Guru Dutt and Me

Cinematographer VK Murthy grew up dreaming of being a matinee idol. Guru Dutt, though, had other ideas. Thanks to which, we got that magical, ethereal beam of light in Waqt Ne Kiya…

At the outset, let me convey how touched I am that India’s film lovers have appreciated my work. Recognition and awards are always a boost (although they’re not the ultimate motive), so thank you. For all this I owe almost everything to one man: Guru Dutt. The truth is, I never really wanted to become a cinematographer. I wanted to be the only thing people usually remember from movies—the star. Right from my growing up days in Mysore, I wanted to become somebody on the silver screen.  And it’s true today too that star-power rules the fate of so many films. But I’m forgetting. Let’s come back to the beginning.

My love for cinema sprang during the time just preceding Independence. Such was the headiness of that period that my friends and I participated in the freedom movement. In those days, that’s what you did. In 1943, my friends and I were put in jail in Mysore. In total contrast to everything that I’d heard, jail turned out to be a happy place. For three months, we had a good time. The pasting we got afterwards made us wonder if jail was worth it.  

Once I was out, there was more drama. For a South Indian Brahmin boy, I chose to pursue cinematography, instead of the usual doctor-engineer route. I’m not sure how well that went down with folks. Unheeding, I got into the then newly-instituted Sri Jayachamarajendra Polytechnic in Bangalore and got my diploma in cinematography in 1946. I also developed a passion for music. Since then, the violin has been a lifelong passion, as have various other instruments like the veena and sitar. I was ready to take the plunge in films.

People often ask me why I left the south for Bombay. The southern film scene was already well-established. Madras was the capital of the cinema of the south and films in all the four languages were already attracting huge local talent. Simple, Bombay was too hard to resist. Even now, although I’m settled in Bangalore, Bombay is the city I most associate with. Indeed, I miss it like a dear friend and go often. Hmm… sorry for deviating again. In 1950, I landed in Bombay, and was lucky to have a relative staying in the suburb of Matunga. So my boarding and lodging was taken care of.

I got a break in 1951, for Guru Dutt’s film Baazi starring Dev Anand. In those days most studios employed technicians. When Baazi was being shot, I assisted the cameraman. There was a tough shot for the song Suno Gajar Kya Gaaye that Guru Dutt wanted. When I spotted a mirror, I got an idea. It’s a moment during the song when Dev Anand stands in a bar with his back to the dance floor. When I saw his reflection in the mirror, I chased the moving reflection and caught it in close-ups and panned down to Dev, who starts moving towards the dancer. It was not just a pan- shot; it included tracking as well as trolley movement. I took it in three shots. Guru Dutt then told me, “You will be my cameraman from my next film.” Thus, began our long association.

People often ask me: how was the ‘sunbeam shot’ with Guru Dutt and Waheeda Rehman in the song Waqt Ne Kiya in Kaagaz Ke Phool picturised? We were filming at Rajkamal Studios in Bombay and I noticed that sunlight used to stream in from the ventilators. Due to the dust inside, we saw a parallel ray of light formed. Guru Dutt wanted me to produce that kind of image and effect. I was lost thinking about it when a unit boy passed with a mirror. I saw the sun fall on the wall and that gave me an idea. We brought two big mirrors and kept one outside, in the sun. That reflected the light onto another mirror, kept on the ramp. We opened the balcony door to the studio. Light reflected from one to the other, and the beam was created. We added smoke to it. And that became Waqt Ne Kiya Kya Haseen Sitam.

Another one that stumps people is the one in Pyaasa, the song Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaaye Toh Kya Hai. We wanted to make the climax gripping. So we just revealed a silhouette of the poet Vijay (Guru Dutt) first. Then the camera pans to the crowd in the audience. Then we gradually bring Guru Dutt into focus while frantically panning for the audience’s reaction. Then the camera shows the poet looming over all of them, hands spread in a Christ-like position. The camera had to convey the poetry of that moment. For all this, my contribution was just as the executor. The brains-trust, the ideas-guy, was always Guru Dutt.        

The film world holds him in awe. But he was the simplest of souls. No airs, no pretensions. Let me relate a moment. I used to feel a little hungry in the evenings. So I would tell our camera boy Vitthal, who used to stay in the same studio compound, “Teri biwi ko bol ke, ek roti mere liye bana dena please”, and Vitthal would get the roti for me. One day, Guru Dutt caught the camera boy and asked him “Tumko pagaar koun deta hai?” Vitthal said, “Aap hee sahab.” Guru Dutt replied, “Phir, mujhe roti nahi deneka? Murthy ko de raha hai kya?” We laughed. He was that kind of simple man.

People often enquire about what happened between Guru Dutt and Waheeda Rahman. Let me tell you, their equation was purely professional. Guru Dutt had the ability to get the best out of his team. He was a man completely dedicated to his work and nothing else. He would read the script and shoot the scene. Nothing else. He was such a professional that working with other directors became easy. One of the things that people don’t know is how open he was to ideas. Criticism even.

Once, on the sets of Mr & Mrs 55, I had an argument with the scriptwriter Abrar Alvi over a scene. Guru Dutt heard us arguing and came in. “Hmm,” he said “Kya bakwaas likha hai! Murthy theek bol raha hai.” Later Abrar Alvi told me that Guru Dutt and he had sat up till 2 am the previous night to finish writing that very scene! And he changed it.

But he was adamant too. If something took his fancy, there was no way he wasn’t going to pursue it. There were many times that I told him not to make Kaagaz Ke Phool. “Who will be interested in knowing the life of a director? Don’t do it. It’s too serious,” I would say. Guru Dutt would say, “Nahin re. Don’t worry about that Murthy.” I had predicted the film would flop. And it did. But he just did what he believed in and never feared experimenting. Saheb, Biwi Aur Ghulam is actually a Bengali story. Guru Dutt liked it and decided to make his own version of it, regardless of opposition from others who would be associated with it.

He was foresighted. At a time when colour was creeping into Indian cinema, he sent me to Hollywood, onto the sets of the war film Guns of Navarone to study Western production techniques. I went for six weeks to Los Angeles in 1960. But I thought those methods worked for those stories set in the West. One could utilise their techniques, but our core of Indian filmmaking should remain. Guru Dutt agreed. It’s in that context that I had my first exposure to colour, which was the title song of the film Chaudvin Ka Chand. Even within colour, one had to bring in the play of light and shade from the time of black-and-white. Guru Dutt allowed me to do that. If today the song is famous and I’ve been known, it’s only because of him. Thank you Guru Dutt. Namaskaram.

(As told to Rahul Jayaram)

About The Author

VK Murthy