficult to ignore the role that Amitabh Bachchan plays as the host of the show in making the show more appealing to Indian television viewers. In one of the more astute analysis of the Crorepati narratives, Shiv Visvanathan points to Amitabh's uncanny ability to create 'human interest' encounters with the participants of show, in spite of his status as a living legend in Indian cinema8.

It is important to note the reasons for Amitabh's uncanny ability to make a personal connection with the average television viewer cannot be understood by simply comparing his role as the host of KBC with the performance of other hosts of the Millionaire show such as Regis Philbin in the United States. Given Amitabh's status as the undisputed megastar of Hindi cinema, we must recognise that his performance as the host of KBC is akin to the role of a cultural translator who skilfully connects texts with audiences by drawing upon their common understanding of the codes and conventions of old and new genres.

Therefore, the reasons for KBC's unprecedented popularity cannot be understood in terms of an appeal to an essentialist notion of Hindu culture or a state-sponsored definition of Indian nationalism. Rather, KBC established its 'Indian' credentials by imitating an internationally successful game show and amending it just enough to make it appear sufficiently distinct from all the other shows in that genre. In other words, a television genre is not inherently 'Indian' by definition, but it can attain that status through a process of hybridisation and succeed when a television network is able to provide the 'right mix' of innovation and imitation in its programming and scheduling strategies.

In the Television Genre Book, Steve Neal points to the centrality of hybridity in underscoring, what he calls, 'the multidimensional nature of genre itself9.' According to Neal, several factors contribute to the multi-dimensionality of genres. Given the variety of genres, their diverse meanings within and across media, and their many uses for academics, critics, audiences and for the television industry, Graeme Turner proposes that we approaches the question of definition by thinking about the uses and limitations of genre as a meaningful category for its many constituents10.

For television researchers and scholars, Turner argues, genre functions as a 'means of managing TV's notorious extensiveness as a cultural form by breaking it up into more discrete or comprehensible segments11.' For those involved in the programming of television, on the other hand, genre serves as a useful device 'in the definition of a project by mapping its relation to other, similar texts.' Pointing to the crucial role that programming and scheduling strategies play in the definition of a genre, Turner argues that academics need to pay more attention to the work of the programmer. He writes

This essay critically evaluates the multidimensional work of the programmer in creating a common understanding of television genres by invoking the figure of the sutradhar usually found in classical and folk theatre in India.

Sutradhar
The term sutradhar literally translates as 'the one who holds the threads.' In classical Sanskrit theatre, the sutradhar is a central figure who combines various generic elements to create a coherent narrative by acting as a producer, a narrator, a director, and even a manipulator of the performance.

The work of programming in the television industry is more differentiated in its character than the work of the sutradhar in classical or folk theatres. For instance, the roles and responsibilities of key players in the creative processes of production and direction or the commercial processes of marketing and distribution are dispersed across many different departments with a television network. However, in order to explicate the multi-dimensionality of genre in television, it is useful to articulate the many roles played by actors, producers, directors and network executives in the work of programming through the composite figure of a sutradhar who mediates industry practices and audience expectations by being both within the text as a performer and beyond it as a programmer. In other words, work of the sutradhar in the text and on the stage or as an on-screen performer in television represents a key moment of articulation in the work of programming as it brings the audiences face-to-face with the net result of the work that actors, producers, directors, scriptwriters and network executives do behind the stage in theatre or off-screen in television.

There is a great variety in the linguistic, cultural and regional diversity of Indian theatre, and folk traditions. The Bhavai in Gujarat, Burra Katha in Andhra Pradesh, Jatra in Bengal, Nautanki in Uttar Pradesh, Tamasha in Maharashtra, Terukuttu in Tamil Nadu, and Yakshagana in Karnataka have all borrowed from the classical conventions of Sanskrit theatre. In these different versions of Indian theatre, the sutradhar deals with a variety of subject matters in a performance and always connects the themes to contemporary concerns.

