Guru Dutt remembered on birth anniversary - Page 4

CHAPTER 1
It was 1923. We started our first home at Panambur, a village in South Kanara. It was a small village and the inhabitants, mostly farmers, were poor. There was a school run by the Grampanchayat. My husband, Sri Shivshanker Rao Padukone, was its headmaster. The number of students was hardly a hundred. Some of them came from quite long distances. In those days, the headmaster was respected by the entire village. We lived in a rented house surrounded on three sides by green fields and on one side by a wide road on which buses ran between Mangalore and Udipi. My father-in-law had planted two coconut palms near the house. He used to tell us "You will also live long like the 'Kalpavraksha' and be helpful to the needy." He was a pious man and very affectionate. He had thirteen children - ten sons and three daughters (it was a sort of pride to have many children those days) of whom my husband was the youngest. Naturally, he was a pampered child, and more so, because he lost his mother when he was hardly thirteen. After the death of my mother-in-law, the home was broken and my father-in-law with his youngest child used to live in the house of his other sons by turn. As my parents were not living together, I had also been brought up by my maternal relatives from the age of five. I was married when I was 15-year-old. Naturally, I was inexperienced in housekeeping when we started our home.

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Our landlord, who had only one eye, had a sweetmeat shop. He was kind, affectionate and treated me like his own daughter. Every time he prepared sweets, he would give me some to taste. It was a pleasure to watch him prepare sweets. In the village, the bazaar was held only once a week. People from villages, far and near, used to come to buy their requirements such as clothes, bangles, vegetables and other commodities. It was such fun to watch these villagers coming, bargaining, etc. We used to get fresh vegetables from the farm itself. A maid-servant, who was also my age, used to do odd jobs in the house and accompany me whenever I went. We had to get water from a well which was far away from home. Once it so happened that the servant girl fell ill, and I had to fetch water. On the way some mischievous boys threw stones at me and tried to pull my leg. I was very timid. I ran home crying and panting for the house for a few days. Those boys were from the school where my husband was the headmaster. They were punished severely and the parents took action. They brought the case before the "Grampanchayat". Somehow, a compromise was brought about between the headmaster and the parents. I still remember another incident there. One day our landlady who used to work in the fields came home at 12 noon. As soon as she entered, she made a sound like a beast. Her eyes were red and wildly opened. She rolled on the floor. She was shivering. I was playing with her little grandson in a corner of the verandah. That lady's son, daughter-in-law, the old man, all came rushing to her as if they knew what had befallen her, and tried to appease her. "We remember," pleaded the husband, "we did not perform my father's or your father's Shradha ceremony. we will surely perform these soon. Please go away." So saying the old man kept a rupee on a 'panleaf' and prostrated before her (the old lady). His mother's spirit had come upon her to remind them. Others also bowed before her. Once again the old lady looked at each one of them with piercing eyes, and slowly and steadily the spirit left her. The old lady fell down with a sound. She became weak. The whole day, she could not get up nor touch any food. On the school day, there was a Kannada drama played by the students. A few girls sang songs. At that time, dance was forbidden on the stage although the village folk danced during festivals and fairs. The prizes were given by my hand. I felt nervous and shy while stepping on the stage. My husband used to get malaria often. He was treated by one of the school teachers called 'Nachappa master'. He used to prescribe Ayurvedic medicines. The old man suggested that it would be better to consult an astrologer to find out whether the trouble was due to the unfavourable influence of the stars. My husband never believed in astrology. But, he had to yield to the suggestion of the old man. The astrologer wanted to read my hand too, and he being an old man, my husband did not object. The astrologer gave a broad smile at me, when he examined my palm. He predicted that I would get a son within a year. He would be a great person and bring good luck to the family. The child would be world famous. I felt shy at that time; getting children at such a young age was unthinkable.

After the annual exams, the school was closed for the summer vacations. My husband was not contented with the meagre salary. He wanted to proceed to Bangalore in search of a job. Once he decided to do anything, no one could stop him. He resigned the job. It was so painful for me to leave Panambur, where I led a peaceful independent life. I missed those traditional village 'Yakshagana' dances which were held the whole night in front of our house. I used to watch them from our window at nights and get scolded by my husband.

