In the recent decade, talent shows have taken South Asia by storm. With overly romanticised  and dramatised stories of taking people ‘from the streets’ to celebrity superstar status, these  shows often claim to be transformational for the participants. Flooded finance. Rising television rating points. Nationwide Popularity. Mega Advertisements. Ensured contracts. The list of promises are extensive.

This has especially been the case for Nepal Idol 2018. Given its abundant popularity, it needs no further introduction. However, growing public interest in this show has overshadowed the need for meaningful dialogue about whether or not the show is based on a model that genuinely promotes talent. Is public vote really an authentic mechanism to hand-pick eligible participants? 

The objective of talent hunt shows should be to search for the best. But we have witnessed some ‘bests’ getting eliminated simply because they couldn’t win the hearts of the Nepali public—who often vote on the basis of their own, self-interested rubrics. What does the public really vote for? How can the shows’ organising bodies depend on public’s knowledge of music? Does even 10 per cent of the voting community possess any level of expertise to determine when the singer goes wrong or drops a pitch? Most likely not. To draw a fitting comparison, if a general member of the public served as a referee for a football match, fans would wreak havoc in fury. Talent shows should be held to the same standard—especially when concerning singing competitions. 

It’s very discouraging that votes by the public null the decision of the judges. And if audience votes can outweigh the decisions of judges, why are they so celebrated on the shows? This season, we have seen some contestants being eliminated despite getting monumental appreciation from the judges (who actually know what they’re talking about).  How can the voices of these experienced, highly qualified personalities be overshadowed by the unqualified public opinion?  

Instead, votes seemingly perpetuate regionalism and caste-based favouritism. Often in these shows, people representing certain geographies  may attract the entire districts’ vote. 

And it’s not a hidden fact that family members are highly involved in the process of mobilising people to vote. In this case, votes are not reflective of talent and are more reflective of how popular candidates are. In an interview with ‘Online TV’, Pawan Giri, an eliminated candidate from Nepali Idol, it was revealed that his family had spent more than 15 lakh for voting. Despite having such huge fan following, he’s out of the Idol scene. 

This begs the question: who gains the most from these shows? Definitely not the public. While the show can promote recognition for emerging stars in the industry, it can also emotionally exploit people’s passions, dedications, hopes and investments because at the end of the day, the voting system favours popularity over talent. 

Anchors—in painfully dramatic sequences—frequently announce that the polls received by the public ‘will determine the future of candidates on the stage.’ However, how many reality shows in Nepal have really given birth to real stars? And how can we trust the final decision, especially when the voting is worryingly parochial—with contestants receiving maximum votes from their native districts? As the show is made for the public, it can’t get required attention without involving them in the voting process. But this doesn’t mean that public should be endowed with all right of judgment. In the case of the finale round, the decision panel should find new modes of elimination. Rather than completely relying on the audience’s vote, it would be even better if one-phone-one-vote  system could be adopted and judges had more of a say in the final decision. 

Karna and Mali are pursuing master’s degrees in English Literature at Tribhuvan University.