I remember when we first bought a television set in my parents' home in Madras. The year was 1980, about five years after television had come to town. For years we had seen our Marwari neighbor pack his terrace with thirty to fifty people, mostly children paying half a rupee per head, when feature films were shown on weekend nights. We had no entrepreneurial ambitions ourselves, but we were weekly reminded of the draw of the medium by the scene across the road, if by nothing else. There was an air of excitement and adventure about the purchase. We had been trooping to neighbors' homes to watch programs, and there was an unspoken sense that it could not go on, so there was no one arguing against the idea. The amount was not a small one, over 3,000 rupees (then US $375) to buy a nineteen-inch black and white set. A collegemate who had some influence with television dealers told me whom to contact. No discount would be available on the set, the dealer informed us. But we could save money on the accessories we would need – on the blue add-on screen to absorb “glare,” and on the rooftop antenna, to ensure clear reception. (The sign of a good picture was when the eyelashes of the newsreader were visible, according to an ad for Solidaire TV – “that seldom fails.”) As we later learned, neither purchase was necessary.