Artist Cousin

Before going to Bangalore I stayed at Mangalore with one of my maternal cousins for four months. She was a very strict woman although she had a good heart. She could not tolerate even a small thing going against her will. My only consolation was the affection of my cousin brother Sri B.B. Benegal, who was an artist. He was four years older than me. He used to take me out for an occasional stroll. Young girls were forbidden to go alone anywhere in those days. We used to take long walks, discussing about our future etc. He was a great admirer of Rabindranath Tagore, and used to get his books for me to read from the school library. I also became a great admirer of Tagore and his works. I used to dream that if at all I get children, they should be as talented as the Tagores. So we came close to each other.

It was a joy to watch my cousin while he was busy with his colours and brushes. My cousin's father was an ardent admirer of art and the stage. During his young days it is said he used to take an active part on the stage. He also experimented on stage improvements and lost a lot of money. Thus the family had to suffer due to poverty. So his children had a grudge against him. He was a nice old man and very affectionate (I have always had a soft corner for old people). I used to pound his pan and help him whenever he wanted something or the other. He had promised me that he would stay at my place when I joined my husband. Unfortunately, he died a few days after I left for Bangalore. His wish could not be fulfiled. In 1924 October, I went to Bangalore, Shivshankar got a job in a bank. My mother was with me most of the time after she joined us at Bangalore. I left Mangalore after the Gouri-Ganesh Pooja was over. This is a great festival for us. In olden times we observed the puja in a strict orthodox manner, fasting until the 'Gana-homa' and puja were over, simple devotion. Perhaps I have inherited this from my father. He was a follower of the late Sri Manick Buva. My father's uncle Sri Swami Pandurangashram, was the Spiritual head of our Saraswat Community at the time. He was very orthodox and a strict disciplinarian. He had tabooed travel to foreign countries. So, in those days, people who had dined with foreign-returned persons had to take 'Prayaschit' to purify themselves. We had done this in 1921 after my brother's wedding. After coming to Bangalore, the whole atmosphere was strange to me. I had never been to school for any length of time. Before my wedding I attended school for one year and a half and that too because of my uncle who helped me financially. So, I had little learning. My cousins who were educated used to look down upon me, which hurt my sensitive nature a great deal. I joined one of the Convent Schools to learn embroidery. I was unable to follow the English spoken by the nuns there. But they used to teach me with their broken Kannada language. Within two months signs of pregnancy appeared in me. I had to stop going to my classes, as I had severe morning sickness. How avidly I used to read the lives of Sri Ramkrishna and Sri Vivekananda in Marathi! I could not understand their philosophy, but I had read somewhere that if a person who is pregnant devotes her time to reading good books, the child to be born becomes endowed with a brilliant intellect. It may or may not be true, but I sincerely believed it. It is this faith and sincerity which really played an important part in my life. From childhood I was not allowed to have any friends in whom I could confide. I was the favourite of my father. Since we were separated, I was feeling very lonely. In those days, a girl of 10 years was treated like an adult, and so children had no freedom of any sort. My mother was very strict. Her nagging and fault-finding made me an introvert. Even after my wedding I was not close to my husband. We were poles apart. The wife had neither choice nor voice in any matters. Women had only to be submissive and obey their masters. As the time of my confinement was nearing, it was difficult for me to move about. I used to get sweet dreams of the baby to be born. At length, the fateful day dawned. 9th July, 1925. I had severe labour pains and my husband and mother took me to the hospital, no one was allowed to stay there, only during visiting hours. So, my people left me and went away. How ignorant I was at that time! I knew nothing about what a patient who had come for delivery should do, or should not do. I went and sat on a chair which belonged to the matron. The pains were coming off and on. As soon as the matrons entered she was furious at seeing me, a patient, sitting in her chair. She shouted at the top of her voice and started abusing me. I was already nervous and her shouting made me more so. The pain became unbearable after a time. I was taken to the labour room. The nurses there were also inhuman. Their treatment towards patients was humiliating. However, at 12 noon exactly my child was born. A bundle was brought to me after an hour or two. The nurse opened the bundle and placed the new-born beside me. I could not believe that the child was mine. My own flesh and blood. I kissed the baby's forehead. I forgot all the pain I bore. How cute he looked with his curly jet black hair, fair complexion and big eyes! He weighed less than 6 lbs. the nurse said. In the general ward, there was an elderly lady next to my bed. She was kind and affectionate. She showed me how to breast feed the child. In the evening both my mother and husband came. Mother was so happy to see her grandson. Perhaps, my husband also felt proud on becoming a father. In the Hospital