The task of the sutradhar is often so complex in these performances that a side-kick called the vidushak is introduced onto the stage. The vidushak's role is akin to that of a clown or a jester. Using exaggerated gestures, excessive makeup and crude humour, the vidushak can take liberties with narrative themes, social issues and generic conventions in ways that the more serious sutradhar cannot. For instance, in some stage-versions of the Mahabharat in folk theater, the performance introduces a vidushak to provide humorous commentary, although literary versions of the epic do not allow for such interventions by a comic figure. In a similar vein, I seek to introduce the figures of the sutradhar and the vidushak to intervene in debates over genre in Indian television even though academic conventions in literary theory, film and television studies have not considered the multiple roles played by the programmer as central to the task of defining genres.

Indian Mythologies
Although television was introduced into India in 1959, for almost two decades the government of India used the national network, Doordarshan, as an instrument of social change, and produced programs which focused on issues like national integration, agricultural development, literacy, education, health and family welfare. However, things began to change during the 1980s, starting with the broadcast of the Asian Games which were held in New Delhi in 1982. For reasons of national prestige, among others, the government of India rapidly transformed Doordarshan's outdated technical infrastructure to provide colour transmission of the Asian Games to audiences within and beyond the country.

Following the successful transmission of the Asian Games, Doordarshan slowly moved away from its exclusive focus on educational programming and began experimenting with entertainment programming that was also seen as being socially responsible in the Indian context. On July 7, 1984 Doordarshan began broadcasting Hum Log (We the People); a part-educational and part-entertainment television serial that was based on a communication strategy designed by Miguel Sabido in Mexico to produce tele-novelas for social change and national development. As Arvind Singhal and Everett M. Rogers argue, 'Hum Log was an attempt to blend Doordarshan's stated objectives of providing entertainment to its audience, while promoting, within the limits of a dominant patriarchal system, such educational issues as family planning, equal status for women, and family harmony14.'

The story of Hum Log revolves around the everyday activities of a north-Indian joint-family, with each episode focusing on the triumphs and tribulations of one or more of the nine central cast members portraying characters across three generations. Although everyday conflicts and tensions in relationships between parents and children, grandparents and grandchildren, siblings and cousins provided the necessary elements to serialise the episodic narrative, nationalist issues of patriotic pride, family planning, gender relations and communal harmony also became central to the definition of Hum Log as the story of an 'Indian' family.

The unprecedented success of Hum Log paved the way for other 'socially-conscious' soaps like Buniyad (The Foundation), and commercially-sponsored sitcoms like Yeh Jo Hai Zindagi (That's Life). The introduction of Hum Log and Buniyad in the mid-1980s established the 'soap opera' genre as entertainment-educational programming and Yeh Jo Hai Zindagi paved the way for other commercially-sponsored sitcoms on Doordarshan. The telecast of Ramayan in 1987-1988 transformed the age-old mythological epic into a hybrid television genre that was part-religious, part-social, part-dramatic and part-soap-operatic. Even before the euphoria over the successful telecast of Ramayan had subsided, Doordarshan began airing a serialised version of another great Hindu epic, Mahabharat.

When it was first broadcast by Doordarshan in instalments between 1989 and 1990, Mahabharat outscored even the astronomical viewer-ship figures attained by the Ramayan serial which it had replaced in the 'prime time religion' hour on Sunday mornings. Mahabharat was reportedly seen with ritual regularity by over 90 per cent of all Indian television homes, transcending boundaries of religion, caste, class, language, region and political allegiance. As in the case of Ramayan, weekly household routines were reportedly organised around the Sunday telecast and family TV sets often became the site of community viewing. In Politics After Television, Arvind Rajagopal ascribes the phenomenal success of Ramayan and Mahabharat to the creative ways in which the producers of these television epics were able to re-define the mythological genre as 'dharmic serials15.' Commenting on the 'aura of spiritual sanctity' underlying the description of a television genre as a dharmic serials, Rajagopal writes,

In the first episode of the Mahabharat series, Time appears as the sutradhar to introduce the great diversity of plots, characters, settings and social values that can be found through the course of the epic. Cautioning against readings of Mahabharat as the story of a great battle between warring cousins called Kauravas and Pandavas, Time invites the viewer to take a journey further into the past to find the true origins of the great Indian epic. Claiming to have been a witness to the beginning of the story, Time speaks of an era when the noble king Bharta ruled over a vast empire stretching from the oceans to the south to the Himalayas in the north. Performing the sutradhar's function of connecting the new with the old, Time reminds the viewers that the name of the modern Indian nation-state in Hindi, Bharatvarsha, is derived from this originary kingdom of the Bharata clan in the Mahabharat epic.

