When Harry met Daddy

My father entertained a lot. And not just on weekends. Sometimes three, four times a week.

I rarely bothered to ask who he had invited. It could be someone my dad met at a Rotary meeting, at a party, on a plane or in some country. It could be someone, who knew someone, who knew my dad. Or even someone, who didn’t know someone, who didn’t know my dad. He handed out invitations like one hands out candy at Halloween. Some guests popped in for tea, some came for dinner, others ensconced themselves in the guest room and overstayed their welcome by days, weeks, and yes, even months. Mi casa non es tu casa, I wanted to tell them. I was ready to cross-stitch the saying “Guests are like fish - they stink after three days” and hang it by the front door.

One evening, Dad came home from work and told me to prepare for dinner guests. This time, I did ask who was coming…and all I got was a cryptic ‘The guy who makes those James Bond films’. I was impressed. My dad knew about James Bond!! Being in the film business, you would think he would take in a movie now and again - either Western or Hindi. But no. When ‘Star Wars’ came out, I remember dragging him to see it. He started snoring before the titles even finished – not that I blame him. So sue me, sci-fi shit ain't my scene either.

We were often invited to Hindi film premières. These were (and are) the Big Events of the day. People called on favors, pulled strings and bribed unscrupulously for the much-coveted invitations. This was a chance to see the Bombay glitterati up close and personal. For my dad, it was more of a business commitment than an evening’s entertainment. He would schmooze with the producers and directors, promising to supply them with enough raw stock to complete their film and then leave by intermission.

Meeting Yash Chopra or Gulshan Rai or Dilip Kumar was one thing. Ghar ki murghi dal barabar. But the guy who makes James Bond movies?? Wow! I thought immediately of Albert Broccoli. With a name like, it takes center stage and the co-producer becomes ‘the other guy’.

The other guy was Harry Saltzman, who came with his wife Jacquie. Apparently, Harry’s people had made a few calls to find out who they could contact in India for some help to visit a swami. And they contacted my dad. And the swami they wanted to visit was Sathya Sai Baba.

Jacquie had terminal cancer and with all the treatments and the doctors all over the world, she was not given much time to live. Someone had told the family about this swami in India, who was known to perform miracles and so here they were. Pinning their last hope on this man, they had made the trip to India.

Now when someone like Harry Salzman says ‘Where is Bangalore?’ you don’t give him a map and tell him the next flight is at 7 pm. So my dad accompanied them to South India.

As I recall, my father said the Sathya Sai Baba did one of his famous miracles of producing vibhuti or ash out of thin air. Even as a non-believer, my father was floored. The Sai Baba apparently gave Jacquie a pearl and asked her to put it in a glass of water every night and to drink the water the next morning. I guess it is not up to me to decide whether it was a miracle or the power of faith, but I heard she beat the odds for a long time and eventually succumbed to the big C sometime in late 76 or early 77.

As for the Sai Baba, he has numerous followers all over the world. His organizations support various charitable institutions including free schools and hospitals. However, several corroborative reports also show him to be a charlatan and a fraud. More and more allegations surface as the years go by – sexual abuse and corruption, illegal fund-raising and the best yet, an announcement that he would appear on the moon. Spoiler alert! He didn’t.

My father also learned later that his ‘miracle’ of producing ash was apparently aided by a compressed ash tablet between his fingers.

As for Harry, he reciprocated by inviting us to visit him in England. I was in college and busy studying for my finals, but my sister Varsha gladly took him up on his offer and came back with wonderful stories of being a guest at his estate and dining with Michael Caine and his beautiful new wife Shakira.

Harry’s film “Live and Let Die” was about to be released at the time of her visit and he invited her to the premiere where she was told she would get to sit right next to (Sir) Paul McCartney, who had composed the song. It was a good thing she couldn’t make it. It was hard enough to get her to stop bragging about Michael and Harry, but had she met Paul, for sheer jealousy, I would have changed the title to “Me Live, You Die”.