THE TALE OF TWO CITIES

Chandu Mhatre  was the ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY’s chief photographer. He was a loner. He usually looked on even a casual “Hi” as gross infringement of his privacy. He also had a parochial streak in him. To him, I was but a lowly trainee. And a Madrassi at that. Having come to know him, I kept my distance.  So I was naturally surprised when he came up to me one evening, his motorised camera slung over his left shoulder, smiled pretty decently through his thick beard and said : “Hi Junior... Wanna join me on an assignment?”

I readily expressed willingness. I was keen to see how all those wonderful pictures that made the WEEKLY  what it was, were shot. We hailed a cab. He gave instructions to the driver in rapid Marathi. I did not understand a word but I had a distinct feeling that it related to much more than just the destination.  

As the cab started forth, I asked him where we were going. “Not very far”, he smiled mysteriously.

Right through the 20 minutes drive he appeared restless. He kept muttering to himself. For some time he was lost in thought. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, I remained quiet.  Suddenly he stirred. I felt that we were reaching journey’s end. He weighed his camera in his hands, looked through the eyepiece and then shot some more instructions to the driver. He turned to me.  “Whatever happens, don’t get out of the cab”, he told me. By now he had a virtually terrified look on his face. “But where are we going?” I asked. “You’ll know in a few moments”, he said.

I looked out of the window. We were just entering a long, narrow road, lined on either side by concrete tenements. We were in a rather impoverished part of the metropolis, I realised. Then I noticed something else. On the pavement at intervals were steel cots – one stacked above the other, with a mosquito curtain covering both. At each doorway stood girls of all ages, colours and sizes, garishly made up and in various stages of undress. A motley crowd of young men were following our vehicle. As our taxi slowed down, the women started beckoning, gesturing provocatively. Then someone noticed that my companion was busy shooting pictures with his motorised camera. A cry went up and a group of toughies came charging towards us. “Don’t stop”, Chandu shouted at the driver. “Drive fast... Get the hell out of here...”

The car picked up speed and in a few moments we were a safe distance away. Chandu’s hands were shivering. And he was sweating. I suddenly realised that I was too.

My first tryst with the sleazy underbelly of India came in 1983 during my early days as trainee sub-editor of THE ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY OF INDIA in Mumbai (then Bombay). We were working on an article titled “Walking the Wild Side” about the vice dens of Grant Road and Kamathipura. The story had been written by Malavika Sanghvi and Pritish Nandy had deputed Chandu Mhatre to shoot the photographs to illustrate the story...

A year later, I was posted as Special Correspondent in Chennai. I was writing for both WEEKLY and FILMFARE as Pritish Nandy was the editor of both. Those were the days when the term Malayalam Film had a nasty connotation in Chennai. A special genre of films, which rarely hit the screens in Kerala, were exclusively being shot for a voyeuristic Tamilnadu market – the so called soft-porn movies, often masquerading as films on sex education. I decided to do a story on this trend for FILMFARE.

The day after I sent in my story, I received a call from Nandy. “You *#@*##^*”, he said (he uses expletives when he is happy). “It’s a damn good story you’ve sent. Let’s not waste it in FILMFARE. Do some more researching, interview some of the stars and with some good pictures to go with it, we could use it in the WEEKLY ”.

The article was completed. But the problem of organising the photographs remained. I contacted various film photographers. All of them claimed that they could not help me. I tried to source clips from some of the films that had been released. But again met with failure. I wandered through the by-lanes of Kodambakkam in search of those elusive photographs. And then, someone referred me to Raju (name altered to conceal his identity). I even got his telephone number. I called up Raju and told him I’d like to meet him regarding some photographs. He told me where he lived and I went over.

It was a typical T Nagar “Bunglow”. And Raju was an elderly person, close to 70 years of age. Very respectable looking, very jovial for his age and pretty well informed. “How can I ask this man for stills from porn films?” I wondered.

He offered me tea and snacks. We talked about various things. Finally, with great difficulty, I broached the topic. “I am doing a story on the soft-porn films being released in Tamilnadu and I wanted some stills to illustrate it”, I told him. “Photographer Asokan referred me to you. He said you may be able to guide me...”  

Raju did not bat an eye-lid. “What sort of photographs do you want?” he asked “Nude? Partially nude?”

I was flabbergasted. “They have to be photographs fit to print in a magazine like the WEEKLY”, I said weakly.

“Take your pick”, he said and brought out a voluminous album bursting with photographs of women in black and white and colour. I started leafing through the pages. “This”, he said conversationally, “is a Brahmin girl. She does these types of photographs for money. 500 rupees per session. And this”, he said pointing at a topless woman, “is an IAS officer’s wife. She does it for the heck of it...”

I chose a few photographs which I felt would go with my story and left. My head still spinning.

A fortnight later was my marriage. The day after, I had a call from Pritish Nandy.” I have packed a wedding gift for you in this week’s WEEKLY”, he said mischievously, before hanging up.

The next day the WEEKLY hit the stands and my story was the cover story. My first cover story.

The following week, we went to Kerala to meet sundry relatives. My parents-in-law accompanied us. All along the way, wherever we stopped to refresh ourselves, we saw copies of the WEEKLY dangling in the news stands. Even in relatively small towns we could see chaps in dhotis walking up, look to the right and left, before purchasing a copy and walking off after surreptitiously folding it and tucking it under the armpit. This particular issue of the WEEKLY was obviously a sell-out!

In Kerala, my father-in-law would introduce me to his relatives. “This is Sunil”, he would say proudly.  “He is a journalist with The Illlustrated Weekly”. And prompt would come the smiling reply from the other side : “Oh, you are the one who writes about blue films, aren’t you”. It was an embarrassing ordeal for all of us.

