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Our Popular Home Minister, the Hon. Mr. Morarji Desai is likely to overhaul the entire film industry very shortly. Watch him.
Films In Free India !
The Home minister's Candid Opinion !
By: Miss Savita Parekh. M A. ( Exclusive for " filmindia " )
27, Queen's Gardens. Poona, is a sort of a big dak-bungalow in the midst of a barren garden. There are shrubs all round it. If you call them plants they will have to prove? their identity by throwing out flowers from their tops, which they wouldn't do probably in respectful sympathy with the puritanic occupant of the house.
Outside, in the portico, you sadly miss the 150-year old armed sentry who had so loyally supported the colonial imperialism of the white rulers with the sharp point of his bayonet.
This drab, dry-coated building in black stone is the home of the Home Minister to the Government of Bombay.
It is a biggish bungalow with several rooms, but all but one seem to have been built unnecessarily, for the Home Minister enjoys a complete home in a single room which serves as the reception room, the drawing room, the office room and the study, all in one. The verandah becomes the bed room at night and a camp cot provides all the comforts to the tired mind of the furiously flunking official every night.
Our Home Minister. Mr. Morarji Desai is a tallish man and with his close crop and stern ascetic face he looks more like a .Iain priest than a power-driven red-tape man. Over a rough khaddar dhoti, he wears a more rough shirt and a ^till more rough coloured jacket.
Welcoming me he gently folded his hands in respect and switched on a sad smile behind which one liked to read the pathos and suffering of several jail journeys in our nations struggle for freedom Mr. Morarji is a young man gone prematurely old and his once almost handsome face now shows the marks of suffering through years.
Of the two electric lights in the rigidly furnished room, only one burned to make the shadows of the night more eloquent and to lend vivid asceticism to the dry atmosphere of service and devotion.
Before I could sit down, the telephone bell rang and I watched the Home Minister walk towards his desk with precise measured steps. There was neither rush nor impatience in those steps. The
man seemed to walk over a straight line. With a slow deliberate gesture, he took the telephone and spoke. All I heard was 'Yes', 'No', 'Alright', 'Please do it', 'Yes', 'No', 'Let me know immediately', 'Yes', 'No'.
I knew it was a trunk call from Bombay. I risked a question as Mr. Morarji returned to his seat. 'Is the riot situation bad in Bombay?'
"Yes".
"Have day?" I
"Yes.
-When
killed to
many been persisted.
More than yesterday." do you think all this will stop?" I ventured.
"When people realize their civic responsibility and learn to behave like good citizens."
THE BEST WERE BAD
I knew he was worried and didn't want to speak about the riots. I had not bargained for a silent ascetic type who used even words with rigid economy. It Mas intensely difficult to switch him on to the films.
"Have you seen 'Rana Pratap'?" I asked suddenly.
"What is that?" he inquired gently.
"It is an Indian film", I said.
"Oh!" he said smiling, "No, I have not seen it. Who has produced it?"
"Jayant Desai", I replied but the name did not seem to make 45