Guru Dutt was more than brooding loneliness. His cinema pulsed with wit and satire

The Print

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Yet, as Nasreen Munni Kabir notes in Guru Dutt: A Life in Cinema , he was also looking ahead—eager to complete Baharen Phir Bhi Aayengi and actively involved in projects like K Asif's Love and God and RS Tara's Picnic . His professionalism, even amid personal struggles, remained intact.
Similarly, auteurs like Andrei Tarkovsky, Ingmar Bergman, and Michelangelo Antonioni explored alienation and melancholy in their work—elements that often mirror personal conflicts but do not define the artist. In Dutt's case, films like Pyaasa and Kaagaz Ke Phool certainly convey the brooding alienation of a misunderstood artist. The latter, semi-autobiographical and a commercial failure at the time, deepened the myth of the tortured filmmaker.
On Guru Dutt's centenary, much of the discourse gravitates toward his mental health and tragic end, often at the cost of overshadowing his towering cinematic legacy. This recurring emphasis on his depression reflects a broader cultural tendency to conflate artistic genius with emotional turmoil—a narrative seen with Tim Burton, Francis Ford Coppola, and Lars von Trier, all of whom have openly discussed their struggles with mental health.
The so-called suicide theory remains contested. While he had earlier incidents involving sleeping pills, there is little definitive evidence that his death was intentional. His onscreen presence in songs like 'Bhanwara Bada Naadan' or 'Aaj Ki Mulaqat' doesn't bear the stamp of a man entirely consumed by despair.
As with Meena Kumari and Madhubala, the mythmaking around Dutt often overshadows the reality: that he was a complex, driven artist who, despite loneliness and internal battles, continued to work, create, and captivate. A hundred years on, it's time to remember Guru Dutt not merely as a tragic figure, but as a visionary who redefined Indian cinema with lyricism, technical innovation, and emotional depth. His work endures—not because of the mystique surrounding his death, but because of the life he poured into every frame.
Also read: Guru Dutt built Bollywood's most unlikely dream team—bus conductor, unknown writer, dancer
Aar Paar showed a different Guru Dutt
The lighter side of Guru Dutt shines through in the genre-bending experimentation of his 1954 film Aar Paar. A blend of noir, romance, musical, and social satire, Aar Paar marks a confident display of Dutt's directorial control. Fresh off the success of Baazi and Jaal, Dutt centres the film on Kaalu, a taxi driver navigating love and crime in Bombay's post-Independence urban landscape. Played by Dutt himself, Kaalu is emblematic of the city's working class, making Aar Paar one of the earliest Indian films to realistically portray the migrant population of Bombay.
Unlike the mythic romanticism of Kaagaz Ke Phool, Aar Paar is embedded in the everyday. Abrar Alvi's dialogue sparkles with authenticity; characters speak in a mix of Hindi, Urdu, and Bombay street slang—a linguistic realism rare for its time. The film avoids 'literary' Hindi and allows each character to speak in their own dialect.
The noir elements—use of shadows, reflective surfaces, and confined spaces—coexist with choreographed musical exuberance. Songs like 'Sun Sun Zalima' (shot in a garage) and 'Ye Lo Main Haari Piya' (set on Bombay's streets) turn real urban spaces into stylised songscapes. The garage scene is particularly notable for its use of space as narrative—a car becomes both a prop and symbolic barrier between the lovers.
The song 'Mohabbat Karlo Ji Bharlo' offers a meta-commentary on love and disillusionment. Dutt's character grunts disapprovingly at young lovers, only to break into a philosophical song that reflects both scepticism and rueful acceptance of love's illusions. Such visual playfulness and choreographed mise-en-scène are rarely seen in Indian cinema of the time.
Dutt and Shyama share palpable on-screen chemistry, anchoring the romantic plot with charm. Shakila, in her noir-inspired club songs like 'Babuji Dheere Chalna,' brings sensual mystique, marking the arrival of the femme fatale in Indian noir. Johnny Walker, as always, injects comedic balance, grounding the film in Dutt's broader humanist vision.
Aar Paar redefined the musical as a narrative driver, not merely an interlude. It also foregrounded Bombay as a character—its taxis, clubs, backstreets, and garages becoming living, breathing backdrops.
The creative team—Abrar Alvi (dialogue), VK Murthy (cinematography), OP Nayyar (music), and Majrooh Sultanpuri (lyrics)—set a high-water mark for collaboration in Hindi cinema. The film laid the groundwork for the noir-romance blend seen in later works like CID (1956), Kala Bazar (1960), and even Teesri Manzil (1966).
Aar Paar is an essential film in Guru Dutt's legacy—not a footnote, but a standalone masterpiece that showcases his wit, range, and control. Its artistic experimentation, urban realism, and unforgettable music testify to Dutt's joy in storytelling. It's time we celebrate Aar Paar not just as a 'lighter' film, but as a work of cinematic intelligence and warmth that rivals any in Dutt's oeuvre.
Rajeev Srivastava is a filmmaker and photographer, who has directed and produced documentaries and reportage for the World Bank, BBC, Reuters, APTN, and France 24. He has also curated international film festivals in Delhi. Views are personal.
(Edited by Prashant)