Guru Dutt Page 3

  Guru Dutt’s cinema wasn’t the same after he met Waheeda. But how he met Waheeda was sheer destiny.

  In the small town of Chengalpattu, forty-five miles from Madras city (Tamil Nadu), Waheeda Rehman was born on 3 February 1938/39. Her father, Mohd Abdur Rehman was a district commissioner and mother, Mumtaz Begum, a homemaker. Waheeda was the youngest of four sisters. At the age of nine, Waheeda, along with her sisters, went to learn Bharatnatyam at Rajmundry. But then tragedy struck.

  Waheeda’s father passed away when she was only thirteen years old. With no regular earning now, Waheeda and her elder sister Sayeeda began performing on stage but the earning wasn’t enough to sustain their family. Then a close family friend, film producer Ramakrishna Prasad, offered Waheeda a song-and-dance number in his Telugu film Rojulu Marayi (which means ‘times have changed’). The song was a chartbuster and through her dance Waheeda became an overnight star. It was through this song that Waheeda Rahman met Guru Dutt and then went on to play a crucial part in his life.

  And it happened in Hyderabad.

  Guru Dutt’s distributor from the south of India told him about a Telugu film, Misiamma, that was a runaway hit there. He suggested that it could be a good idea to remake the film in Hindi. He asked Guru Dutt to come to Hyderabad and watch the film that was running to packed theatres. Guru Dutt agreed.

  It was decided that it would be road trip to Hyderabad in Guru Dutt’s car. Abrar Alvi and Guruswamy would give him company. They left the same evening, drove right through the night and reached Hyderabad the next morning. But then there was an accident. The driver was tired and smashed the car into a buffalo. No one was hurt except Guru Dutt’s Plymouth car. It had severely broken down and the mechanic told them it would take three days to repair it. The one-day-film-watching-trip was now accidentally extended to three days. What’s worse, Guru Dutt finally watched Misiamma and did not like it. He was now irritated at such a total waste of a trip with nothing coming out of it. But he had two more days in hand. To kill time he went to meet one of his film distributors and then, fate intervened.

  Guru Dutt and Abrar Alvi were sitting in the office of the distributor when they noticed a commotion outside. Guru Dutt was keenly watching some youngsters as they surrounded a car that had stopped over there. The door opened and a girl came out of the car. Guru Dutt looked at the distributor quizzically. ‘She is Waheeda Rehman,’ he told Guru Dutt, adding that the girl had performed only a dance number in the film Rojulu Marayi but that dance number had become a sensation. The film was a smashing success making the dancer, Waheeda, popular among the youngsters.

  It was fate playing its hand. Waheeda was based out of Madras but had come to Hyderabad for the success event of Rojulu Marayi at the same time that Guru was on an unplanned visit to Hyderabad.

  Waheeda Rehman remembered, ‘Rojulu Marayi had completed its 100th day run in Hyderabad. Mr Guru Dutt happened to be in Hyderabad at that time and had seen a big crowd outside the theatre.’

  Guru Dutt was surprised, ‘Waheeda Rehman? That’s a Muslim name. Does she speak Urdu?’ He asked the distributor to arrange a meeting. ‘I had not seen his movies or even heard his name till then; I did not know who he was.’ The next day, Waheeda came with her mother for the meeting. Her first meeting with Guru Dutt.

  Waheeda Rehman seemed nothing like the sensation as described by the distributor. She was plainly dressed and spoke very little. Guru Dutt too didn’t speak much. He asked about her background, if she could speak Urdu and if she had learnt dancing. Waheeda replied in monosyllables. In some time the meeting ended. Recalling their first meeting Waheeda said, ‘He hardly spoke a sentence or two when I met him for the first time in 1955. That meeting appeared to be just a coincidence; but destiny must have known that my days were changed…“days are changed” translated in Telegu, the language of my first movie, would be Rojulu Marayi.’

  The distributor also suggested that Guru Dutt must watch her dance number from Rojulu Marayi before leaving for Bombay. The reel was arranged. Meanwhile Guru Dutt and friends spent the afternoon quaffing beer and having lunch. Abrar Alvi narrates in writer Sathya Saran’s book Ten Years with Guru Dutt, ‘By the time we got to the projection room we had downed six bottles, and, more likely than not, were in happy haze. The reel was shown, the dance number was fast paced and well-executed, but there was not a single shot of the dancer in close-up. “How is she?” Guru Dutt asked, “Very photogenic,” I replied. “I also think so,” Guru Dutt opined.’