But the lighter side apart, I have often wondered about the value systems that govern two large metropolises – Mumbai and Chennai. In Mumbai in those days, vice was open. It was organised. Red-light areas were defined. Hookers and call girls openly solicited from under lamp posts on busy thoroughfares. In the tradition-bound Chennai vice was always under the wraps. People never talked about it. But it was very much there!

Openness versus hypocrisy – you can take your pick.

THE FIRST POST

Today, when I start my career as a serious blogger, my mind goes back to the year 1983, when I started my career as a journalist. As a humble trainee with the famed ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY OF INDIA (or just WEEKLY). 

The WEEKLY was hallowed grounds. My Dad used to bring home copies of it every week from the circulating library in his office. Edited at that time by none other than the jovial, yet venerable Sardar, Khuswant Singh with his naughty sense of humour, the WEEKLY was my favourite reading as a little boy. I loved the articles. I loved the photographs. I lapped up Khushwant's naughty but pertinent point of view on a wide variety of subjects ranging from bottom-pinching on the busy thoroughfares of Mumbai (then Bombay) to his penniless sojourn in the costliest of metropolises -- Tokyo. I loved to read his thoroughly enjoyable, tongue-in-cheek weekly editorial column "With Malice Towards One And All".  Sitting inside a bulb (a caricature created by Mario Miranda), he mocked at the world. I loved the comic sections with Dennis the Menace, Phantom, Hubert and Flash Gordan strips. I diligently worked on the Weekly Crossword. I even loved the classified ads that appeared on the last two pages -- ads for products and services that were not seen anywhere else, like realistic-looking airguns with plastic bullets for self defence, hypnotism courses, X-ray glasses and much more... 

Long before the Frontlines and the India Todays were born, the WEEKLY existed. It was undoubtedly the most popular English publication of the time. I still vividly remember the special cricket issue in 1971 featuring Sir Garfield Sobers and our very own Sunil Gavaskar on the cover. Gavaskar was fresh from his magical debut in the West Indies and had been selected to play for a dream World Team under Sobers against Australia. This was the issue that sold more than 4 lakh copies -- simultaneously establishing the WEEKLY as the number one publication and Cricket as the most popular sport in India. The cover story was written by Raju Bharathan, one of the best cricket writers of the time. 

And then I remember an issue which was devoted to the Nairs of Kerala. I still vividly recollect my Dad and Mom poring through the pages with excitement. Hailing as we did from the Nair community, the issue was of special interest to them as it chronicled Nair traditions and customs and also listed out prominent members of the community, many of whom were known to them or related to us. Featuring Usha Chettur on the cover, this issue remains in my library long after both my parents died...

The WEEKLY, for me, was the ultimate in journalism. To work for the WEEKLY was a dream I nourished right from my school days. A dream that I never thought would become a reality. 

But then, the impossible happened. 

I was working as a Preventive Officer in the Madras Customs (Chennai was called Madras in those days). Though a respectable uniformed job, the ambiance was nauseating. I was wallowing in a sea of corruption, trying to swim against the currents. But the going was getting increasingly tougher by the day. So I took the only sensible route I could think of. I quit. And then I took the entrance test for the position of Trainee Journalist in the Times of India group and got selected. 

After three weeks of initiation, I found myself in the office of Pritish Nandy, who was now the Editor of the WEEKLY. It was meant to be a three week training stint and I started work with trepidation. Nandy had only just taken over the top job. Still in his thirties, he was facing a lot of opposition from others in the staff, most of whom had been part of the Old Lady of Boribunder (the nickname for the Times Group) for donkey's years. A sort of a work-to-rule pattern was being followed with all the senior staffs striding in at the stroke of 10, twiddling their thumbs during the whole day and stalking out at the stroke of 5! The advent of a trainee into this scheme of things came as a Godsend. I used to reach office at 9 in the morning and work right through till 9 at night, virtually handling the content of the entire issue single-handedly. 

The first issue I handled featured actress Rekha on the cover. Sailesh Kottary, who as Deputy Editor was my immediate boss, had done the interview. The cover was designed by M G Moinuddin, a creative genius, albeit hearing-impaired. When the magazine hit the stands, I was thrilled. Though I had seen the issue at various stages before and after it went to the press, seeing it on the stands and leafing through a copy bought off the shelf gave me an extra thrill. The feeling was akin that of a young mother holding her newborn in her hands and looking into the eyes. Even more gratifying was watching the reactions of others looking at the magazine, leafing through it, making an observation to those with them and ultimately buying a copy.

I knew I had come home!! The WEEKLY was my home. I dreaded the prospect of being transferred to some other department of the vast Times Group at the end of the mandated 3 week period. But my fears were ill founded. When my transfer letter came, Pritish Nandy tore it to pieces. "No more transfers for Sunil", he yelled at PC Sethi, the Training Head of TOI. "He will continue to work for the WEEKLY!"

And continue I did, for the next 10 years, shifting to Chennai a year later, on completion of my training period, as the first ever Regional Correspondent of the over-a-century old publication.

More than three decades have passed since I took my first hesitant steps in the highly combative and challenging field of journalism. More than 1000 articles in the WEEKLY, Filmfare, The Observer of Business & Politics and Sunday Observer... More than 2500 hours of entertainment programming as the head of Telly Zoom. More than 10,000 hours of news bulletins on Raj TV and Jaya TV... Three decades of agony and ecstasy, highs and lows, achievement and rejection, happiness and sorrow... It is these and much more that will feature in the THIRD EYE. Some of the stuff that appear here may have already been published, but are being reproduced because they are still relevant. Much more will relate to issues and happenings Behind the Byline. I may be appreciated. I may be riled. I may even be crucified. But on this blog, please remember, TRUTH ALONE MATTERS.