I wonder sometimes — when I have nothing better to think about — why a particular expression on Aamir Khan’s face irritates me so deeply. I remember QSQT melting my 23-year-old heart with its apotheosis of cuteness. But the same heart hardens immediately on catching a glimpse of Khan being messianic. And it is precisely the heart that recoils and resists, for the messiah, like the heart-throb, goes straight for that susceptible organ. It seems that Aamir can put on this face indiscriminately and effortlessly — as anchor, brand ambassador, public campaigner or actor. And I have seen versions of it on Tom Hanks, Kevin Costner and Denzel Washington. This makes me suspect that the expression — like many of the world’s verbal and visual clichés — is of New World origin. On Aamir Khan’s face, it seems to say, “I’m the keeper of my country’s conscience.” But in his American colleagues, it beams out wider: “I’m the saviour of the world.” So many Hollywood films, these days, are about wickedly proliferating alien creatures flying in from outer space to crash into vaingloriously invincible-looking twin-tower-like structures in vaguely New-York-like cities of the future, that these saviour figures must have to be mass-produced in some sort of Captain America factory, with the world’s best creative directors working overtime in R&D.

But Captain India’s range of action (cricket resonance intended) is limited by his patriotism. So, instead of Good-versus-Evil on a cosmic scale, he is worried about child sexual abuse, female foeticide, medical malpractice and honour killings. But, while the issues are all national, Satyameva Jayate’s slickness is global (in spite of the scriptural ring of the title) — the feel and finish of the editing, music, colours, wardrobe, and even the graphics. In all the publicity stills, Khan’s face has that solidly focused, almost driven, look — alert, outraged, but holding the emotions back because his sense of urgency tells him there’s no time to waste. His eyes look out towards some distant horizon (election candidates often have that visionary look in their posters). Or else, he is intently listening to a victim’s testimony, fighting back the tears that well up in instant empathy. His empathy is instant and humility endless — and both instantly, endlessly enacted.

That elevated, truth-wins look comes with a DIY feel-good kit, which beautifully magicks away the hardsell factor holding it all together. It is good market strategy for cuteness to age into conscience, if it doesn’t want to lose its monopoly over hearts. Empathy and afflatus have a readymade language — in popular cinema and on the internet. This language puts no strain at all on either thought or action, and that is the mindset and skill-set on which the success of a series like Satyameva Jayate depends. That line from Rent, by the Pet Shop Boys, keeps coming back to me: “It’s easy, it’s so easy”, and before that, “…look at the two of us in sympathy/ With everything we see….”

I can now click my way through a staggering range of causes and concerns over a cup of coffee, ‘signing’ petitions and ‘joining’ vigils in heartfelt ‘protest’ against anything, from cruelty to strays to the perils of a plunging neckline, and go straight back to sleep again. That sweet, dreamless, fearless morning’s sleep, which comes only after a flattering number of ‘friends’ have ‘liked’ my new profile picture. (Too many inverted commas, I know; but I’d rather keep them.)