  That was it. They didn’t discuss Waheeda after that. The car was repaired and they came back to Bombay. Guru Dutt was now more worried that they wasted so much time due to the accident just for the film Misiamma for which he had actually gone to Hyderabad. He wasn’t going to remake it. It also meant that Guru Dutt had nothing in hand to make before Pyaasa.

  Waheeda later said, ‘I did not give any importance to that meeting and forgot all about it. But he did not.’

  Few months later, Guru Dutt gave Waheeda Rehman a break by casting her in a side role in his film C.I.D., but her song and dance act ‘Kahin pe nigahein, kahin pe nishana’ became a runaway hit and outshone even the lead actress, Shakila. Film magazines announced that impressed by Waheeda Rehman, Guru Dutt had given her a crucial role in his ambitious project Pyaasa.

  The new mentor-protégé relationship was already being talked about in the corridoors of the film industry.

  6

  INDECISIONS AND GURU

  ‘The kind of serious films he was making had also affected him. His personality had changed.’

  —Lalitha Lajmi

  Pyaasa, in a truly mainstream format, raises critical questions. The socio-romantic melodrama had all the elements that were considered an intrinsic part of Hindi cinema of those times. But with Guru Dutt’s understated craft, important issues were blended within the film with sophistication and subtlety. The film repeatedly questioned the system that was so cold-blooded and discouraging for artists. What is more relevant—money or art? The questions that had also troubled Guru Dutt’s father. Pyaasa raised these questions on a materialistic society through a story which was hard-hitting, haunting, artistic yet entertaining and well within the mainstream format. This is what made Pyaasa everlastingly relevant.

  Professor Ira Bhaskar says, ‘Guru Dutt was an auteur, a mainstream cinema auteur. There’s no doubt about it. Also, 1950 is a very interesting phase in Indian cinema in a sense that Guru Dutt’s work is a critique of the nationalism and national agenda. Like in Pyaasa. It is surprising Pyaasa was a successful film, considering it was an extremely critical film about Indian capitalism. The two scathing songs—“Jinhe naaz hai hind par wo kahaan hain” and “Ye duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai”. The songs that are still completely relevant after six decades. There is also a running metaphor in the film: prostitution, which is not really about a prostitute but in a way about how capitalism prostitutes everything. That sets him apart from say Mehboob Khan, another great filmmaker of that time. But there is also a similarity with someone like K.A. Abbas. Abbas was writing for filmmaker-actor Raj Kapoor. There were similarities in social concerns and issues in films like Shri 420 and Awara. ’

  As an actor, Guru Dutt gave his soul to the role of the tormented poet Vijay. He believed that the eyes were the most expressive part of a person and they spoke more than anything else. When you recall any famous Guru Dutt photograph, or any of his scenes from a film, you will instantly remember his intense eyes. But a fact often overlooked is that Guru Dutt used to wear thick eyeglasses due to poor eyesight. While in front of the camera, however, he used to remove the glasses to look natural. It, in fact, worried him that he did not have the capabilities of projecting intense expressions through his eyes. He may have not been able to see the camera clearly without glasses but he worked really hard to express through his eyes. And the magic was there for all to see.

  More than sixty years have passed but you utter the word Pyaasa and what comes to mind are the songs, and t
he way Guru Dutt captured and immortalised them.21 Lyrics and poetry by Sahir was put to tunes remarkably by S.D. Burman. The song sequences were replete with symbolisms that have been repeatedly decoded over the years. The shot-taking practices prevalent in Indian cinema at that time were mid-shots and long shots. Guru Dutt was perhaps the first to use an establishing shot followed by close-ups in his films. He was obsessed with close-ups and extensively used long focal-length lenses (75 mm and 100 mm). Even after so many decades, those close-up shots stand out. Devi Dutt remembers, ‘The close-up shots with a 100 mm lens in his films, which became known as the “Guru Dutt shot”, the masterful play with light and even his melancholia soaked frames, still enthrall cineastes.’22

  Most songs in the film begin in the true Guru Dutt tradition—without introductory music. The songs were an extension of the conversations in the script. V.K. Murthy recounted, ‘His filming of songs and scenes was unique. Others just used to keep the camera fixed, have the actors perform the song, walking in or out of frame and have a few cut to close-up shots, that’s all. But Guru Dutt was not like that at all. He emphasised movements and that too in close-up shots.’ He undoubtedly had a very good sense of movement owing to his dance training at Uday Shankar’s Dance Centre.

