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Ten Years with Guru
Dutt — Abrar Alvi’s Journey THE golden years of cinema would never have been so deliriously magical, but for filmmakers like Guru Dutt who romanced the silver screen with an unrivalled ardour and a deft individualistic touch. Now, well-known journalist Sathya Saran portrays his undying romance with movies in Ten Years with Guru Dutt — Abrar Alvi’s Journey. So, Sathya’s pen and Alvi’s insider’s account take you right into the most fruitful phase of the maker of classics such as Chaudhvni ka Chaand, Pyasa, Sahib Bibi aur Gulam et al.
Actually, the book brims with anecdotes. Beginning from Alvi’s inadvertent foothold in Dutt films, to his real-life friendship with a courtesan shaping up the character of Waheeda Rehman in Pyasa, it goes on to recount his taking over the director’s mantle in Sahib Bibi aur Gulam. The sidelights: Dilip Kumar was almost signed on the dotted line for the lead role in Pyasa which was ultimately immortalised by Dutt himself, the Sahir-S. D. Burman spat or Dutt’s insistence upon a role for his comedian friend Johnny Walker in his films are equally interesting. Amidst all this, there is no deliberate attempt to deify Guru Dutt as the greatest or place him on a high pedestal. His qualities, especially his directorial acumen, singular ability to think out of the box and consequently visualise and translate the same are enlisted. But so are his flaws, especially what Alvi thought was Dutt’s limited histrionic ability, at least in the budding phase of the charismatic actor director’s career. Incisive complimentary analysis of his films also rationalises as to why Kagaz ke Phool, today considered a masterpiece, was a box office dud. Yet, the charming maker for whom his cinema was above all — his wife, even himself — emerges tall. Any wonder, he had the gall to scrape many projects like Gauri in which he cast his wife Geeta Dutt or self-starrer Raaz of which he had shot almost twelve reels. And when M. R. Acharekar, an art director and ex-principal of J. J. School of Art, expressed dismay with the rushes of Kagaz ke Phool made in cinemascope, a pioneering step in those days, he went all the way to Europe to find the right camera lens. Similar insights into the creative genius of Dutt are many. However, there are no sensational revelations, no skeletons falling off the cupboards, no juicy trivia either. Of course, Alvi hasn’t shied away from talking about the much-talked-about affair between Guru Dutt and his discovery Waheeda Rehman and even deliberates upon how and why the relationship blossomed and came to an end. But he refrains from providing any torrid details. Similarly, on Guru Dutt’s premature tragic death, he affirms that it was indeed a suicide but attributes no precise reason for it except perhaps a not-so-happy personal life. Or maybe Dutt’s low phases triggered the self-annihilating act for he had tried to end his life earlier on, too. On the high side, the manner in which the book juxtaposes first-person memoirs of Abrar Alvi with author Sathya Saran’s recapitulation of additional information is masterly. Riveting are the catchy names of each chapter, borrowing from the evergreen Guru Dutt film songs. Only, befitting for if songs in Guru Dutt films went way beyond fillers carrying the story forward, herein too the titles are revealing and incredibly apt flowing with the content. At the end of it, the fast-paced immensely readable book penned in a fluid lucid style remains Ten Years with Guru Dutt and leaves you hungering for more. It captures both the heart and soul of a creative partnership, rather of many alliances involving cameraman, music director and lyricist that go on to make great cinema. It even provides preview into the prowess of other actors like Meena Kumari. However, the enigma called Guru Dutt is shrouded and remains an inexplicable tantalising mystery.
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The narrative provides
step-by-step account of Guru Dutt’s oeuvre and thus unravels the very
art of cinema making. Expectedly, since it is Alvi (the writer of Guru
Dutt’s many films) going down the memory lane, the book throws light
not just on film direction but also on the ingenious knack of writing
films and dialogues in particular. So, you become privy to how dialogues
were changed at the last moment to suit the eternal song from Pyasa
— "Yeh mehlon yeh takhton yeh taazon ki duniya",
for Alvi found words like mehlon, taazon penned by
indomitable poet Sahir Ludhianvi kind of unfit in the independent India’s
milieu.