My son was the only male baby that day, all the rest were girls. I used to feel nervous to handle the tiny baby. That same day, another young girl gave birth to twins. They were kept in an incubator. They were wrapped up in cotton and they looked like dolls. Next day, it so happened that the nurse brought another baby to me. She made a mistake, by not seeing the number of the cardboard which was tied to the baby's neck. My baby's number was 9. The other baby's number was 6. I fed the other baby thinking it was mine. The mother of that baby got wild as soon as she found out the mistake. She could recognise her baby. She made a big fuss about this and took the complaint to the doctor. The poor nurse was suspended for a week. What a pleasure it was to fondle and kiss my tiny baby! The Mother becomes one with the child and forgets her existence, and even the world outside. That is the magic or maya of the Creator. This maya creates an impregnable bond between the baby and the mother, and how difficult it is to cut down this bond of maya! It was the month of July. It rained heavily with thunder and lightning. On the 11th day my people came to take me home. The old lady next to me blessed me and the baby. She shed tears as she was undergoing an operation that day. There was no certainty of her surviving the ordeal. Poor lady! How much she was attached to me! She helped me a lot, as I was forbidden to get up for a few days. My mother bathed the baby. How curiously I watched this! On the 12th day, the cradle ceremony was performed. A few relatives and neighbours were invited. My elder brother had suggested two names: Vasant Kumar and Gurudutt. The baby was born on Thursday (Guru's Day) and it was the birthday also of Madhavacharya, the great philosopher and Saint of Vaishnawa cult. The baby used to cry off and on. Perhaps his light body could not bear the cold. Whenever it rained, the weather in Bangalore used to cool down considerably. The baby used to get cold and cough every now and then. I knew nothing about child care. In the beginning I was clumsy even while changing his diapers. When the baby was a month and a half old, he started gazing at persons who came close to the cradle, and used to keep on smiling. Gradually he started holding a toy with his tiny hands. When the baby was two months old, he was vaccinated. For a few days he was very peevish. At the third month, he started to turn on his belly. He never crawled straight away and he tried to sit when he was six months old. It was a pleasure to see him fall down during his attempts to sit. When Gurudutt completed his seventh month, we took him to a photographer's shop to take a photo. Everyone in the family was anxious to see the baby. How sweet he looked in this photo with his big eyes! We were forced to shift to another house on the 5th road Chamrajpet, as the landlady started troubling us in our house. Our new habitation was an outhouse. The landlord had a beautiful wife named Gouri. She was charming and had three children. Her husband was not satisfied with his wife. He was carrying on with the maid servant of the house and the couple always used to quarrel. Gouri used to come to my mother with tears in her eyes. She threatened her husband that she would leave him. She had no parents, brothers or sisters to provide for her. During this time we got the news that my father had come from Bombay to his cousin's house at Malleshwaram. We both went there to bring Papa to our place. I saw my father after a six-year gap. How I wanted to go and embrace him! But this show of affection was not allowed in those days. In 1927, when Mahatmaji came to Bangalore for rest along with Kasturba, Mahdev Desai, Maniben etc., we used to go there every evening to attend the prarthana (prayer) held in his presence. I attended it daily and I also coaxed my husband to attend it. I was very much moved by the bhajan. I also sang the Kannada devotional songs of Purandardas, Kanakdas and Bhatkal Appaya Shenai. Those songs had mostly Sanskrit words in them, which appeared to Pt. Madan Mohan Malaviaji. He would ask me to sit besides him to sing songs which specially dealt with Advaitha. By and by I was very much impressed by the atmosphere there. Rajaji's daughter Laxmi, (who became Devdas Gandhi's wife later) became my friend. We carried on our correspondence for many years. Little Gurudutt was evidently impressed by all these happenings. Every evening, as soon as lamps were lit in front of the idols at home, he would close his eyes and sing 'Raghupati Raghav...' although he could not clearly pronounce the words. On his second birthday (in 1927), I dressed him up in red clothes which were his favourites, put his ornaments on and sent him to the landlord's place to wish them. It was midday when he returned home running. He fell down near the well, which was situated between our house and the landlord's. He was hurt severely near the forehead. I took him to the nearby doctor. At night he had high fever which continued for two weeks. When Guru was a baby, I had once a severe attack of diarrhoea and had been treated by an old Vaidya. We had faith in him, and so we made him commence treatment for my child. It produced no result. The child's condition became worse, day by day, I gave him milk in his silver cup. His eyes rolled up, his body became cold and his breathing rapid. The doctor who was nearby refused to come to see the child when I described his condition. My cousin's husband was a doctor. But my husband disliked him. He never allowed me to consult him when I was ill. This time I was desperate. I rushed to my cousin's place which was on the 1st road, and requested him to save my child. He listened to everything quietly. All of them loved Gurudutt very much. But he refused to see the baby on principle. I wept, and that perhaps moved him at last. He came with me. We had closed all the windows and doors. I was so ignorant of everything! He opened the windows first, examined the child carefully and asked me to keep hot water bottles on both sides of the child. He gave some gray powder just to console me. (He told me this later, when Gurudutt recovered). He also told us to keep a watch on the child. We sat near the child by turns. By God's grace the critical period was over. He uttered "Amma". I gave him water from a spoon which he drank slowly. From a distance, I could hear a Shloka from "Manache Shlok" of Samarth Ramdas sung by someone by our house on the roads:

Who is most happy in this world?
Ask your own mind to find out.

Thank you again for articles Bob Ji.. will go thru slowly.. 😊 😊

Guru of sensitive cinema A retrospective of Guru Dutt's films held in Delhi recently showcased the actor-director's immense contribution to cinema. Nirupama Dutt recalls his timeless classics.

There are takers for the magical black and white cinema of Guru Dutt even some four decades after his death. This was evident at the just-concluded Cinemaya Asian Film Festival in the Capital. It was on October 10, 1964, that this exceptional film personality, an actor, director and producer all rolled into one, literally called it a day by committing suicide — much to the shock of his family, friends and fans. He left behind a poetic contribution to cinema in passionate work done just in the span of 13 years. God may or may not love those who die young but humans certainly do. Guru Dutt, one of the cherished icons of Indian cinema, has a cult following. One such ardent fan is Aruna Vasudev, film critic and historian, whose brainchild Cinemaya is. "We include Guru Dutt films in every festival because some of the young people know nothing about his cinema but this time we included some of his less famous films like CID, Mr. & Mrs. 55 and Aar-Paar along with his all-time great films," says Vasudev.

Guru Dutt's all-time great films are Pyaasa, Kagaz ke Phool and Sahib Bibi aur Ghulam. Born in Mysore on July 25, 1925, he had his early education in Calcutta and after taking basic dance training from Uday Shankar he joined the Prabhat Studios and made a beginning as choreographer for Hum Ek Hain (1946), starring Dev Anand. The two struck a great friendship and while Guru Dutt was director for many of Navketan films, Dev Anand, in turn, was hero in many of Guru Dutt's films. In fact Guru Dutt's directorial debut came with Navketan's Baazi. With Geeta Roy as the playback singer it had some wonderful evergreen songs like Suno gajar kya gaaye, Aaj ki raat piya and Yeh kaun aayea. Although the film was the simple story of the rich good girl falling in love with the poor boy forced to be bad. Set in the twilight of the underworld, it starred Dev Anand and Kalpana Kartik in the lead. Geeta Bali gave a memorable performance as the gangster's moll. It was during the making of this film that Guru Dutt and Geeta Bali fell in love with each other and married. The marriage was later to see much unhappiness as Guru Dutt fell in love with the leading lady he had discovered, Waheeda Rehman. Baazi, released in 1951, was a big hit and Guru Dutt had arrived with his trademark style of playing with light and shade and experimenting with the close-up shot. The Goan seaside thriller Jaal once again with Dev Anand and Geeta Bali and immortal music by Hemant Kumar had the whole country singing Yeh raat yeh chandni phir kahan.

