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Hindustan Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
He gave magic, mystery, great music to cinema
The year was 1964 and in that one year, I literally swallowed a lot of Hindi films into my heart and soul. Those were cinema times and my brother would make it a point to take us for every new release in Patna town and on Saturdays we would see old films screened in the open for the other ranks. My brother, who headed the family after my father's passing away, was a handsome and a strict disciplinary at times but no restriction did he put on us watching cinema. Those were cinema and radio times and my favourite was of course Dev Anand. Some of my friends had switched their loyalties to Joy Mukherjee, who danced around Asha Parekh with a guitar in his arms singing 'Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon'. Surprisingly, I had no favourite heroine, although my mother was very appreciative of Nutan. But that year I found my role model in Sadhna and guess how and in which film? It was a Raj Khosla film with haunting music and mystery and even before I got to see the film, I would be glued to the radio listening to the promo I still recall like a nursery rhyme. It went thus: 'Andheri raat, sansanati dastan, kabristan ka darwaza apne aap khula aur woh dekhate hi dekhate gum ho gayi. Woh kaun thi?' (A dark night, a scary story, the door of the graveyard opened, and she was lost forever. Who was she?). Well she was to become my role model and I wept before my mother that she give me a fringe cut. Now hair cuts for girls was a no-no in our male-dominated family and my mother was afraid of the response of her haughty Major son. So a story by my mother and bhabhi was made that I burnt my hair while lighting a lamp in my mother's little temple and there was no choice but to give me a fringe cut. This earned me the nickname of Sadhna in my peer group, to my great joy! The Raj Khosla times All this comes to the mind as I have in hand a mint-fresh authorised biography of Raj Khosla by Amborish Roychoudhury with passion and deep research, including long interviews with his friends, colleagues and associates. The book comes from Hatchette when he is all but forgotten, not because of his merit, but owing to the fact that he was not party savvy or publicity conscious. Yet Khosla was always a lover, always a poet with a singing soul and the great urge to be a singer like his ideal Kundan Lal Saigal. He was a great connoisseur of the poet of all poets, Mirza Ghalib. Born and schooled in Punjab he was proficient in Urdu poetry. His dream was to be a playback singer but 'Bambai Meri Jaan' had other things in store for him. Dev Anand, in his early days of struggle, became a friend of Khosla in the Bombay Coffee House and later referred him to Guru Dutt when the Navketan cinema took root. Dev Anand always referred to him as a friend of the Coffee House days. The story of the Anand-Dutt camaraderie is well known. The two loved in the same building while they were trying to find a foothold in the Bombay Island as they called it. Once the press wala exchanged their shirts by mistake. So the two faced each other in the lobby in the exchanged shirts. They became such good friends that when they got a chance they would work together and the words came true. The book recounts that when Khosla was trying hard to get a break as a singer, Dev Anand told him, 'My friend Guru Dutt is directing my next film. Why don't you become his assistant. Come on Raj, we'll work together,soon you will be able to sing too.' The singing never came but much else came and Khosla was to become a great director with his films having some of great songs which are sung till date. If he reinvented Sadhna as a ghost singing 'Naina barsein rim-jhim', he also gave the feisty Mumtaz alluring song 'Bindia chamkegi' to lure Rajesh Khanna in one of the great breaks for the star. Biographer Choudhury writes; 'When I told my friends that I was writing a book on Raj Khosla, only the hardened film buffs among them showed any comprehension. Later, when I posted a collage from his films, my inbox was overflowing with messages of the following nature, 'Wow! All these songs are from his films? 'He needs to be celebrated'. Indeed, he is celebrated in this biography with aplomb and it is a book one find hard to put away. As Mahesh Bhatt remembers The heartwarming prelude to this soulful remembrance has a prelude by Mahesh Bhatt who approached Khosla in 1969 to be his assistant. Witness to his era, Bhatt writes: 'Raj Sahab's story is larger than my memories, larger than my single telling. He was a magician, a creator of light and shadow, a man no biography could fully capture. But I salute the audacity of Amborish who has dared to do that'. Well said. nirudutt@
Scroll.in
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Scroll.in
From the archives: How Raj Khosla and Guru Dutt struck up an instant friendship
