In Wake up Sid, Konkana Sen Sharma’s character, Aisha Banerjee, is up to speed with this consultation, while arranging her presentation piece for the magazine where she’s been working for a few months.
The monthly Mumbai Beats, is about the eponymous city being referred to, and Aisha chooses to name her section ‘New Girl in the City’, having landed in Bombay/Mumbai (the city’s alluded to by the two names in the film) those couple of months back. At last, after a few folded sheets of paper and a few contributions from Sid, she chooses to compose from an individual spot.
Her affection for the city, she understands, originates from the adoration she’s found with the person (Sid) she met on her first night in Bombay.
When arranging this tribute piece, I had a comparative rumination. “What would I be able to state about this virtuoso craftsman that hasn’t been said previously?” There are more than 10 books on him, one full length narrative, ordinary notices in life stories of his counterparts, and incalculable articles and recordings on the Net. At last, I chose to pen from my own point of view.
Like Aisha to Bombay, I’ve come to Guru Dutt as of late. Be that as it may, what I’ve needed time I’ve compensated for in force.
I’ve observed every one of his movies (coordinated, created and acted, under his pennant and outside it) and the narrative in any event twice, read each one of those books (and furthermore the one on his better half, Geeta); devoured overflowing measures of substance about him on the web.
What’s more, got expended all the while?
While I’ve obviously come to love him as a craftsman (and here, I incorporate every one of his gifts of heading, acting, tune picturisation, movement and cinematography), I understood, maybe simply like Aisha did with Sid, that what attracted me to him was something individual: humanism. His own, just as that of his characters.
Also, on account of GD (as he is affectionately alluded to by many), those two universes are essentially the equivalent.
It’s there directly in the opening scene of his generally dearest and adored movie, Pyaasa (1957). The writer Vijay is in effect superbly artist like: lying in a field, throwing easygoing looks at the delicate ways and influences of nature.
Fittingly enlivened, delicate couplets rise up out of his spirit and being, Nature going about as the dream and the icon. The artist’s delighted eye at that point moves to a honey bee come to elegance — or ransack — a bloom. Before long, substantial and inebriated with the sweet crisp nectar, the honey bee chooses to loll about on the ground and, after a minute, is squashed by a hard foot. The writer is crushed by the imagery of this sight, and chooses to hurry back to this present reality.
At that point, the names of his characters themselves. Scarcely ever with a surname (be it Vijay of Pyaasa or Preetam of the 1955 film Mr and Mrs ’55), or provided that this is true, at that point of uncertain network or locale — KaluBirju of Aar-Paar (1954), Suresh Sinha of KaagazkePhool (1959) and Ajoy Kumar of 12 O’Clock (1958).
In spite of the fact that his folks and he were Karnataka-conceived, GD was frequently taken to be Bengali. He had spent his developmental years in then Calcutta, could communicate in the language easily, had abbreviated and part his name (from GuruduttShivashankarPadukone, which itself was changed from Vasanth Kumar ShivashankarPadukone after a crystal gazer’s recommendation) to the Bengali-sounding Guru Dutt and, obviously, got hitched to Geeta Roy. Despite his incredible love for all things Cal and Bengal (confirm in a significant number of his motion pictures), GD himself is known to have stated, “I am part Hindu, part Muslim, part Christian…”
And afterward, the characters themselves. Individuals either living in the city or cast onto them through decision or situation (as delineated in four progressive motion pictures — Aar-Paar to KaagazkePhool); trying sincerely and genuinely to deal with a living — his sweat-soaked angler appearance in oneself coordinated Jaal (1952) to the blockhead rancher in Bharosa (1963) to the sincere teacher in his last film, Suhagan (1964); or regardless of whether they are directly wealthy, having risen up out of humble beginnings — from Aslam who comes to inevitably dwell in a chateau in Chaudhvinka Chand (1960) to the specialist who has drudged to possess a house and vehicle in SanjhaurSavera (1964).
What’s more, obviously, GD’s generally celebrated and contacting character — the inventive soul looking for acknowledgment as a craftsman however not at the cost of his spirit (Pyaasa and KaagazkePhool).
As my disclosure of GD extended, I revealed further instances of his humanism. Some were in that spot at the beginning — in the opening credits of his films.
For every one of the movies he both delivered and acted in (through his film organization), the name of his driving woman consistently showed up before his. Be it the lesser-set up Shyama in Aar-Paar, the endeavoring Mala Sinha in Pyaasa, the glowing and solidly settled MeenaKumari of Sahib Bibi aur Ghulam (1962), or his incessant co-star WaheedaRehman. This was 60 years before SRK swore the equivalent in 2013 (to stamp 100 years of Indian film), beginning with Chennai Express.
To that, this fan/admirer might essentially want to include, “And a humanist as well.”
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