In 1954, Guru Dutt turned producer as well with Aar Paar. For the film he signed the B-grade heroine Shyama because he could not afford the other leading ladies. He played his own hero and the audiences gasped with delight as he sang Mohabbat kar lo jee bhar lo, Aji kisne roka hai. Watching this films with young audiences half a century after these were made can be quite an experience. Guru Dutt integrated film songs very well in the flow of the story. The best example of this was, of course, Pyaasa (1957). In this film the poetry of Sahir Ludhianvi was brought alive on the celluloid with great intensity. Guru Dutt built a strong team which included comedians Tun Tun and Johnny Walker who were to be seen in most of his films. The famous massage song Champi tel malish from Pyaasa was picturised on Walker. The film had Waheeda in the lead, to whom he had already given a break in CID as a side heroine.

Inspired by Sarat Chandra's novel Srikant, it had a very poignant love scene between the two playing the roles of poet and prostitute respectively. The woman yearns to touch him on the terrace in the night as a Krishna bhajan is being sung in the street below: Aaj sajjan mohe ang laga lo, Janam safal ho jaaye. The film ends with the two walking away hand in hand from a selfish world.

Sadly life could not be so simple. In Kagaz ke Phool, an autobiographical film, he almost rehearsed his own death. A sensitive film set against the razzmatazz of the film world, Kagaz ke Phool won the President's silver medal and the Critics' Award but failed at the box office because the people were not yet ready for such a film. This broke Guru Dutt emotionally.

The success of Sahib, Bibi aur Ghulam in 1962 should have healed his scars but his personal life was in shambles and on October 10, 1964, he took an overdose of sleeping pills. I recall the poem Kaifi Azmi had written then for he was the lyricist for Kagaz ke Phool giving great songs like Waqt ne kiya kya haseen sitam and Bichhade sabhi baari baari. Kaifi's dirge at Guru Dutt's death moved the heart:

