The World of Journalism becomes poorer by the sudden death of Rustom Khurshedji Karanjia, the former editor of the Blitz, a magazine that reveled in felling many a bad sky during its regime. The prominent place Karanjia had occupied in the portals of journalism will never get filled-up. True to his journal’s mantras- Free, Frank and Fearlessness, and the masthead of a bulldog, Russi Karanjia, with a rare daredevilry, uncovered corruption in all walks of life. Blitz never trotted on beaten tracks like its then fellow-journals who, for their existence, chose to play safe. Being a different mettle, and a wrought iron at that, Karanjia took up cudgels against corruption and aberrations in public life; unmasked those who’d used their positions and public offices for their self-aggrandizements; and he thus caused ripples in the stagnant waters of Indian journalism. A true, no nonsense investigative journalist, Karanjia strove hard to bring cleanliness and proprieties in public life thru various scoops and investigations, which stoked fires of a neo idealism in the young and budding minds of his days.

Quality Journalism and honest reporting of truth were the watchwords of the Blitz. Features like ‘ The Last Page’ by Mr. Abbas, and the ‘I don’t know son’ humor lines heightened the mag’s standard and brought to its fold scores of young and old. I still remember that I’d walked miles from my house just to get a copy of the paper from a faraway railway bookstall. I never regret having done so because Blitz had then become one of my acquired tastes and my integral parts.

On the flip side, damsels [with their exotic curves and cantors] in the pin-up columns hooked us every week and made us our young hearts palpitate so rapidly. We got thrilled and excited much when we started circulating our exotics among ourselves in the classroom under the cover of some notebooks. Once I’d one of the most redeeming moments of my life when I was, with agape, staring at one of the pin-ups passed to me by the boy sitting beside me. But as bad luck had it, my making love to ‘my girl’ with my eyes did not last long. Snatching away the paper from my hand my history lecturer took a quick glance at the pin-up and snarled at me.” Didn’t you ever see yourself naked in the mirror?” “Of course I did sir… but… but not yet yours, sir” I quipped hiding my indignation of the abrupt parting I’d with my girl. When the classroom split on its sides, I saw my history teacher leaving us in a huff.

I got all my memories and thoughts of Blitz relived when I recently read  Mr. Sainath’s tribute to Karanjia in ‘The Hindu’. The fact that Karanjia had memory loss at the fag end of his life triggered me thinking: how could a colossus of intelligence, a sterling journalist of great acumen, and a fire-breathing dragon loose his memories and live with a mind, so bald and blank. I still keep some of the back copies of the paper in my scrapbook as my treasure-troves. Whenever I glance at them I feel as if I’m being transported back to the world of my youth, - my dreamland-, which in every respect is different and distinct from the intriguing one that’s going around me now.

Long live the memory of Karanjia and his Blitz.

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