My Favourites: Guru Dutt's Songs

Guru Dutt’s birth centenary deserves more than a passing review. I’d initially thought I would make a list of Guru Dutt’s songs – songs that were picturised on him; songs that were happy and romantic instead of being bitter or cynical. But Dutt had never positioned himself as a romantic hero. And while he was competent (and convincing) in the romantic ballads, that didn’t seem enough. Yet, he had a very well-deserved reputation as a ‘song director’. So much so, that even in films directed by his associates, he filmed the song sequences. So, I decided to change tack and examine all the song sequences in his films. This meant that I could widen my net from songs that were only lip-synced by him.

Guru Dutt not only learnt dance and choreography from Uday Shankar’s troupe, with which he was associated for several years, but he also initially worked as a choreographer at Prabhat Studios before turning to assistant director. Despite shunning songs as an impediment to the narrative, Dutt had the vision and the experience to integrate them into his storyline. And, he did that very well indeed, the songs often replacing the need for expository scenes.   

In a period where song picturisation was inert, with singers simply singing instead of speaking lines of dialogue, Dutt (and before him, Raj Kapoor) knew how to use the songs not only to express the emotions of the characters but also to pull the narrative further. Both Kapoor and Dutt knew how to craft these sequences in a way that, while the principal characters (or the ones ‘singing’ on screen) were in focus, several other things were happening parallelly in the background. Both these directors (and after them, Raj Khosla and Vijay Anand) filmed songs in such a way that they could never be a snack break. One needed to watch the songs or they would simply miss a lot of expository choreography that had links to what would come next.

Like Kapoor, Dutt too would picturise his songs not just on his principal characters, but on ‘extras’ or in the background – it didn’t take away from the song experience and in fact, in many cases, gave us an insight into the character’s feelings without them having to express it. Think, for instance, of Ab tujhe hone laga, where an itinerant singer expresses the chaotic emotions of the principal characters, or Meri duniya lut rahi thi (both from Mr & Mrs 55) that lets us know the emotional devastation of the hero, all the more effective because it is being sung by a qawaal troupe, who have no clue about Preetam's (Guru Dutt) situation. 

Dutt’s background in choreography certainly helped in the way he framed his songs. But what brings that vision to life is the cinematography. His rapport with his cinematographer VK Murthy was so complete that the latter rued that Dutt’s death had stifled his creativity. 

Think of the way Dutt visualised Aaj sanam mohe ang laga le that pitted an earthly desire (of Gulabo for Vijay) with the spiritual desire of the itinerant Baul singer for union with the divine. Somewhere during that song, the prostitute’s desire also transcends the physical, a fact that we are alerted to by her slow, upward climb to the man she loves. The transformation from a woman of easy virtue to one who has been transformed by the power of love, and who sees her salvation in the man who saved her from being charged with soliciting, is clear in the way Gulabo is framed, the tears that fill her eyes before she turns and runs down again. 

The almost-spiritual change that comes over her is in contradiction to her outward appearance – her face heavily painted, her hair artfully curled, her dress and jewellery tawdry and cheap… Cinematographer Murthy narrated how he used the light of the moon as the source light for the shot so it appeared as if Gulabo was walking towards the light.

Dutt’s propensity for noir – Baazi, Jaal, Aar Paar, etc. – is also visible in his song sequences. Light and shade throw characters, their motivations and feelings into sharp relief; what slips into the darkness is as important as that which is sharply defined by light. This framing/lighting technique has given us a surfeit of riches in what we perceive and what our imaginations may conjure up.

Here's my compilation, in no particular order:

Waqt ne kiya kya haseen sitam
Kaagaz ke Phool (1959)
Singer: Geeta Dutt
Music: SD Burman
Lyrics: Kaifi Azmi
Let me begin with an iconic song – while every song on this list is the result of music, lyrics, rendition and picturisation combining into a perfect whole, Waqt ne kiya soars above ‘perfect’. The song comes at a crucial point in the film. Suresh (Guru Dutt) is returning to the studios after recovering from an accident. As he sits on the director’s chair, the camera pans to a figure behind him, shrouded in darkness – it is Shanti (Waheeda), placidly knitting away. When her knitting needle drops to the ground, Suresh turns and is surprised to see her there. “I like to come to the sets early,” he says. “I know,” she responds. He’s surprised. “I know everything about you,” she smiles. There’s a quick frisson of understanding in his startled gaze and her composed countenance. “Why didn’t you come back? He enquires. “You told me to go away,” a knowing look on her face. “I didn’t ask you not to return,” he says, and it is her turn to be startled. This is the closest he will admit to his feelings. But reality sets in.

