Mumbai - February 16, 2001.

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The man who was appreciated, applauded and had a lakhs of fans, friends and followers had his own group of people whom he admired, was all praise for and went out of his way to prove it at any time.

He had his weaknesses too when he praised friends (mostly writers and film makers) and their works for no reason at all, a man called Suresh Kohli from Delhi who wrote all kinds of trash and yet was seen by Abbas as one young writer who had a great future ahead of him. And a filmmaker like Johny Bakshi in whom he saw a flame who would show the way to make films in the future. There were men I could see at my young age and with my experience who were clearly taking advantage of the "good old man" and his goodness. They made him write rave, reviews about their routine and "muckish" work like one senior controversial critic called Kohli’s novel, Compromises. Abbas, on the other hand, for some strange reasons, praised it to the skies at the risk of his own standing. He called the same muck a "master piece". Abbas had an entire coterie and their only job was to nod their heads or say yes to whatever he said.

This was not something that was part of his nature when I had joined him but it came to him like a curse late in life. Abbas also went out of his way to help an actor like Raman Khanna who saw dreams of becoming another Rajesh Khanna "or atleast one third of Rajesh Khanna who was the ruling superstar then". The man couldn’t act he had nothing that would make him an actor any where near Rajesh Khanna but Abbas made a film with him called Faasla with a new actress Shabana Azmi who showed sparks with her very first film. Abbas wrote some reviews for books, films and documentaries which were not worth a look and I never understood why he praised them till the very end. I once made bold to ask him why he had praised a book which was nothing but muck which was what most critics said about it. He very clearly told me that he did it against his conscience to help the author sell some copies of his book. “I feel bad when a struggling writer or a struggling filmmaker comes up to me and makes a plea to write a preface or an introduction to his work. I feel extremely bad to go against my conscience but I believe in humanity, in helping human beings more than all lofty values and principles. It only gives me more pain to add to their pain when I even try to reject or say no to some of their requests. I love all kinds of artists, writers and film makers. I feel helpless when they even fall at my feet to help them in some way. I sometimes feel a little encouragement from me may help them may progress in future. But unfortunately I have never heard of them again and that's when I feel I should call my self Abba-ass. Some one has to encourage them inspire them as much as they can. that's what I do at the risk of my reputation. What is my reputation if it doesn’t help another person who is struggling to make a reputation for himself. Frankly I don’t care for name, fame and reputation when it comes to helping others, specially the young.”

There was the time when his house was flooded with books written by all kinds of people, on all kinds of subjects in all kinds of languages, even Tulu. He didn’t know what to do with them. It was not human to go through even a part of them. So he asked me to read whatever I could whenever I found the time and make suggestions on what he should do with those books. Most of them were books which were not even worth having a second look but he still asked me to go through some pages atleast and not neglect or reject them. Sometimes he wondered why these aspiring writers spent their own hard earned money in writing these books which he firmly believe had no future. I admired him for his energy to writ to some of these writers trying to tell them what was right or wrong. He could have spent the same time writing something that would bring him some money of which he was always short. But he was Abbas not me. Wasn’t it that one letter that he wrote to me in response to a postcard I had written to him that changed my life? Sometimes when I saw him dealing with these strugglers and wondered how he chose my letter among the hundreds to answer and sign personally, a signature which has left a permanent ‘scar’, and not merely an impact on me, I shudder.

Ali Peter John

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