Tum jaise gaye aise to jaaya nahi karte

Ik baar to khud maut bhi ghabra gayi hogi

Yoon maut ko seene se lagaya nahi karte

Stuck in the memory

With technology half a century old, and studio sets incredibly amateurish, was it a film that still hypnotised the old and the young? MEENAKSHI MUKHERJEE viewed 'Pyaasa' again to find out the truth for herself. THE entire auditorium wallowed in collective nostalgia as the nine-day Guru Dutt festival in Hyderabad came to a close with the screening of "Pyaasa". I had missed most of the other films for various reasons but made a special effort to see this 1950s classic whose memory has got blurred in my mind - as I would imagine in the minds of most people of my generation - in a romantic haze as part of the lost world of black and white innocence, when love and longing were the staple of life. After being hardened by decades of clear-eyed existence of a more mundane kind, I was curious to view it again, to figure out exactly how its magic worked. More important, to see if it works any more in our post-globalisation ethos. After all the film valorised a hero who put poetry before material success, and but for the creative fire in him could well be seen as a Devdas-like figure whose attraction is supposed to lie in his opting out of society. Can anyone sympathise with such an idealist dreamer in today's achievement-oriented culture? "Pyaasa" has attained a sort of iconic status in the history of commercial Hindi films - something akin to "Kismet" in the 1940s or "Sholay" in the 1970s. Undoubtedly, the film owed much of its phenomenal popularity to its haunting songs. The irresistible combination of Sahir Ludhianvi's lyrics, Sachin Dev Burman's music and the voices of Geeta Dutt, Rafi and Hemant at their best, has never been repeated. During the screening it seemed to cast its spell not only on the sizeable number of senior citizens in the audience who had in any case come to re-live their youth, but equally on the younger people, weaned on madder music and a louder din. It might have been a discovery to them that songs can captivate with so little or no background music. But if it were for the songs alone, why take the trouble of travelling in pouring rain to sit through 35 reels perched on uncomfortable chairs? There are easier ways of enjoying music. Not a single person got up to leave before the movie was finally over at 10 o'clock, not even my reluctant companion who came on condition that he would walk out the moment he felt bored. In "Pyaasa" the technology is half a century old, the studio sets seem incredibly amateurish today - the park where Johnny Walker peddles his champei ka tel and the lanes of the brothel where the drunken Guru Dutt sings his memorable "jinhe naaz hai hind par" song, are tacky to say the least; a duet uses props that must have been hackneyed even then - billowing vapours engulf the hero and the heroine as they dance with haloes around their head produced by backlighting - but people sat glued to their seats without a murmur, as if hypnotised. In fact even the elderly viewer who had been causing us much distress by his loud out-of- tune humming while the songs were being played in the auditorium before the movie began, surprised us by lapsing into a profound silence when the actual screening started. The film has all the clichs of Bollywood films that we have grown up with - the prostitute with the golden heart, Hindu-Muslim friendship (the only true friend of Vijay is Abdul Sattar), the capitalist as villain, the ending where a destitute hero and a prostitute heroine walk away into the mist towards the far horizon - door, bahut door. But some elusive component still holds the film together. The late Iqbal Masood once wrote a line very casually in his column that has stuck in my memory. Masood's definition of an Indian was a person who cannot remain unmoved by the film "Pyaasa". He did not explain why. Is it sentimentality? Is it the capacity for a temporary suspension of the motivating desires of real life - making money and enjoying a good life - in order to idealise renunciation? Seeing the film today, I was baffled by an incidental question about location and language. For a long time the Bombay film had tried to erase the regional identities of its characters to construct a homogenous Indian ethos. That is why the heroes and heroines seldom had second names that might reveal specificities of caste and language. But Guru Dutt was not like most of his contemporaries. He lets us know very early that the proprietor of the Modern Publishing House, who is also the editor of a highbrow Urdu magazine, is called Mr. Ghosh, and his assistant is Chatterjee - unusual names for patrons of nazm writers. It is not clear why the film should be set in Calcutta when the protagonist is an Urdu poet. In fact for quite some time the director was not sure that the location should be specified at all and most of the film was shot inside the studio in any case. But slowly we begin to recognise the place, specially when in a cameo role Tulsi Lahiri, that wonderful character actor, whose work in several Satyajit Ray movies remains unforgettable - is made to speak a sentence in an obviously Bengalised Hindi. Gradually the secret is out when in one of the infrequent outdoor shots we have a glimpse of the Howrah Bridge. Calcutta was a city where Guru Dutt spent many years of his life and apart from the influence of Pramathesh Barua, he was marked in many other ways by the city and its culture. He makes a Bengali Vaishnavi sing "aj sajan mujhe anga laga lo" in a kirtan mode - perhaps because the eroticism of the lyric could be permissible only in the context of Radha's love for Krishna. The poignant use of this song when Waheeda Rahman stands on the terrace unseen by Guru Dutt is something that stays in the memory long after other details of the film are forgotten. When the sex- worker Gulabo nurses Vijay Babu back to health, suddenly she becomes a Saratchandra heroine, her cotton sari worn in the traditional Bengali way, her wet hair hanging loose. A women's virtue conveyed through sartorial tropes has since then become a familiar device in Hindi films. At that time, for whatever reason, Hindi film-makers, including Guru Dutt, seem to have found the visual image of a traditional Bengali woman an effective signifier for purity and innocence. The hero's clothes, it so happens, never carry any symbolic value. The poet wears trousers and jacket more often than dhoti-kurta, but no subtext of meaning is encoded in his changes of apparel. The radical elements in the film include the laying bare of the economic compulsions behind prostitution through a stark image - a sick child's cry disturbing the mother's mujra. But a bigger protest is against the entire economic system, exemplified by the commodification of poetry. Long before the idea of a book as a consumer product got accepted and applauded in our society, Guru Dutt imagines a scenario where a volume of poets becomes a profit-making artefact, fought over by competing contenders, eliminating the poet in the process. When the poet understands what is happening, instead of gloating over the amount of royalty he can extract now, in a grand gesture he forsakes this world of buying and selling. The film articulates and confirms the belief that art and money cannot co-exist. Not many would endorse this view today because art is very often big money, but for the duration of the film it seems an emotionally convincing idea. If the film still moves the viewers it is because of the director's passionate sincerity in presenting a portrait of the artist in a market driven civilisation.

The writer is a noted writer and literary critic based in Hyderabad.

Recreating Guru Dutt's magic IANS Mumbai, January 19, 2006

With the latest Bollywood trend of remaking old classics, Venus Entertainment and Gandhi Media have joined hands to remake Guru Dutt's unforgettable classic Chaudhvin Ka Chand.

Paying a tribute to his father, Arun Dutt will head the advisory panel for this project, reports Bollywood Trade.

A few months ago, there was a buzz that the eminent director Rituparno Ghosh's forthcoming project will be a remake of the 1960s classic Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam based on Bimal Mitra's classic.