They stand still, the man and woman, their gazes meeting and turning away as the camera pans across the empty studio, dust motes dancing in the early morning sunlight. It captures a dusty bundle of wires, lighting, equipment, props et al before focusing on the director’s chair – empty and forlorn now that its occupant has moved away.

Suresh moves forward, as if being next to her is more than he can bear. She follows, and now, it is he’s silhouetted in the darkness. A stark beam of light lights up her serene beauty, and in the background comes this ode to love and loss, longing and resignation. Geeta Dutt’s seductive voice breathes despair into:
Jaayenge kahaan soojhta nahin
Chal pade magar raasta nahin
Kya talaash hai kuchh pata nahin
Bun rahe hain dil khwaab dum badam
After all, dreams are all they have…

Ye duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai
Pyaasa (1957)
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Music: SD Burman
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
If Kaagaz ke Phool portrayed Dutt’s utter disillusionment with the world of glamour, Sahir’s hard-hitting nazm foretells that disillusionment in all its biting glory. SD’s music ebbs and flows, dropping to quietude in one moment before swelling to the angry denouement that ends the scene. And Rafi, well, what can one say that hasn’t been said before?

Look at the way Vijay (Dutt) is framed, however, in that iconic shot. (Murthy stated that it took 104 shots before the maverick director was satisfied.) The theatre is in the dark; only the stage is lit up. Mr Ghosh is in the middle of his speech – and he stops, stupefied as the door of the theatre opens. At the threshold stands a man, as if Christ resurrected, backlit, his face obscured in the shadows.  Ghosh’s stupefaction transfers itself to the audience, who begin to turn and crane their necks. Rafi’s voice recites Ye mahalon ye takhton ye taajon ki duniya…

On stage, Meena (Mala Sinha) looks up in strained disbelief; from the audience, Gulabo (Waheed) turns in happy disbelief. The crowd, a sea of faces minimally lit by the rays of light falling across the dark auditorium, begins to mumble. As the recitation continues, emotions begin to change – as little as Ghosh and Vijay’s brothers does the audience like being accused of betrayal. And as Ghosh signals Vijay’s brother to shut off the lights, the audience is baying for Vijay’s blood.
Jalaa do jalaa do jalaa do ise phoonk daalo ye duniya
Mere saamne se hataa lo ye duniya
Tumhaari hai tum hi sambhaalo ye duniya
Ye duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai…
His voice tapers off as he’s hustled out of the auditorium, out of the sight of men who would sell his poetry and deify him if he were dead, but don’t care to have anything to do with him, alive.
According to Murthy, half the ‘people’ in the audience were cut-outs.

Hum aap ki aankhon mein
Pyaasa (1957)
Singers: Mohammed Rafi, Geeta Dutt
Music: SD Burman
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
Every song in Pyaasa is worthy of being on this list. My personal favourite would have been Jinhe naaz Hind par woh kahaan hai, but I wanted to juxtapose the bitterness and cynicism of the previous song with a light-hearted romantic number that yet has a hint of foreboding. We, the audience, already know the outcome, as do the characters on screen. But, in their shared past, in happier times, there is a hint that not all is rosy. 

Hum aap ki aankhon mein is the only (?) ‘dream sequence in song’ in a Guru Dutt film. Meena (Mala Sinha) has already moved on from their relationship; she’s now the wife of Mr Ghosh (Rehman), a wealthy publisher. As Vijay (Guru Dutt) leaves Ghosh’s office, he accidentally runs into Meena. A visibly distressed Meena gets into the lift with Vijay; alone amidst the crowd, her reflection brings back memories of a time when they were deeply in love.  

It's a college party; the two of them wander off while their classmates are dancing and having fun, and they dream of a future together. A future that is unmarred by their reality. But even in that dream world, it is telling Meena is not fully committed.
In zulfon ko goondhenge hum phool mohabbat ke
Zufon ko jhatak kar hum ye phool gira de to?

And…
Hum aap ke qadamon par gir jaayenge gash khaa kar
Is par bhi na hum apne aanchal ki hawa de to?
It was a warning that he hadn’t heeded.

