Nari Hira
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A brief biography
Sunanda Mehta , Aug 28, 2024: The Indian Express
Publishing Co Ltd, was celebrating its third anniversary. Despite being a small magazine, the chief guest was Amitabh Bachchan. As Bachchan took the stage, he said, “There are two reasons why I am here . First, I proposed to my wife Jaya in Pune, so the city holds a special significance for me. Second, when someone like Nari Hira calls you requesting to be present at a function, you jolly well be there.” All of this fits in with the many names — media mogul, print baron, man with the Midas touch — by which Nari Hira was known. As he was for his flamboyance, bravado, and classy parties with the who’s who of Mumbai. But there was a lesser-known side to his larger-than-life public persona that only those who worked closely with him knew — which social media is awash with at present following his death on August 23. The oft-heard, hyperbolic phrases have been replaced with those straight from the heart — kind, generous, witty, ideal mentor, best boss. And justifiably so.
Born in Karachi on January 26, 1938, Nari Hira came to India and settled in Bombay, post-Partition. He started his career at an advertising agency called Ranjeet Sales & Publicity, and then moved on to Bensons (Ogilvy and Mather) as a management trainee. But the man with bigger dreams wanted to get a feel for the West. He modelled to earn extra money and reached the UK with £10 in his pocket.
Soon, he chanced upon an advertisement for a job at Jaegers. He reached Oxford Circus well in time, only he thought Jaegers started with a Y, and was delayed by 15 minutes. Dejected, he made his way down where serendipitously he met the assistant to the managing director, who took him to meet the MD and Hira got his first job abroad. Ready to wash dishes in case it did not materialise, there was no looking back. He returned to India in 1962 and started his own advertising agency called Creative Unit and set about converting grand dreams and ideas into reality.
It started with Lana Publishing Company Ltd (later changed to Magna Publishing Company Limited) in October 1971 with the launch of Stardust, which always remained the flagship magazine of the company. Buoyed by its success, he launched a slew of other magazines: Society, Savvy, Showtime, Parade, Island, Health & Nutrition, Savvy Cookbook, Citadel, Society Fashion, Family Life, Society Interiors, Mandate, and StarWeek. He opened offices in New York, London and Los Angeles. And brought a new movie concept with Hiba movies available only on video. If the irreverant Stardust broke all the norms of film journalism, opting to be daring instead of diplomatic, Hiba Videos was unarguably the predecessor of OTT films as we know them today. No one had ever made films not meant for theatres, but for home viewing on the VCR. The themes were bold and provocative, but so close to the realities society routinely brushes under the carpet, that they hit home.
Hira never married but at 46, he adopted a son. Vikram, his daughter-in-law Proneeta and grandson Aryan became his world. To Vikram, he was both the father who was never unavailable and the boss who kept him on his toes. To Proneeta, to whom he happily divested a lot of his responsibilities, his most defining characteristic was his generosity: “He gave and gave and gave his all… without a single expectation in return.”
Anyone who knew him well has no trouble believing that. The day he died, I shared a small story on Facebook of my first encounter with Hira when I walked into his office in 1989 for a job interview. After the preliminary questions, he asked me what salary I was expecting. “Rs 1500 a month,” I replied, only to be told “What? You are asking for the Moon! 1,250 now and after 6 months, if you are confirmed, I will make it 1,500.” Three months later, he came down to the Pune office. As the Pune correspondent, I was by now writing extensively for Savvy, Society, Island, Health & Nutrition and Showtime. “I was talking with my magazine editors, who usually don’t agree on anything. But… they all agreed on one thing — your work is um… not bad. So I am confirming you now and increasing your salary to Rs 1,800,” he said as he pushed towards me a box of visiting cards. One look at my lit-up face and his next line was, “Now don’t let all this go to your head!”. He may not have agreed to give me the Moon that day but he sure was responsible for me finding my small place under the Sun.
I sent a silent prayer of gratitude when Vikram told me of his last moments, “He went the same way that he lived, on his own terms. He watched two movies, had a dinner of stir-fried salmon, fruit, and a glass of cognac before it was lights out for my father, in his true Nari Hira style.”