In the late 1980s, I had the privilege of meeting Raj Khosla. I was introduced to him by Guru Dutt's sister, the artist Lalitha Lajmi, who took me to see him in Marina Apartments in Pali Hill in Bandra, Mumbai. His apartment was later bought by Aamir Khan's family, and it is where they still live today. At that time, I was researching material for a documentary I later made called In Search of Guru Dutt (Channel 4 TV, UK, 1989) and meeting Raj Khosla was most memorable. His love for cinema, warmth of personality and generosity of heart were so evident. Following are excerpts from two conversations, the first an audio interview recorded on November 5, 1986, and the second filmed on September 22, 1988. Raj Khosla: In those days [late 1940s, early 1950s], I wanted to be a playback singer. Dev [Anand] was trying to help me, but things weren't working out. So, one day he told me, 'There's a friend of mine, Guru Dutt, and he's going to direct my next picture. Why don't you become his assistant?' 'I don't want to do filmmaking; I want to sing.' He said, 'Come on! Get together, things will gradually fall into place.' That's how I met Guru Dutt. He asked me, 'Do you have any experience in being an assistant in films? Dev has recommended you.' 'Yes, I have, I'm studying filmmaking.' The second thing he asks, 'Do you know Hindi?' 'Of course I know Hindi.' I didn't write in Hindi. I wrote in Urdu and Persian. In the 1940s, most Punjabis knew Urdu well, and some, even Farsi. But I didn't know how to write in Devanagari. He said, 'Fine, join duty from tomorrow.' So I ran from there and the first thing I did was learn to read Hindi, ka, kha, ga. Sure enough, after six or seven days, he said, 'Just copy out these scenes.' By that time, I had picked up some Hindi. When I wrote the scenes, he asked, 'One second, when did you start learning?' I said, 'The day you asked me if I knew Hindi.' He smiled. We struck up a friendship instantly. Nasreen Munni Kabir: What was your relationship with the Anands? Raj Khosla: The Anand family and my family were from the Punjab. We had generational relations. Their father and mine were college mates and friends. So, we were the second generation of friends. When I was looking to work, Chetan Anand said, 'Why don't you work at Navketan?' Since they were producing Baazi at that time, my destiny was kind to me. I opted to work as Guru Dutt's assistant. Nasreen Munni Kabir: You told me you were very fond of Sahir Ludhianvi. Raj Khosla: I was a college student when I heard the work of Sahir sahab. I told my father that Sahir Ludhianvi was going to be a fantastic success. In my college days, I used to know a poem written by Sahir, Sanaa-khvaan-e taqdis-e mashriq kahaan hain. This poem became Jinhen naaz hai hind par woh kahaan hain. The lines were changed for Pyaasa, because who would understand the Persianised original lines? One day we were sitting in the Navketan office, and I sang the whole song to Guru Dutt. I had composed the tune myself, and he said, 'Raj, this is it! This is Pyaasa!' By chance, Sahir was already writing for him in Baazi. So, there was no problem of copyright or anything. Guru Dutt had a great gift of understanding emotion. But the relationship between Sahir and Guru Dutt was a little distant, I would say. In art, they were very close but personally they were not very close. I was personally much closer to Sahir. Nasreen Munni Kabir: You said you wanted to be a singer. Did you record any songs? RK: No, I didn't. In Jaal, we had this song, Sun Ja Dil Ki Dastaan. Guru Dutt recorded me singing it, but I failed the test. SD Burman said, 'Raj is good, but...' The song was later re-recorded in Hemant Kumar's voice. It was a tremendous hit. Raj Khosla: My first film was Milap, I made it for the same producer, TR Fatehchand, who also made Jaal. Many people thought C.I. D. was my first film, because Milap was not a hit. It was C.I.D. that got me noticed as a director. There's an amusing incident that happened when C.I.D. was released in Calcutta in 1957. We had very heavy rains that year and all the flights were cancelled, so we went to Calcutta by train. We took a box of beer and drank in the compartment. Remember Bombay-Calcutta was 46 hours in those days. We got thoroughly bored with each other. As the train ultimately entered the train station, the distributor, who was a very fat man, I don't remember his name, had garlands ready for us and he said, 'Raj, it's a hit. Ho gaya kaam!' (The work is done!) The garlands told us things were okay. Nevertheless, we went to the theatre to see for ourselves how C.I.D. was doing. Twenty minutes into the film, Guru Dutt says, 'Raj, you've made a super-hit film, come on, let's celebrate.' The next morning, I didn't find him in the hotel suite. I searched everywhere for him. Where is he? Fully dressed, with bowtie and all, lying in the bathtub. He must have been drinking all night. He was very sweet. Nasreen Munni Kabir: Why didn't you carry on directing under Guru Dutt's banner? Raj Khosla: As a matter of fact, after C. I. D., he offered me a lakh of rupees for the next film, which was a lot of money in 1957. I said, 'No, Guru Dutt, I will not work with you anymore.' 'Why? What's the problem?' 'You don't grow under a big tree. I'm a small plant. If I work with you, it'll always be Guru Dutt made this film.' He said, 'Go your way. Whenever you want to come and make a film for me...' Nasreen Munni Kabir: Can you talk about the C.I.D. song Leke Pehla Pehla Pyaar, featuring Dev Anand and Shakila? It was filmed on the pedestrian promenade on the Worli Sea Face [now part of the Coastal Road]. Raj Khosla: Dev Anand was a very disciplined person. He still is one of the most disciplined actors we ever had. The only thing I remember about that song is that Dev Anand tells me, 'Raj, what am I doing in this song?' 'The song is doing everything, you just walk.' So we started shooting. It was quite a long walk down the promenade, you know. The song goes through its entirety for about three minutes or so and he keeps walking. So after a few shots, he said, 'You want me to walk a mile or two or something? What am I doing in this song?' I said, 'You're walking. You're not going to sing.' 'Okay, you're the boss.' Typical of Dev, you know, he always wants to be active. Then the second thing I remembered is that while walking he had this habit of always using his hands somewhere. 'You don't move your hands.' He says, 'I can't sing, I can't move my hands, I'm supposed to walk.' 'That's it, you're just supposed to walk and look handsome!'