  Having closely observed the Baul singers in the streets of Calcutta as a child, he recreated the imagery in the song ‘Aaj saajan mohe ang laga lo’—a devotional love song where the desire of the lover is projected as spiritual and divine.

  Guru Dutt’s obsession with Bengal can be clearly seen in Pyaasa. He wanted to shoot in Calcutta so some scenes were rewritten to include locations from the city in the story. This led to an amusing incident. Actor Mehmood was cast in Pyaasa, as Guru Dutt’s elder brother. It was the scene of their mother’s last rites and the location was the Calcutta Ghats. Abrar Alvi was responsible for the dialogues and accent of the actors but on this particular day he was absent from the shoot. Mehmood asked the location of the shot and when told that it was to be shot at the Calcutta Ghats, he decided to say his dialogues in a Bengali accent, whereas the rest of the family spoke in a North Indian/ Benares accent. The scene is still there in the film.

  People close to Guru Dutt have gone on record to say that he did not believe in shooting a film with a bound script or strict planning of shooting schedules. He was rather fond of ‘creating’ the film as it took shape on the sets, making a lot of changes in the script and dialogues. Abrar Alvi had said that Guru Dutt shot the film in random order and the raw stock Guru Dutt used for any one film could have finished three films.

  Veteran lyricist and film producer Amit Khanna who worked closely with Dev Anand says, ‘Guru Dutt was the kind of filmmaker who reshot a lot of his stuff. So he was a very expensive filmmaker. There were others like Raj Kapoor, Ramesh Sippy, Manoj Kumar who shot and scrapped but Guru Dutt was at some other level. He would scrap films he had shot for months. Very indecisive.’

  By the time he made Pyaasa, the indecisiveness had magnified manifold. He would shoot and shoot and was unsure about what he really wanted in a particular scene. Even with himself, for the famous climax sequence in Pyaasa, he shot one-hundred and four takes! He kept forgetting the dialogues as it was a very lengthy shot, but he wanted it just right…he would shout and get bad-tempered when things did not go right. Before Pyaasa, he would scrap only one or two shots of a film, rather than entire sequences. But beginning from Pyaasa, the scrapping and reshooting had reached worrying new levels. People close to him noticed this change. However, it was attributed to the reason that with his dream project Pyaasa, Guru Dutt did not want to leave any stone unturned.

  He wanted it to be perfect.

  Sleep evaded him. The misuse of and dependence on alcohol had begun. At his worst, he started experimenting with sleeping pills, mixing them in his whiskey.

  Remembering those days, Lalitha Lajmi told this author, ‘The kind of serious films he was making had also affected him. His personality had changed. He had become more reclusive…sometimes he used to call me saying he wants to talk about something. But whenever I went to meet him, he never really confided. He was disturbed.’

  Guru Dutt gave his all to make Pyaasa—his sleep, his dreams, and the memories of his childhood.

  Section Three

  BUILDING OF A DREAM

  1931–47: CALCUTTA TO MUMBAI

  ‘Guru Dutt was a romantic really.’

  7

  AU REVOIR, CALCUTTA

  ‘More than anyone else it was uncle Benegal who influenced Guru Dutt immensely. He was Guru Dutt’s first mentor.’

  —Lalitha Lajmi

  It is said a life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives. B.B. Benegal had that seminal impact on Guru Dutt’s childhood.

  It was an aged building on 183, Dharamtalla Street, near Jyoti cinema, one of the oldest cinema halls in Calcutta. That is where B.B. Benegal lived.

  ‘I still have dreams of Uncle Benegal’s house on Dharamtalla Street. Guru, Atma, cousin Jaya, the dog Bobby, and I spent memorable moments there. Uncle Benegal was a very kind man,’ says Lalitha.

