The evening rolled on, with a friend dropping in, bouts of drinking and desultory talk. Dutt was not in the mood for chatter, and Abrar was too engrossed with the job on hand. There was a series of phone calls to and from Geeta. Abrar did not know then what had transpired between Dutt and his estranged wife during those calls -- the phone was downstairs.
As the night dragged on, the visitor was persuaded to have his dinner by himself, and having to go to work the next day, took his leave. Guru Dutt was by then in a foul mood. His conversations with Geeta had made him bitter and melancholic. Even after all these years, that evening plays in Abrar's mind like an unending roll of film in a projector.
As it was, he had been drinking since early evening -- his Man Friday had mentioned that to me -- and it had left him with a strangely sullen disposition. I tried to get him out of it, but not only did I fail, I also had to watch helplessly as he sank deeper into melancholy.
Worse still, he refused to have his dinner with the visitor and insisted on waiting for me, drinking steadily. He was really embittered and mentioned a tiff with Geeta over their two-and-a-half-year-old daughter visiting him. He wanted her to come over and Geeta was adamant that she would not send the child. Dutt had told her the refusal would cost her his life or something to that effect.
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