Stories To Unfold: Building The Firsts Of Indian Pop Music Television

A recent post from my old colleague and friend Rakesh Sharma stirred memories of a life once lived—a pioneering era when Indian music television was still finding its voice. As I sit on a rainy Sofia afternoon in Bulgaria, the setting feels like the perfect backdrop for this reflection—on a time shaped by gut instinct, grit, and sheer jugaad.

My path to television wasn’t direct. After a prominent career in contemporary art—with features on covers like India Today and Bombay Magazine for curating functional and digital fine art—I began to feel disillusioned with the fleeting nature of fame in the art world. In 1993, seeking new creative ground, I entered MTV India just as the Star TV split was unfolding. I started at the very bottom—more a “spot boy” than anything else.

Only three of us stayed on: Peter Mukerjea, Shashank Ghosh, and me—working out of a small rented cabin in Sattee Shourie’s Nariman Point office. Sattee, a dynamic Punjabi film producer, had been brought in to outsource programming for Star TV. Her dismissal soon became a key turning point. We were evicted from the space and left without an office—and worse, without music. The Indian Music Industry (IMI), influenced by Sattee’s narrative that foreign broadcasters were exploiting Indian talent, had refused us access to music clips. Without those, our entire operation was at risk.

Determined to break the impasse, I headed to the Time Audio office with Star TV producer Manu Garg—without an appointment—and waited for hours until we secured a meeting with Dhirubhai Shah. I asked for one thing: a fair chance to present our case to the IMI.

Maybe it was the sight of a sari-clad Gujarati woman standing her ground. Maybe it was just the right timing. He agreed—and gave me two days to make our pitch.

In the ‘90s, music wasn’t just a backdrop to cinema—it was the heartbeat. Music sales often financed films, giving IMI immense power. When I finally met the IMI board, I outlined our vision: international editors would create high-quality edits of new film songs for free-to-air broadcasts. IMI would receive premium promotion in exchange for non-exclusive broadcast rights—no fees, just exposure.

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To our surprise and relief, they agreed. We gained free access to the IMI archive and upcoming releases. This opened the doors for programs like Flashback and led directly to First Day First Show.

Soon after, I approached Rakesh Sharma, convincing him to do a one-off Independence Day special—titled ’47—hosted by Baba Sehgal. It was a success. I then persuaded Rakesh to stay on and create Flashback, the now-iconic retro music series, fronted by the irrepressible Jaaved Jaaferi. Around the same time, we launched Mangta Hai, a live dial-in request show. I reached out to caricaturist Ajit Rao to design its quirky, standout set—another first for Indian TV.

Our team operated nomadically at first—working from the West End Hotel, then Shelley’s Hotel, then Sanjharkha House, before finally settling in Andheri. My car, nicknamed the “Star Car,” ferried everyone—Ruby Bhatia, Ed Sharples, Peter Mukerjea, and others—between these ever-changing workspaces.

I stood out in that world—dressed in cotton saris, skipping after-parties and music launches, insisting that work happen within office hours. The team was full of energy and talent—Fahad Samar, Shashank Ghosh, Monica Narula, Yash Rajadhyaksha, Andrew Carnegie. Together, we helped define what was “cool” for a new generation of Indian viewers.

We pioneered a bilingual, conversational Hinglish tone—fluid, inclusive, and representative of how young India spoke. Mangta Hai became a cultural phenomenon, connecting small towns and metros through shared music love.

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We navigated everything—satellite deals, cable disputes, and untested formats. The energy was unmatched. We weren’t just airing music—we were creating a language for a generation.

As Channel [V] grew, so did our ventures. A 51:49 partnership with Zee TV was formed. There was a buzz—new talent, new programs, constant movement. One day, just before a regular Tuesday visit to Siddhivinayak Temple, I had an interview lined up. I asked the candidate if he’d mind joining me in the car. That conversation led to him being hired—and months later, Samir Nair would become the head of Star TV India after I resigned.

We also hosted India’s first music award shows at Mumbai’s Turf Club. The last I worked on featured performances by Akshay Kumar and Raveena Tandon—a true milestone. It was during this event that I handed in my resignation.

The reason was simple yet deeply personal. My four-year-old niece wanted to see my name in the credits. When I realized I didn’t want her watching the content we were airing at the time, I knew I had to step away.

After I resigned, Don Ateyo, my incredible Australian boss, insisted on continuing my salary for six months. I declined the full amount and stayed on as a part-time consultant instead.

Looking back, we weren’t just making TV—we were shaping how a generation saw itself. That era was raw, passionate, and alive with possibility. It taught me that stories—when told with clarity, courage, and care—can spark revolutions. We made something new out of nothing. And in the process, changed the cultural landscape of a country.

(Sonal Motla is an art educationist, artist, and writer, and is currently the Founder of The Osmosis and Director of Fine Art, Filmmaking at Rachna Sansad.)