Filmindia (1941)

Hhmed Hbbas Condemns Tilmindia' Unmerciful Criticism of Baburao Patel Best and Most Popular Magazine and Yet — By : K. Ahmed Abbas [When an old friend indicts, we can hardly complain. Friends are few in this world and the best one is the brave one who holds the min or. We admire Mr. Abbas' idealistic approach in this article, but to sell a magazine needs something more than mere ideals — The Editor]. The Punjab Mail jerked itself into motion and the great adventure was on. The Gothic domes of the Victoria Terminus, the steel grey BycuUa chawls, Dadar with its slums and studios, the ribbon of the road running parallel to the railway line along the Sion embankment — one by one, they all slid past the carriage window. I turned my back upon Bombay, literally and symbolically, and looked ahead, into the rosetinted twilight. Even if it was only for a month, I was going "away from it all." I was going away from my dark and ill-ventilated office which smells of antiseptic in the morning and of rancid breath in the evening, where mangy cats slink out of dark corners to demand milk from under-paid sub-editors; away from the teleprinter, from news and headlines. I felt I deserved a holiday. For 31 days I did not want to talk about progressive films, purposeful comedies, scenarios, montage effects, the National Studios' reorganization, what Chandulal Shah did or did not tell Shantaram, the future of Circo, the past of Sagar, Film Advisory Board, the confusion between John Alexander and Alexander Shaw and Alexander the Great. I was going to beautiful Kashmir, far away from all this film business. But was I? WHERE MOTHERS FAIL "FILMINDIA " SUCCEEDS. There is a family travelling in the same compartment, prodigious eaters all, from the lad of seven to the grey-haired father. The young imp is obviously a spoilt child and has a way of finding excuses for crying and howling. When he is sitting on the lower berth he wants to be put on the upper berth. No sooner he is placed on the upper berth he raises bedlam to be taken down. The fond mother is trying to 'appease' him by giving him, successively, a pack of cards to play with, Bahy Saroja with Baburav Patel, our Editor, at the Cricket Cluh of India. The big little star of the South scored a personal triumph by her affectionate little ways in Bombay. K. Ahmed Abbas — our old and tried friend. some puris to eat, a couple of annas, a laddoo, a mango. But, like Hitler, every act of 'appeasement' whets the lad's appetite for mischief and nothing can keep him quiet for more than a few minutes. Finally, he starts howling with more than usual gusto and, as a final and desperate measure of 'appeasement' his uncle gives him the magazine he is reading. And, miracle of miracles, the lad is nov/ quietly perusing the pictures in the profusely illustrated journal and all the passengers heave a sigh of relief. The name of the magazine (if you have not guessed it already) is "filmindia"! That young boy, of course, could not read. But the devil in him was 'appeased" by the sight of the pictures, particularly the colour plates. The faces were evidently familiar to him, for every now and then he would raise a howl of delight, "Thiis is Ashok Kumar — This is Sardar Akhtar-Daddy, didn't we see her in 'Aurat'?" WITH MOON AS THE ARC AND SKY AS THE ROOF. Panipat, my home town, is a sleepy old place which does not figure on the "filmindia" circulation map. It is a town of memories, mosques, temples and graves, so conservative that a sola hat is frowned upon, so strictly "moral" that even prostitutes go out in veils. There is not even a cinema — or so I think 37