Doordarshan - A love letter to a simpler time

When joy aired once a week and families watched it together.

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There was a time — not too long ago — when joy didn’t arrive on demand. We waited for it. And it came in the form of a grainy screen, crackling speakers, and a trumpet tune that sounded like comfort.

That was Doordarshan.

When Sundays Smelled Like Sambhar and Sounded Like Cinema

By 4:30 PM on a Sunday, the house would start shifting. The TV — a bulky box with shuttered doors — was cleaned with reverence. The antenna was adjusted like a ship’s sail, hunting for that perfect signal. Somewhere in the background, the smell of sambhar, fried snacks, and Lux soap floated in harmony.

The movie at 6 PM wasn’t just entertainment. It was an event. A sacred slot. One that made neighbours drop by, cousins stretch across floors, and families pause everything — to just be together.

There were no streaming services. No skip buttons. No replays. You missed it, you missed it. (Unless you were lucky enough to get a retelling on the school bus Monday morning.)

Teletubbies to Mahabharat: Our Emotional Range Was Vast

Teletubbies came on bright mornings — those surreal, colorful blobs that felt like a hug for your toddler brain. They didn’t make much sense, but they were weirdly comforting.

By evening, Doordarshan shifted gear. Out came the epics — Ramayan and Mahabharat. And with them, a nation’s pause.

Streets emptied. Prayers were postponed. Draupadi’s cries, Krishna’s flute, Bhishma’s arrows — they weren’t fiction. They were family stories.

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Chitrahaar, Surabhi & the Golden Middle

Midweek joy came in the form of Chitrahaar — our very first playlist. Bollywood songs played not by your choice, but by destiny. And when your favorite came on? Magic. You’d sing along, sometimes recording the audio on cassettes, hoping no one coughed during the chorus.

Then there was Surabhi. The cultural heartbeat of a generation.

Renuka Shahane and Siddharth Kak didn’t just present a show — they opened up India. Temples that defied gravity. Artisans lost in time. Viewer letters that numbered in lakhs. It was wholesome, curious, and stitched India together with wonder.

The One-Screen, Many-Hearts Experience

We didn’t have remotes. We had patience.

We didn’t binge. We savored.

We didn’t scroll for suggestions. We tuned in together.

Doordarshan gave us rhythm. Structure. A shared heartbeat.

Even its glitches — the screen freezing mid-dialogue, the sudden switch to news, or the national anthem at odd hours — became part of the charm.

What We Had Then… and What We Lost

Today, we have it all — OTT platforms, global content, skip buttons, and second screens. But in the flood of endless choice, something precious got swept away.

That pause. That togetherness. That shared stillness of waiting — and watching — as one.

A Soft Goodbye, and a Silent Wish

So here’s to Doordarshan. Our first screen. Our family theatre. Our collective memory.

It didn’t just show us movies. It showed us how to be together. How to wait. How to feel something in the same room, at the same time.

Maybe we didn’t have algorithms.

But we had each other. And sometimes — that’s more than enough.

Don’t forget to follow my daughter Karuna, who recently started writing here too, https://medium.com/%40authorkaruna22/%EF%B8%8F-the-secret-squirrel-of-the-nilgiris-363bff9de814

https://medium.com/%40authorkaruna22/%EF%B8%8F-the-giant-squirrel-i-saw-in-the-trees-8dd92a6459b6

👋 About Me

I’m Trupti Maruti Muntode — an advocate, author, mother, and fierce believer in second chances. From navigating courtrooms and raising strong daughters to building a life rooted in values, I write to transform pain into power and ordinary days into meaningful stories.

Through my writing, I explore the delicate intersections of law, emotional intelligence, parenting, womanhood, ambition, and resilience. I’ve worn many hats — researcher, speaker, banker, homemaker — but storytelling is my heartbeat.

Here on Medium, I don’t just write to be read — I write to make people feel seen, to hold space for the silent battles, and to remind everyone that becoming your best self is never too late — and never too much.