Hmm. It's a question worth five million rupees. What would you be willing to do on national television to win this huge amount? Going by what happens on reality shows, quite a lot actually. For example, recently in one episode of NBC's Fear Factor, I saw contestants having to eat platefuls of stuff in which the only recognisable things were raw kidneys and intestines of a fairly large beast and live maggots, each about the length and thickness of my little finger. Swallowing before thoroughly chewing each mouthful of this unimaginably delicious provender would lead to instant disqualification. Naturally, nobody swallowed - because the prize money was $50,000. That's just Rs 2.3 million. The fact that the contestants were all very attractive female models for whom money shouldn't be difficult to come by is irrelevant because as the very wise Wallis Simpson once said, "You can never be too rich or too thin." Or too famous, I might add.

Fortunately for all of us, things are a lot more, er, palatable on Bigg Boss, (other than some of the lady contestants' often minimalist clothing that gives itsy-bitsy a bad name and leaves very little to the imagination), chota beta of the international hit reality show, Big Brother. The first Big Brother, the brainwave of Dutchman, John De Mol, went on to become a hit in over 70 countries and put the man on Forbes' 500 richest persons in the world. The Indian version proclaims to be the 'baap of all daily soaps'. Is it really?

Let's see now. Thirteen people shut away from the world for 100 days with nothing to do but conspire how to kick out the other 12 housemates and win the prize money of Rs 5 million. Now that has to be a potent devil's workshop. Which it is. Bitching and backbiting that would make any kitty party session look like a bhajan mandali, the men beating the women by points. Politicking that would make Machiavelli commit hara-kiri. Loyalties shifting and friend turn into foe and back again with an unctuous smoothness that would shame our most seasoned netajis. All happening in the shadow of the 'confession' room, where each contestant goes every day to bare his/her soul to Bigg Boss and to the nation and every Sunday to make that weekly, secret, vicious twist of the dagger - the nomination of a housemate for eviction. And in case we start to think, "Holy cow, what a nasty bunch of critters," every now and then, they weep and beat their chests about how they're not in this for the money (yeah, right, you just like the Tang that they serve here) and how 'waaaaaah-I-wanna-go-home-to-my-mummy'.

Of course, we could do with a little more er, romance. Yeah, yeah. I know - Aryan-Anupama. Cho-chweet and everything but in this day and age when the average bahu in your daily soap is having at least two children in between hubbies - banana bread has more sizzle. We were hopeful of 'something' brewing between Carol 'Angel' Gracias and Ravi 'Bhojpuri Bachchan' Kissen. (After all, foot massages in the middle of the night should lead to 'something', is it not?) But after Ravi's worried wife sent a loaded card to Carol, she righteously declared to all that they were just good friends (now why does that sound so familiar?) and in case we (and the wife) still had any doubts, nominated him for eviction. When she tearfully confessed to this to Ravi, it effectively nipped all chances of any 'something' in the bud. (Needless to say, Ravi returned the compliment by nominating Carol the following week and both are still in the game.)

And it's all asli, they'll have us believe. Thirty (or is it 28) cameras secreted in every nosey-parker nook and crevice of the house (toilets not included) to capture every excruciatingly real blackhead-squeezing, nose-picking moment. 24x7. All in all, stuff that should have set at least Mahim Creek on fire, right?

Before I answer that question, let's digress a little here to ponder on another question - what's the deal with these reality shows? In the US, it all began in 2000, when Survivor first aired on CBS (after being rejected by every major American network for two years) and topped the charts, the finale getting a whopping 51 million viewers, rivalling the viewership of Friends and ER. It was rapidly followed by ABC's equally successful Who wants to be a Millionaire (the baap of our own Kaun Banega Crorepati) and very soon, this spawned a whole spate of similar shows including American Idol. Today, six years later, while the novelty may be beginning to wear off with viewers, (Survivor slipped to 11th position in 2006) reality shows continue to be very popular with networks also because production costs are as little as half and sometimes even a quarter of that of drama series or sitcoms. In India, many would say that the father of all reality shows was KBC.

And Bigg Boss? Is this going to be the baap of… wait, I haven't finished. It doesn't take a sociologist to figure out why reality shows are successful. It is because of what I call the Rajnikant Syndrome. You see, every bus conductor and every you-and-me looks at him and thinks - if he can become a superstar, why not me? (Or then, at least why not my nephew, Sivaji Rao Gaekwad?) Similarly, such series offer the average Batuklal-from-Bahurani the otherwise one-in-a-never-ever chance of becoming a star, for however fleeting a nanosecond that might be. That is an irresistible carrot. Let me ask you - how many of you reading this article have dialled or have desperately wanted to dial the KBC number? (I just did.) Let's face it, forget becoming a crorepati, even the possibility of just sitting in the audience as the Hot Seat's chacha-mama-bhanja-bawarchi has us hyperventilating with ecstasy....