The initial setting is very similar to Awara’s iconic dream sequence – that of a beautiful young maiden coming down a flight of stairs to lead the lost young man by hand, upwards, to a more glorious future. But there the similarity ends. Unlike the three different movements in the earlier film, here, it is all light and happiness – there are clouds in this heavenly setting, of course, but also billowing white curtains, swirling mists, lamps, balloons… yet their waltz ends with Meena going back through the curtains, away from him, and the dream segues into that moment where Meena writes to Vijay breaking up with him.

Back in the present, Meena stands stricken as the lift stops and the door opens… “Arre, main to bhool hi gayi… mujhe upar jaana hai.” Vijay is struck by the unintended irony of her statement, and the realisation that that was Meena’s aspiration even then… she wanted to rise to the top.
Watch as the camera frames a tight close-up of Meena before panning to her distorted reflection in the glass, then moving on to that beautiful vision that is in Vijay’s imagination. Back in the present, the camera moves in for another tight close-up of a visibly distressed Meena.  

Ye raat ye chandni phir kahan
Jaal (1952)
Singer: Hemant Kumar
Music: SD Burman
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
Guru Dutt’s romanticism is clearly evident in this ballad that exhorts a beloved to seize the day. While Sahir’s evocative lyrics, SD Burman’s music and Hemant Kumar’s dulcet tones were instrumental in making the song what it is, the picturisation could only have come from someone with a clear idea of love, seduction and eroticism.

Picturised in small fishing village in Goa, the song portrays a man and a woman, a deserted beach, an impending storm (that mirrors the young woman’s emotions), and the sensuousness of the crooning that all combine to create the perfect ambience. One does not need a scene and dialogues to sense the sexual tension that exists between Tony and Maria.

Though distraught at the thought of disobeying her brother (KN Singh) who knows Tony is bad news, the power of her emotions pulls her out of the safety of her room. She still hesitates, her breast heaving under her tumultuous feelings and outside, the coconut trees sway in the stiff breeze, mirroring the torment of her soul. A fishing net trembling in the wind becomes a metaphor for Maria’s entrapment as Tony exhorts her to seize the day, for who knows, this moment may never come again.
Ek baar chal diye gar tujhe pukar ke
Laut ke na aayenge kaafile bahaar ke
Aaja abhi zindagi hai jawaan
Sun jaa dil ke dastaan…

 Sun sun sun sun zaalima
Aar Paar (1954)
Singers: Mohammed Rafi, Geeta Dutt
Music: OP Nayyar
Lyrics: Majrooh Sultanpuri
A classic nok-jhonk song, the picturisation of Sun sun sun sun zaalima is a masterclass in the use of tight spaces. Nikki’s (Shyama) initial encounter with Kalu (Guru Dutt) does not leave her with the best of impressions, but Kalu manages to sweet-talk her into giving him a job in her father’s garage. There’s a nascent attraction between the two young people but Nikki is not about to let him know her interest in him, not when she sees the svelte dancer played by Shakila talking to him. So, later, when Kalu comes into the garage where she’s repairing a car to confess his love for her, Nikki is rather off-hand. Kalu is persistent – he knows she loves him; how long can he stay away?
Door kab talak rahoon? / Phool tu hai rang main
Main to hoon tere liye / Dor tu patang main
 Irritated at being taken for granted, Nikki responds:
Kat gayi patang ji /Dor ab na daaliye
Aur kisi ke saamne / Jaa ke dil uchhaliye…

 
Their back-and-forth continues as the pair move around the car, even on top of it with dancers’ grace. The choreography is superb. A camera, placed in the interior of the car, captures their visages, framed through two windows, before the pair is framed together in one window. 

Koi door se awaaz de chale aao
Sahib Bibi aur Ghulam (1962)
Singer: Geeta Dutt
Music: Hemant Kumar
Lyrics: Shakeel Badayuni
Koi door se awaaz de is the crowning glory of a score that boasted several wonderful melodies. It is this song that sets off the train of reminiscences and introduces us to ‘Chhoti Bahu’. And to young Bhootnath.

Picturised at night, the sleeping Bhootnath is awakened by the haunting notes of a woman’s song. As he walks out of the room where he’s staying, all he can see is the haveli opposite, the house in shadows, the verandas lit. The columns throw their shadows on the walls behind. Beneath, a guard is sleeping; the singing hasn’t woken him. 

Dutt’s penchant for light and shade shows up in this film as well, as a testament to his masterly hold over song picturisation. Geeta Dutt’s voice holds a wealth of hurt and longing, and the words ‘chale aao’ make you feel the extent of the singer’s despair even as the notes themselves seem to come from far, far away...aching, haunting, echoing through the darkness.