  B.B. Benegal was Guru Dutt’s mother Vasanthi’s favourite cousin. While Guru’s father slogged at his work, it was uncle Benegal who took great care of the the family and kids. ‘My uncle was very close to us and you know he was a film publicist and he used to live next to Jyoti cinema. And he used to do publicity for English, Hindi and Bengali films. So publicity means artwork. He was a commercial artist as well as a painter. In those days taking painting or poetry as a profession was not possible,’ remembered Lalitha.

  Benegal had a large studio, and downstairs were his living quarters. The kids used to spend many weekends in his house. ‘Because of the publicity he was doing for films, he used to get free passes to see those films. My grandmother used to take us by tram every Friday. Saturday and Sunday we used to stay there. Our favourites were the Walt Disney movies. There was a time when Guru Dutt as a child used to see three movies in a day—Hindi, Bangla and English films,’ said Lalitha remembering those early days.

  B.B. Benegal was a commercial artist and photographer and he used to design and paint film hoardings in Calcutta.

  ‘More than anyone else it was uncle Benegal who influenced Guru Dutt immensely. He was Guru Dutt’s first mentor,’ shared sister Lalitha. Benegal realised that Guru Dutt loved music and had a natural affinity towards dancing. Guru Dutt loved S.D. Burman’s Bengali music and used to play his songs repeatedly on Benegal’s gramophone. When Benegal was not around, Guru used to take his camera from Banegal’s wife to photograph animals in the Calcutta zoo. ‘He fidgeted with the camera and proudly told us all that one day he, too, would make a film.’ Benegal never told him that he couldn’t. Unlike Guru Dutt’s father, in Benegal’s world, dreams were not just allowed, they were encouraged.

  ‘Benegal Uncle gave my brother a Bosch camera when he was young and a box of colours to me when I was five. Very symbolic because he became a filmmaker and I, an artist. I was very close to Guru Dutt because I think it was art that binded us. Both of us had an artistic bent of mind. So we understood each other,’ said Lalitha.

  To make ends meet Vasanthi gave private tuitions. B.B. Benegal said to her, ‘Leave Guru Dutt to me, I will look after him.’ He removed Guru from the South Indian school he was studying in as he was not doing well there and put him in David Hare’s English-medium school. There, Guru was quite happy and became a good student.

  Guru Dutt passed his matriculation in 1941 and his mother Vasanthi, who also had decided to continue her education passed her high school in 1940, a year before her son. Guru Dutt was always in awe of his mother. She also obtained a diploma in Education and later took up a teaching job. While her husband was a master of one language, she, through her passion for learning became well versed in eight languages. Vasanthi wrote for magazines, and years later even translated a Bengali novel Mithun to Kannada.

  But the family was going through a major financial crunch.
Being the eldest son, Guru Dutt had to discontinue his studies after high school to supplement his father’s income. He was sixteen.

  Guru Dutt joined as a telephone operator on a monthly salary of forty rupees. But the job made him really restless and he left it after a month and a half. Lalitha laughed, ‘He hated the job so much that by the end of the month he did not even go to collect his month’s pay.’

  Guru Dutt then joined Hindustan Lever’s Calcutta office at a monthly salary of rupees thirty. ‘He was extremely generous. When he got his first salary he bought gifts for everyone in the family. A dress for me, saris for Amma [mother] and grandmother and a copy of the Bhagwad Gita for his teacher. But despite all this we knew he felt trapped in a daily job.’

  It was B.B. Benegal again who came to his rescue. This time it was a painting by him that inspired Guru Dutt.

  The painting had a man holding a snake coiled around his body. Benegal had named it ‘The Struggle for Existence’. Benegal recalled, ‘When Guru Dutt saw the painting, he said, “Uncle, I feel like dancing to this!”’23 Guru jumped with joy when he suggested they shoot the same dance performance on their 8 mm colour camera.

  On a November morning, with the sun rising in the background, Benegal took Guru Dutt to the famous Eden Gardens in Calcutta to capture ‘The Snake Charmer’ dance on camera. An excited Guru Dutt put Benegal’s red shawl on his head and tied a yellow cloth around his waist. He also put on some make-up. Then he began dancing. There was no music, yet he was dancing gracefully to a silent tune. Captured on an old 8 mm camera, this was young Guru Dutt’s dance to freedom. B.B. Benegal reminisces in Nasreen Munni Kabir’s book Guru Dutt: A Life in Cinema, ‘He looked just like a snake charmer. There was no music playing as he was dancing; he was just thinking the music.’24