Also, what's on display on many reality shows is that most fascinating thing in the universe called human nature and the success of programmes like Bigg Boss and Survivor banks on this fact. That, unpredictable at the best of times, there is no saying what human nature will do when fame and money are at stake. And that's true as much for your average john-jaani-janardhan as it is for celebrities. I bring this up because the 13 housemates on Bigg Boss are billed as celebrities. Now I don't mean to be rude or anything but who is Amit Sadh? Or for that matter, Rupali Ganguly? And Deepak Parashar…puhleez. And which was other film of note that Rahul Roy acted in other than Aashiqui? )

The result is not always good but it does make for some riveting television viewing. Or at least, it should…. Which brings us back to the Rs 5 million question. Has Bigg Boss lived up to its boast of being the big dada of daily soaps? Has it managed to break the stranglehold that the pretty little hands of our saas and bahus had on prime time these last six years? Has the asli masala given the naqli kahaani-ghar-ghar-kis a run for their money? Sadly, the answer is a resounding no. Three months on air and Bigg Boss is not even amongst the top 100 shows aired by satellite channels. And the K serials are still the undisputed queens of prime time.

Here are a few theories. Firstly, as a friend pointed out, maybe it's just all a little too real. Thirty cameras may well be enough to catch every unguarded burp and belly scratch but the lighting is so unflattering that it would make even Aishwarya Rai look like yesterday's vada pav. So maybe it is because we expect celebrities to look like celebrities, not like what we see in the bathroom mir ror every morning. And Raakhi Sawant's 'item girl' wardrobe not withstanding, (high point of the show - Arshad Warsi asking Ravi Kissen, "Bhala aapki chaddi Raakhi ki chaddi se choti kaise?" slopping around in wrinkled tracksuits and chaddi-banians doesn't help.

Secondly, maybe because we Indians like lots of masala, be that in our biryani or the nightly serving of saas-bahu machinations. And our daily soaps are a difficult act to follow. Husbands by the kilo, soutens by the dozen, mothers-in-law, sisters-in-law and stepmothers who'd give vintage vamp, Shashikala, an inferiority complex. (Incidentally, that was Ravi Kissen's nickname for Kashmira. Raakhi's endearment for Carol is currently 'pau kilo' and 'sukhi bombil'), stir-fried with generous amounts of rapes, murders and abductions. Garnished with so many illegitimate children born out of such complicated mélanges that even DNA testing may not reveal the parentage. All served up with such glittering outfits and so many chandelier earrings that we're never at a loss about what to wear for the next karva chauth brunch.

All Bigg Boss could come up with are some blurry night camera footage of midnight foot massages, some furtive cuddling like a couple of teenagers on their first date, two fights over a piece of ginger and a cup (drinking, not bra) where Amit's threat to 'utha ke phenk doonga' Raakhi remained an empty boast and periodic petty quibbling about who called whom chudail, who didn't make egg bhurji for whom and who wasn't allowed to stir the dal for dinner. More importantly, in the daily sabuns, no matter how many illegitimate babies and legitimate husbands she's had, there is never a moment when we don't know who is the heroine and who the nasty, scheming bitch-witch. We can always tell by their bindis.

In Bigg Boss, who knows? Angel today, ajgar (crocodile) tomorrow. Baba today, anaconda tomorrow. It's all too, too confusing…. So, for the time being at least, reality shows like these will have to bide their time in the wings for their chance to strut their stuff on the centre stage of Indian television. We Indians aren't ready as yet to be peering at close-ups of the underbelly of human nature - that too, without make-up. (Which is a pity really, because I for one, am a fascinated fan!)

Meanwhile, no other than our very own UP-Bihar-lootnewali Shilpa Shetty is now a housemate in one of the bade bhaiyyas of Bigg Boss - the British Big Brother for a whopping fee of 30 million rupees. Prize money? 100,000 pounds. Or a little less than Rs 9 million. According to the news filtering in, while Shilpa is a hit with the male housemates, things aren't so hunky-dory with the females who have trouble pronouncing her name ("Shullup"?!) and find her fake, controlling and bossy.

Signs of an early eviction? Maybe and you could say that since Shilpa's already made her 30 million, it doesn't really matter. But an extra nine million never hurt anybody. So, I guess the 30-million rupee question is - what would you be willing to do on international television for nine million rupees?