Saaqiya aaj mujhe neend na aayegi
Sahib Bibi aur Ghulam (1962)
Singer: Asha Bhosle
Music: Hemant Kumar
Lyrics: Shakeel Badayuni
Another song from the same film that showcased the play of light and shade even more so than Koi door se awaaz de. Seen from Bhootnath’s perspective (he’s hiding behind a pillar watching the extravaganza), we witness his amazement at seeing a tawa’if dance. 

The hall is brightly lit, the chandeliers sparkling with the light of a hundred candles, yet it’s only the main dancer (Meenu Mumtaz) whose face is visible to him (and us). Her supporting dancers are mere silhouettes, shrouded in the shadows, forming a stark tableau that resembles the pieces on a chessboard. The mise-en-scène serves, as nothing else could, to depict the decadence of the zamindars and its impact on the haveli’s women.

Chaudhvin ka chaand ho
Chaudhvin ka Chaand (1960)
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Music: Ravi
Lyrics: Shakeel Badayuni
Though directed by Mohammed Siddique, the songs bear the Guru Dutt touch. Nowhere is it more apparent than in this title song, where a man is inspired to lyrical admiration of his wife, sleeping in the moonlight.

Cinematographer Nariman Iran’s camera follows Aslam (Dutt) as he walks towards his bride. When he sings “Aankhen hai jaise mai ke pyaale bhare hue” the camera focuses on Waheeda’s face as her eyes slowly open; the glance from her half-closed eyes is intoxicating enough. 

In the next verse, he compares her to a lotus blooming in a gently flowing stream, and the camera pans from a lotus in the pool outside, its reflection and then to Waheeda’s beautiful face, framed by her dark tresses, and the moon outside. The shot is a picturesque illustration of the lyrics, and Irani’s camera bestowed more intimacy on the song than any physical touch could have done. 

The tight close-ups of the couple, the passionate lyrics that enumerate a beloved’s beauty and grace, and the mystical allure of Waheeda Rehman as Jameela all serve to elevate the song to quite another level.

 

A week after the film was released, when Murthy returned from London (where he had been training in colour cinematography), Dutt had him reshoot this song in technicolour. Which led to a snafu with the censors who thought that Waheeda looked too sensuous.

Tadbeer se bigdi hui taqdeer bana le
Baazi (1951)
Singer: Geeta Dutt
Music: SD Burman
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
This early film noir was Dutt’s debut film when his friend, Dev Anand, kept a promise made during their struggling days. If he ever made a film, Dutt would direct it. Despite being his first film, Dutt was already showing signs of being a master song director – take this song, for instance.

In the scene preceding the song, a down-on-his-luck Madan (Dev Anand) is in a gambling den, rolling a pair of dice. He rolls a pair of sixes. But as he’s watching, another club patron catches the cleaner picking up a fallen rupee note and thrashes him mercilessly. Disturbed by what he’s seen, Madan lets the dice fall and begins to leave. This is when Leena (Geeta Bali), the dancer at the bar, stops him by strumming the guitar, and exhorting him to stay – Tadbir se bigdi hui taqdeer bana le / Apne pe bharosa hai to ek daav laga le…

It's an open invitation to stay and take a risk when your best-laid plans have not panned out the way you expected. The shot is beautiful – a young woman, a young man, and a guitar. And while, initially, both of them are in the light, as the song progresses, Madan moves into the shadows, a literal illustration of how his life’s trajectory – a journey from the light into the darkness of crime.

Jaane kahan mera jigar gaya ji
Mr & Mrs 55 (1955)
Singers: Mohammed Rafi and Geeta Dutt
Music: OP Nayyar
Lyrics: Majrooh Sultanpuri
One of the joys of watching Dutt’s films is to watch how well he used Johnny Walker. The latter’s track would invariably have its arc, sometimes romantic, sometimes not. But the romance was sure to be infused with comedy, turning it into a living, breathing entity of its own. 

Here, for instance, he’s returned to the office (where he flirts with every woman on the staff) to try his luck with the new entrant, played by Yasmin. He’s lost his heart, he says, and then the couple flit around the office, even ending up on all fours under a table, ostensibly to look for it.
Dutt’s penchant for shooting songs in tight, lived-in spaces is evident in the way the camera follows the pair as they prance around the empty tables and chairs.

This, then, is my list of Guru Dutt’s song sequences that (I think) stand testimony to his control over the art and craft of song direction. What would your choices be?