Amit Dutta’s ‘Rhythm of a Flower’: Unusual portrait of an artist

Amit Dutta’s latest film, ‘Phool Ka Chhand’ (‘Rhythm of a Flower’), which premiered at the MAMI Mumbai Film Festival recently and won the Golden Gateway Award, the event’s top accolade, is a full feature-length hand-drawn animated film on the life and music of noted classical vocalist Kumar Gandharva. Amit, considered one of the most important contemporary practitioners of experimental cinema, graduated from the Film and Television Institute of India, Pune, in 2004. However, I would like to distance myself from categorising Amit as an experimental filmmaker. Over the years, he has built his own niche in the world of visual storytelling and motion picture. His research-based cinema surprises his audience every time, as he elegantly weaves together aural and visual narratives as the editor of his films.

My first introduction to Amit Dutta was through a collection of his short films, Animating the Archives, which was shown at MAMI in 2023, and I have followed his films ever since. I asked my friend and a PhD candidate at JNU, Abhinav Mishra, to describe Amit’s films in one sentence, and he replied promptly, “You can smell the images and feel the texture of the sound in his films.”

My introduction to Kumar Gandharva happened via the music of Kabir bhajan singer Prahlad Singh Tipanya. Ever since I heard ‘Sunta hai guru gyani’, there was no going back; the mesmerising voice of Kumarji held me tight. The Films Division had earlier made a 78-minute documentary on Kumar Gandharva’s life, which included a range of interviews with his wife, friends and students. But ‘Rhythm of a Flower’ is a class apart, unique in its style and format. This film is Amit’s first full-length animated feature.

At the peak of his career, Kumar Gandharva contracted tuberculosis, throwing him out of action for six years, with uncertainty about whether he would ever sing again. He continued to try, softly humming during his practice. His music flowed through the rich landscapes of Malwa in Madhya Pradesh, much like the river Rewa.

The film opens with a person approaching Kumarji’s house while he is bedridden, and his wife sits in a corner of the room with a tanpura. Through a window, he interacts with the world outside: the sound of grass playing with the winds as musical notes flow in tempo (laya), occasional folk melodies, and, through this same window, we explore the world of Kumar Gandharva.

The 81-minute film brings together animation, nature and music to create a visual raga — it is this raga that gives freedom to the bandish (composition). Bandish is something which is bound, yet, contrary to its meaning, it always tries to set itself free. The film’s narrative unfolds from his later years, with a moment of introspective reflection, before flashing back to his childhood in Sulebhavi. He is shown running behind a bird. We are introduced to the travelling Hari katha singers, who came to his village and inspired him.

This is an unusual portrait of an artist; more than a portrait, it is an interpretation of Kumar Gandharva and his understanding of bandish. I entered the theatre expecting the film to cover the life and times of Kumarji. Instead, it opened new possibilities of looking at Kumar Gandharva. The questions that arise when thinking about an artist like Kumarji became unimportant, and the line between documentary and spiritual quest blurred, as if a devotee were searching for an abstract idea of the divine. Kumarji’s music is like the rain that nourishes the soil, giving it a new life after the scorching summers.

During the post-screening conversation with illustrator Allen Shaw and filmmaker Chaitanya Tamhane, co-writer and music consultant Kuldeep Barve shared their reasoning behind this depiction of Kumarji’s life and music. He said that a lot had been said about Kumar Gandharva’s life, but here they wanted to explore the idea of a bandish, his presentation and exposition of a bandish, and the concept of upaj, or improvisation.

The hand-drawn animation by Allen and his team, combined with the music, flows beautifully. One can only imagine how tiresome the entire process of animating the film would have been, painting many different versions and animating them in sutble colours. The bandishes and ragas explored in medium tempo (madhya laya) in the film were unique, at least to my ears.

This film is not very different from Amit’s cinematic approach, where Pahari paintings seem to walk, dance, and take on human figures, as in ‘Nainsukh’. Kumarji’s music takes the form of motifs like fish and birds, camels and goats. The imagery of a snake getting tangled and trying to eat itself is a powerful motif to show the long battle Kumarji fought with lung-related issues.

The beauty of abstraction lies in the fact that whether or not one knows about the subject, it does not affect the film’s impact. Here, that impact is a sense of serenity and calm emanating from Kumarji’s music and philosophical discourse on the style and structure of khayal. Even if you are unfamiliar with Kumar Gandharva’s music, you can still experience the universe Kumarji created through his artistry. We swim with him in the river of music, see him transformed into the mountains from where the river originates and, in the end, witness Kumarji disappearing into the light.

There is a rhythm in every frame of this film, from the grass dancing in the field to the moving vinyl record. As Kumarji wrote, “Bina chhand toh koi phool bhi nahi ugta (No flower blooms without rhythm),” this film is a moving ode to Kumar Gandharva, undoubtedly one of the greatest artistes of 20th century, created by an exceptional contemporary artiste, Amit Dutta.

— The writer is a film scholar and founder of Karwaan Heritage