India Today
04-05-2025
- Entertainment
- India Today
Baazi: Where noir meets nonsense in Dev Anand and Guru Dutt's early experiment
As part of our series on Hindi films from the past, we revisit Baazi, the film that started one bromance, and two romances — off the screenFilm: Baazi (1951)Cast: Dev Anand, Geeta Bali, Kalpana Kartik, KN Singh and Krishan DhawanDirector: Guru DuttBox-Office Status: Super-hitWhere to Watch: YouTubeWhy to Watch: For Guru Dutt's camera angles and Dev Anand's complex love triangleMoral of the Story: None, not every movie gives free gyaanadvertisement'Baazi' poses a mathematical riddle so profound, it could stump even Pythagoras: If one person can fool you for one hour, how many people are required to dupe you for three? The film's solution? A trio of titans—Dev Anand, Guru Dutt and (et tu?) Balraj math is not your thing, don't worry. Baazi also imparts a timeless lesson: too many geniuses spoil a the film ends, only one question endures: How could three contemporary greats sabotage a decent film with a climax so ridiculous, it feels like a prank? And, more intriguingly, how did our ancestors fall for it, making Baazi the second-highest grosser of 1951? Truly, a mystery for the Backstory Baazi was the result of a pact between Dev Anand and Guru Dutt. Both had promised each other that whoever makes a film first will cast the other—Guru Dutt as director, if Anand produces it, and the actor as the hero if the other directs when Dev Anand launched his production house Navketan, named after his nephew Ketan–later linked to the controversial death of actor Priya Rajvansh—-he kept his word. Another Bollywood legend, Balraj Sahni, joined the project as a from this bromance, Baazi also marked the beginning of the romance between Guru Dutt and Geeta Dutta (who sang most of the songs), and Dev Anand and Kalpana Kartik, the actor's future wife, after his failed romance with Suraiya. Dev Anand, Rashid Khan and Geeta Bali in a still from 'Baazi.' Photo:IMDb The StoryMadan (Dev Anand) is almost a reincarnation of Mama Shakuni from the Mahabharata. An accomplished gambler, every time Madan rolls the dice, you can imagine Duryodhan screaming, 'Six, Mamashri, six.' Lo and behold, six it always Madan doesn't play against the Pandavas to rid them of their wife and kingdom. His mission in life is humbler. He snares rich gamblers into a seedy underground casino run by Maalik, a shadowy figure whose face is always hidden by Guru Dutt's legendary use of is born not just with lucky hands, but also lucky lips. For no particular reason, two women are madly in love with this Bombay tapori, who doesn't have money for his sister's treatment but is never without a cigarette, and is always kitted out in a scarf and a first victim of his unexplained charm is the local Doc, Rajani (Kalpana Kartik), who gets smitten by him after he harasses her at her clinic. Simultaneously, the cupid's arrow srikes Leena (Geeta Bali), a coquettish club dancer referred to as 'Madaam' (pronounced like badaam), who also works for evolving love triangle, with the usual ameer-girl-gareeb-guy trope and some hummable songs. So far so good. To make it spicier, Guru Dutt even adds a post-interval twist by revealing the identity of Maalik—our Kaliyug Shakuni's employer. Dev Anand and Geeta Bali in Baazi. Photo:IMDb Then the film slides down the path of absurdity. Madan is accused of a murder he didn't commit. Yet he confesses because the real perpetrators threaten to harm his sister. The investigating officer, Krishan Dhawan (always in the same khaki suit), knows Madan is being framed. Yet, in record time, Madan is sentenced to death (presumably without even a chargesheet). But, just an hour before the hanging, the inspector accidentally discovers evidence previously non-existent. Time rolls back, literally. The real culprit implicates himself. And, The ending feels rushed and is wrapped up in just 15 minutes. If only Guru Dutt had kept it simple, replacing it with some dishoom-dishoom at the edge of a Khandala hill, where Madan's sister is convalescing, the climax wouldn't have looked like a byproduct of a bad for the ending, the film is quite decent— time-pass stuff, if not memorable. The pace is brisk, the dialogue snappy and weighty, delivered without