What could have been an entertainer is, instead, a high-minded book about someone who gave a lot of his life to Indian cinema - not exactly a high-minded industry.
So even in his youth, with hormones raging and money in his pocket, the decency of the man won!
There is also the unexpected firebrand in Karanjia’s youth. Appearing for an interview for the Indian Civil Services examination, Karanjia is asked by Sir Richardson: "Are Indians fit for self-rule, do you think?"
Karajia’s reply: "Given the chance, I think we are. Even if we are not, we can surely learn. But if you’ll pardon my saying so, the emphasis has now shifted to British fitness or, rather, capacity to continue to rule over us. It is the opinion of many in this country, and of several in your country too, that even if Britain wins (in World War II), it will be a much weakened Britain that will be unable to hold the Empire together, including India."
In spite of this seemingly disastrous reply, Karanjia not only got into the ics but also with remarkably good marks for the interview. And then he did what was to become a feature of his life: resign. He found the job assigned to him boring, so chucked up the most coveted service in the country. And how long did he take to decide that the service wasn’t good for him? Two days!
This impetuousness was obviously an aberration of youth, but the willingness to leave a job and throw away a career option stayed with him throughout his working life, examples being the chairmanship of Film Finance Corporation and National Film Development Corporation as well as the editorship of film magazine Screen (owned by Ramnath Goenka’s Indian Express which fought for the freedom of the press during the Emergency, but sacked an editor just because he did not toe its line).
Karanjia left most of these jobs because of his principles, something not too many people are willing to do nowadays. He fought for what he believed in, but quit rather than compromise when asked to do so.
Karanjia also held two very glamorous jobs: editorship of Filmfare and Screen. His account of these years, especially the scheming behind the Filmfare awards, should have been the high point of the book, but isn’t, because Karanjia’s sense of decency holds him back from recounting any episode which might be considered even remotely unpleasant or unfair or bitchy. Even his accounts of his FFC/NFDC days gloss over the machinations and manipulations of the ministries in New Delhi.
Pity, because Counting My Blessings could have been an entertainer. It is, instead, a high-minded book about someone who gave a lot of his life to Indian cinema, which isn’t exactly a high-minded industry.