One of the greatest filmmakers of his time, Guru Dutt crafted masterpieces like Pyaasa, Kaagaz Ke Phool and Chaudhvin Ka Chand. Despite being a commercial director his work reflected the same intelligentsia of parallel filmmakers like Satyajit Ray.

V K Murthy worked on almost all the Guru Dutt films, with the exception of Baazi.

An excellent cinematographer, his lighting techniques in Pyaasa, Kaagaz Ke Phool and Sahib, Bibi Aur Ghulam crafted some of the finest images in Indian cinema.

He was the first man in India to shoot in Cinemascope, and his famous 'beam shot' in the Waqt ne kiya kya haseen sitam sequence from Pyaasa is considered a classic moment in celluloid history.

Here, he speaks of the legendary Guru Dutt, whose 40th death anniversary we mourn on Sunday, October 10.

I first met Guru Dutt

while working for Famous Studios as an assistant cameraman. Dev Anand's Navketan had hired the studio to make Baazi.

It all began when I suggested a difficult shot, which Guru Dutt said his cameraman would not be able to execute. I requested him to ask for his cameraman's permission for me to attempt the shot. Guru Dutt allowed two, three takes, but I managed the shot in the first take.

After the day's pack-up, he asked me if we could work together from his next film.

He was a great director

, very creative, and very interested in his work. He was a serious person, and did not lose his cool unnecessarily. But like all creative people, he was very demanding of his co-workers.

We quarreled a couple of times because of the time I took to set up the lighting. We had a big argument during the making of Aar Paar. Later, he explained how he was under pressure to deliver quickly, and that we needed to cooperate and work faster. He was a reasonable man, and from then on, we worked harmoniously.

He was a 'normal' person

, very jovial. His lifestyle was that of a lower-middle-class person, and he maintained that despite his success. We often went to eat dosa and bhelpuri. We played cricket in the studio compound, and later, we prepared a badminton court with chattai.

Working with him was a terrific experience. He worked on serious subjects, the intellectual type of work. He was hesitant to face the camera as actor, but he did so at my insistence. I was sure because he understood the roles so well.

His process involved finalisation of the screenplay and dialogues. This involved many rewrites between him and Abrar Alvi. He could not critique his acting adequately, and so this job was up to Abrar or I. He would never compromise on the way the film turned out, the way each scene linked with the other. He was an obsessive director, and until the shot came out just as he wanted he would continue with as many takes as he needed, without a break.

He never said 'okay, jaane do.'

He wasn't open to interference

, except sometimes from the writer or me. No one had the kind of understanding with him that I shared. I never interfered with scenes and all, but photography was my job, where he never interfered. But I never refused his suggestions.

He was often furious

with second-string actors. After explaining repeatedly, they would still not do a particular scene well, and he would lose his patience and pack up. Even with himself, for the famous Pyaasa scene, he shot 104 takes! He kept forgetting the dialogues as it was a very lengthy shot, but he wanted it just right.

We started the shot at 5 pm, and it went on till 10:30 pm. When I asked him to stop for the day and try it afresh later, he was adamant. We finally packed up at 11:30 pm. Finally, the next morning we canned it perfectly on the very first take!

He would shout and get bad-tempered when things did not go right. But it was part of his spirit and I didn't feel bad. I shouted back at him too. In charge of the camera and the lights, I made the heroines look good and so I was very popular among them, and he would mockingly sulk and say, 'Main director hoon, mujhse baat nahin karti! [I am the director, you don't talk to me]'

Once I tried a different type of lighting

with his permission for a comedy film. But after seeing two or three shots, he asked me to do it in another style. So he didn't like bright things. Once he got angry with me because I took a lot of time to set up a shot. He told me that when he could afford it, he would make a movie for my sake, where I could take my own time to arrange the shots. So we made Kaagaz Ke Phool.

Kaagaz Ke Phool

was India's first Cinemascope film. We had seen it in foreign films, and Guru Dutt wanted to do something novel for this film. We were inspired by one man, Prabhu, the manager of 20^th Century Fox. They had come to India to shoot a film in Cinemascope and, after the shooting, left their lenses in their Indian office.

Prabhu asked Guru Dutt if he would like to try the equipment. Guru Dutt was intrigued and we tried some shots, saw the rushes and decided that we would do Kaagaz Ke Phool in this format.

