The magazine that published me first

Here is the third unforgettable character in my life …

Let me now mention about another Editor who played a major role in encouraging me in my writings. His was the magazine that published my first Bengali short story in 1967 - I came to know about it when I bought a copy of the magazine from the Howrah Station railway book stall on my way to Nashik for the first time!
The magazine was a creation of his father who was associated with the Calcutta station of All India Radio. As a result, the magazine boasted of a group of well-known writers who had links with the cinema as well. I was proud to be a part of this elite group.

The office of this magazine was located in the residence of the Editor’s family. It was a narrow lane in North Calcutta - the width of the lane was not enough for two cars to pass side by side. The letter press facilities was within the premises and the office had cupboards chock full of their publications – not just bound volumes of the magazines but mystery books also.
The Editor was a soft spoken gentleman and his advice to me has helped me in my endeavors. Be bold, he would say, write on subjects that others have not handled. Inspired by him, I created a super spy on the lines of James Bond – most of the exploits of this character appeared in the pages of his magazine. He even arranged for one of the selected stories to be reprinted in a best seller of a reputed publishing house. But, in due course of time, his magazine suffered the fate of many language magazines. They lost out on competition from publishers who had plenty of money and who threw scruples to the winds – they let loose a whole lot of gimmicks to gain cheap popularity and quality of the final product took a back seat. The magazine is dead from lack of patronage.


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The man who inspired me to write

This is the second unforgettable character in my life …

He was the person who encouraged me to write stories. The Editor of a mystery magazine, his was a one man show. His printing press was bang on the main road just opposite Scottish Church College in Calcutta. I had sent him a story and he published it – it generated a few fan mails which he forwarded to me. That was an inspiration to do better. I did just that – this gentleman and his readers got to like my writings so much that I became one of his band of regular writers. Practically every other month, there would be my story – in the initial stages, it would be at the end of the magazine, and gradually I moved up to the front and even made it to the Puja special issue. That was an achievement because the Puja specials publish only the best of the lot.

Therefore, when I went to meet him in person, I was in for a surprise. I found him in his printing press correcting the proofs – his composer was composing the pages. He welcomed me and as we conversed, his pen kept making those squiggles that convey the meaning to the composer but that appears to be just squiggles to you and me. When he finished, he invited me to come with him to his house. I agreed and walked with him to his one room palace. It was in a narrow lane, a downstairs dark, dingy room with a window for ventilation. He was a bachelor, did his own cooking and had a cat for company. The cooking was passable – after lunch and a bit of rest, we left. The destination was College Street coffee house, the objective was to meet his friends who are into writing and publication.
We maintained a long relationship and due to his encouragement, I moved from mystery short stories to novelettes and even novels – he accommodated these in his special issues. However, one fine day, he wrote to me lamenting that his days are over. The sales were falling, he was unable to break even – there was a spate of newcomers who followed unscrupulous methods. He decided to wind up the magazine. I tried to console him – but my letters remained unanswered. When I visited Calcutta the next time, I went to his house – there was a lock on the door. The neighbors were new and they did not know where he had gone.


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The hungry young man of Kolkata

The Readers Digest has a section on ‘the most unforgettable character that I have ever met’. It is not known how the editors select what they put forward in these sections, neither is it necessary. The presentations deserve credit. These reveal to the readers various undisclosed aspects of human life, their aspirations, their silent sufferings, their joys in achieving the seemingly impossible. People who leave their mark on one’s life are always there – it is a part of the growing up process. While some of them make you stumble and put obstacles in your path, others love to remove these irritants so that your journey becomes relatively smooth. With this small introduction I will begin on a series of 12 Unforgettable Characters in my life – I have withheld the names of the persons intentionally but each of them is from true life … …..

It was in the seventies. I had begun to consider myself as an up and coming author – I had got several short stories published in Bengali monthly magazines. I would send across the pieces by post with accompanying self-addressed stamped envelopes. If selected for publication, I would get a complimentary copy in due course; if rejected, the manuscript would find its way back into my letter box. Since I stayed in Nashik, I had no other means of knowing whether the story had seen the light of day. Therefore, whenever I went to Calcutta on holidays (it had not yet got its new name of Kolkata), I would visit the offices of these magazine. The intention was to have one-to-one meetings with the editors and editorial staff – a sort of PR exercise in a small way.

On one of these missions, I was literally stopped in my tracks by a young man. It was the sweltering heat of summer. I was proceeding from Moulali crossing to the offices of Bartamaan – they had not yet shifted to their new palatial offices on the EM Bypass. I was in a dress befitting that of hopeful authors – a handloom kurta over my trousers with a cloth bag slung on my shoulder. In the bag were manuscripts for offloading on the editors. As I footed the distance immersed in my thoughts, a young man sidled up to me. He was of my build but there seemed to be something strange about him – sinister is what came to my mind. I had heard stories of snatchers on the roads of Calcutta - I shuddered to think of him as one such. I hurriedly calculated – my wristwatch would probably go as would the twenty odd rupees in my pocket. If that did not satisfy him, he would probably thrash me or even injure me with his knife or other weapon.
‘Could you please give me some money?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I am hungry.’
I ignored him and hurried on. I looked around for passersby but the road was nearly deserted. A tram rolled away towards Park Circus, as did a state transport bus in the opposite direction. I saw the building of Bartamaan come closer.
‘I am hungry,’ he repeated, he also increased his speed.
I reached in my pocket and felt for the coins – would a fifty paise coin do the trick? Then I hesitated – he cannot satisfy his hunger on fifty paise, no adult can. I stopped, took out a two rupee note and gave it to him. He grabbed it and, without so much as a ‘thank you’ melted into thin air – he was really hungry. He did not snatch my bag nor did he put the tip of his knife on my stomach. I sighed and entered the compound of Bartamaan.


Image courtesy wikimediacommons.org

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Attraction of foreign locales in TV serials

Shooting in foreign locations was a trend introduced in cinemas way back in the 1960s probably by Raj Kapoor, the doyen of Bollywood. The film was ‘Sangam’ and the song was ‘Around the world in eight dollars’ with Vijayantimala as his heroine. Later the fad caught on and Indian filmdom would go to different locations to shoot the sequences. And, when the heroes and heroines wriggled their bodies and danced to the music, curious onlookers would watch their antics spellbound.

Shooting in foreign locations helped in spreading plenty of messages and, in the pre internet days, provided opportunities to watch foreign movies and get ideas to convert them into a desi version. These did not fall in the category of plagiarism but were treated in the category of ‘influenced by’.
Times has changed and today copycats are caught out too soon because this is the age of the internet and it is difficult to fool the people.
But, shooting episodes of TV serials in foreign locations is an emerging trend and it is seen as a way to keep the cast happy. Or – it could be the result of arm twisting by those who matter. The quality of a TV serial is its TRP and, when TRP rises, there is happiness all around. When some important player suddenly wants to enjoy a holiday in Singapore or in California, the producer tells the script writer to modify the episodes and include romping on the beaches of California – it throws up opportunities of skin show and improves the TRP.


Image courtesy wikimediacommons.org

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