excess melodrama. The choreography, another defining feature of Guru Dutt's films, is innovative (one of the sequences was later copied in Sridevi's 'Chaalbaaz'). Dev Anand looks roguishly charming and Geeta Bali's audacious flirting and bold dresses light up the noir feel is enhanced by dramatic use of shadows, lighting, and smoke—though it's sometimes overdone. Every male character wears sharp suits, and smokes nonstop, leaving behind a trail of soot like an old locomotive engine. (Ironically, it is the women who keep coughing). Dev Anand in a still from Baazi. Photo:IMDb SD Burman's music and Sahir Ludhianvi's lyrics create timeless classics like 'Taqdeer se bigdi hui tadbeer', 'Suno Gajar Kya Gaye,' and 'Ye Kaun Aaya Ki Meri Duniya Main Bahaar Aayee.' But, the soundtrack also features a monstrous Kumar gets to sing 'Mere Labon Pe Chippe' in a nasal voice with an exaggerated treble, the style made famous by KL Saigal. Lip syncing the song on the screen, Dev Anand rides a donkey, making one wonder if Kishore got confused who among the two he was lending his voice back to the original question, how did this mediocre film with an ending that insults common sense make it big? The only possible answer is that people got lured by the charm of Dev they mistook it for a free math class. No other explanation adds up.
India Today
22-04-2025
- Entertainment
- India Today
Dev and Vijay Anand: It takes two to tango
(NOTE: This article was originally published in the India Today issue dated April 28, 2025)A large number of Indian cinema publications are anecdote-driven or based on salacious behind-the-scenes stories. Occasionally, though, a book is written with such care and attention to detail that it makes you want to drop everything and head straight to the films being discussed—so you can savour what the author saw in them, or disagree with her, or both at the same time. Tanuja Chaturvedi's Hum Dono—a 'guru-dakshina' for Vijay (also known as Goldie) and Dev Anand and the classics they made together—is in this relationship with the Anand brothers' Navketan Films began in childhood (she got to meet Dev Anand at age five, an overwhelming experience for a girl who had only watched the charismatic star on the big screen), but took a new shape at the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) where she learnt to appreciate Vijay Anand's technical proficiency and 'command over every aspect of filmmaking'. This was followed by a professional stint as Dev Anand's chief assistant facet of this long-lasting bond is represented here. The book has two dominant tones. One is that of the awestruck fan: the child who was rapt while watching films like Guide, as well as the adult who retained her passion for the Navketan flair, the songs, the modern approach to city life. The second tone, more pedantic, is that of the scholar and practitioner who knows a great deal about film history and likes to show off this knowledge, making references and connections that may seem whimsical or pretentious to a casual reader: from Camille Paglia's take on the differences between men and women (in the context of gender roles in the 1961 film Hum Dono) to fleeting invocations of Jungian psychology to a mention of Akira Kurosawa's Throne of Blood (while discussing the process of adapting R.K. Narayan's The Guide for the screen)And yet, somehow, these two modes come together very well in Chaturvedi's chronological examinations of individual films—from 1957's Nau do Gyarah to 1971's Tere Mere Sapne. Notably, though, the book is presented as a 'Dev and Goldie story', and though the author is a big fan of Dev Anand (the star and the person), she focuses a little more on Vijay Anand's special qualities as a director. This includes analyses of the celebrated song sequences in films like Jewel Thief, Guide and Johny Mera Naam, as well as Goldie's intuitive understanding of framing and camera movement, the gambles he took with narrative structure, and how he incorporated a progressive sensibility into even his early work such as Kala Bazar. To read Hum Dono is to see an egalitarian passion for the medium, unconcerned with the usual labels and hierarchies—popular vs art, serious vs entertaining—that often restrict film to India Today Magazine Must Watch