Waqt ne kiya kya haseen sitam

was a milestone in terms of lighting. We were shooting a difficult scene in Natraj Studio in the afternoon, and the light came through the ventilator. The beam looked so good that I showed it to Guru Dutt. He said we would use that in our film, but it was complicated.

He asked me to use sunlight. So we brought two huge mirrors and kept one outside the studio in the sun, that reflected the light onto another mirror, kept on the catwalk, and opened the balcony door to the studio. Light reflected from one to the other and the beam was created. We added some smoke to it, and that scene became a phenomenal craze in the history of cinematography!

Guru Dutt used a 75mm lens for big close-ups

, so that the expression was very subtle. He was the first director who started shooting this close. In Baazi, the cameraman wasn't comfortable taking such shots. When as an assistant I did it, he liked me. He would take shots as close as possible and then vary the camera angle.

He was never satisfied with his work

. He would cancel scenes and do it over again. That's why he became producer. His first film Baazi was a flop because the story kept changing. It was a difficult subject.

He left many of his films like

Gauri, Raaz, Kaneez and Bharein Phir Bhi Aayengi incomplete. He was a like a child. He wanted the same toys that others had, play with it for sometime and then forget it.

He would see some Bengali movie, get impressed and start with it the next day and forget it the day after. For the Cinemascope trial, we took his wife, Geeta Dutt. She was looking so beautiful onscreen, we thought of making a Bengali film called Gauri starring her. We shot just one scene, but he died.

Kagaaz Ke Phool

upset him very much, though he didn't express it to others. After that, Chaudhvin Ka Chand released. It was directed by M Saddique but Guru Dutt directed certain scenes and all the songs.

While scouting for locations in Baroda for Chaudhvin Ka Chand, he narrated me a line from Pyaasa: Agar yeh duniya mujhe mil bhi jaye to kya hai. I asked him why he said that suddenly and he said, 'Mujhe waise he lag raha hai. Dekho na, mujhe director banna tha, director ban gaya; actor bana tha, actor ban gaya; picture achcha banane tha, ache bane. Paisa hai, sab kuch hai, par kuch bhi nahi raha [I feel this way. I wanted to become a director, I became one; I wanted to become an actor, I became one; I wanted to make good films, I made them. I have money, I have everything, yet I have nothing]

But I had told him after seeing the first eight reels that the film was beautiful, like a poetry, but if the film continues like this, you will not get even a rupee. Why would people watch the biography of a director? They wouldn't even believe that the director was a failure and didn't have money. But Guru Dutt said that the film was for himself and me. It was not for the public. He was very adamant. The film was critically appreciated, but it incurred heavy losses. People are used to seeing tragic ladies, not men. That's why the film failed, I think.

Guru Dutt attempted suicide thrice.

Whenever there was call from his home, some production people and I would run to his house and rush him to the hospital. The third time, he died.

I met him over drinks eight days before his death. He was perfectly fine then. I had warned him once or twice not to get excited and to stay calm. During his last days, he was very tense and people would not go near him. They would stay away.

One day, his wife and children left him and went to her place. He sold his house and shifted in a rented house at Peddar Road. But one cannot blame Geeta Dutt for walking out.

Before I shifted to Bangalore, I met him and Abrar Alvi. Guru Dutt told me, 'I have become an orphan now. Gharwale nahi hai, tum Bangalore ja rahe ho, Abrar doosra film likne ke liye Madras ja raha hi. (My family is gone, you are going to Bangalore, Abrar is going to Madras to write for a film.). I have become an orphan. Kya karu main?'

Bollywood's best lovers

Guru Dutt and Waheeda Rehman If love Raj Kapoor and Dev Anand showed how love can be magical, Guru Dutt showed how love can be biter too. Dutt's obsession with his discovery, Waheeda Rehman, gave Indian cinema a glimpse of the nihilistic power of love. When it came to love, Guru Dutt chose sacrifice rather than satiation. In Chaudhvin Ka Chand (1960), he was even willing to forsake his wife (Rehman), when he learnt that his best friend was besotted by her. Dutt's classics Kaagaz Ke Phool (1959) and Pyaasa (1957) show the angst and turmoil of a sensitive soul caged in a cruel society which stops true love from blooming.

The Guru Dutt-Waheeda Rehman romance will always be remembered for its brooding intensity