In cricket, the scoreboard is ruthless. Rohit Sharma and Virat Kohli still have match-winning shots in them, but the system has shown them the retirement door – gracefully or otherwise. But in the big-money, glitter-laden “sport” of TV Show Hosting, age isn’t a liability. It is just a TRP number. As long as the numbers look good, wrinkles get rebranded as ‘character lines’, slower delivery becomes ‘gravitas’, and repeating the same lines year after year is simply ‘signature style’.
Look at our evergreen hosting legends-Amitabh Bachchan is back with another season and he lords over KBC like it’s a constitutional responsibility. We may need an parliament impeachment motion to stop him. Salman Khan remains the weekend don of Bigg Boss. Rohit Shetty fakes it with another SUV-fuelled season of Khatron Ke Khiladi. Madhuri Dixit floats across the dance show stage with unshakable grace. We find Anu Malik continues to redefine talent show verdicts, as if the 90s never ended.
Before, you get me wrong. Let me clarify, I respect and accept that these hosts have contributed immensely. They’ve built these tentpole shows, brought charisma, and helped create loyal audiences. But with time, even the best lose the punch. The pauses, the laughs, the dramatic stares… they all become predictable. Yet, the same faces keep returning, season after season. Why?
Because producers are paralysed by insecurity, they fear changing a host is like detonating a ratings time bomb. The fear is so deep, they’d rather risk audience fatigue than take a chance on fresh talent.
It is not that this billion-plus country genuinely lacks capable, camera-friendly, quick-witted hosts? But maybe because the gatekeepers won’t let go of their celebrity safety nets?
Show hosting in India is competitive, lucrative and well-controlled… a cartel that the entertainment industry can examine through the lens of monopolistic practices.
Once you’re in, and yes, you have a whiff of success, it’s almost like a government job with an extended retirement age.
You stay on, season after season, surrounded by all the insecurities and politics that keep newcomers out.
Trust me, by now, even the stand-up comedians’ jokes and mimicry of these hosts have died multiple deaths. But like the immortal Ashwatthama, our hosts remain—alive, throbbing and back for the next season’s promo shoot.
The time bomb is ticking: if this cycle of comfort and fear continues, audiences will someday wake up and eventually revolt. The so-called ‘unscripted’ reality shows, with their predictable planted controversies and reheated PR drama, will hit the identity crisis that Bollywood is facing today.
In sports, age benches you.
In hosting, age is just a TRP number—and until that number drops, the mics will stay glued to the same hands, the producers will sleep soundly, and our immortal hosts will keep laughing all the way to the bank.
I write this while waiting for my once-beloved BiggBoss – now in dire need of a makeover more creative than Botox and less repetitive than a bad retake. And I, like an addicted junkie, would most likely end up watching it episode after episode.
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