Not surprisingly, the producers of Ramayan also used the figure of a sutradhar to situate the television serial in a long tradition of epic narratives over several centuries and across many cultures in the world. To take on this onerous task of creating a coherent narrative based on the many popular tellings of the epic, the producers of Ramayan cast Ashok Kumar, the venerated Hindi film star of yesteryears, as the sutradhar of the television series. Appearing at the beginning of the Ramayan serial, Ashok Kumar invites the viewer to situate the television epic in the historical legacy of the many Ramayans that came before in literature, theater, drama and cinema in a variety of languages not only across the geographical borders of India, but also beyond its shores in far away places such as Thailand, Russia, Germany and England. Describing the story of Ramayan as a morality tale for all ages, Ashok Kumar thus situates the television serial in a long-tradition of the mythological epic even as he volunteers to serve as the sutradhar for a new tele-visual genre that is part-mythological and part-contemporary for viewers in the Indian context.

Fans of Indian television in the 1980s, recognised Ashok Kumar not only as a famous movie star, but also as the sutradhar of the popular television serial Hum Log (1984) which predated both Ramayan and Mahabharat on Doordarshan by a good four to five years. Acting as the sutradhar for the many plots and sub-plots in Hum Log, Ashok Kumar lovingly called 'Dadda' as a mark of respect for his status as a grandfather [or an older brother in Bengali] in the Indian film industry regularly appeared at the beginning and the end of each episode to summarise the central themes of the 22- minute narrative. In his commentary, Ashok Kumar addressed the narrative conflicts and moral dilemmas of Hum Log in terms of their relevance for a typical Indian family that is caught between the cultural tensions of tradition and modernity in everyday life. At the end of his one-minute monologue, Ashok Kumar left the story in tantalising suspense, with an invitation to the viewer to find out what happens next in the story by tuning in to the next episode of Hum Log.

Over the course of the 156 episodes of Hum Log in 1984-85, as Ashok Kumar signed off each episode by translating the show's title into a different Indian language, his one-minute summary came to symbolise the programming agenda of Hum Log's producers who had learnt the art of making 'socially-conscious' soap operas from producers of tele-novelas in Mexico and Brazil. In the process they had also learnt to creatively 'Indianise' the genre by borrowing the figure of the sutradhar from the narrative traditions of classical Sanskrit theatre and regional folk forms in India. The introduction of Ashok Kumar in Hum Log, his re-appearance in Ramayan, and the recurring role of Time in Mahabharat underscore some of the creative ways in which the figure of the sutradhar was used to mediate within and across old and new genres, and thus aid the work of programming in Indian television during the 1980s.

Conclusion
The paper attempted to articulate the definition of genres to the work of programming in the television industry as a way to move the academic debate in television studies away from rigid taxonomies of indigenous vs. foreign shows, or global vs. local formats. As discussed in the first section of this essay, beginning in the early 1980s, programmers in the Indian television industry used the figure of the sutradhar to articulate the production practices of the new television genres of mythological epics and social dramas to more traditional media such as classical and folk theatre. In describing the work of programming in terms of the mediating function of the sutradhar and the vidushak in the mythological epic genre, I have argued for the need to recognise the industrial and cultural contexts in which television genres are produced, reproduced and consumed in India.

(Shanti Kumar is Assistant Professor of Media and Cultural Studies in the Department of Communication Arts at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He is the author of Unimaginable Communities: Television and the Politics of Nationalism in Postcolonial India (forthcoming) and the co-editor of Planet TV: A Global Television Reader)