I wish I had sensed that those words were more seriously meant than I had thought at the time. I was not sharing his quarters as I had done often in the past. I was on contract with Lekh, on his new film, and when I was done with my writing for Dutt, I planned to leave for Lekh's house to retire for the night, as there was a morning schedule.
By the time I finished my scene, it was almost midnight, Dutt agreed to sit for dinner, but ate nothing. I was hungry. I polished off a meal to my complete satisfaction. Dutt was not quite drunk, he could hold his liquor well, but his mood was decidedly terrible. I wanted to read the script to him, but he was in no frame of mind to listen to it. That should have been a warning.
Dutt told Abrar to leave the script with Ratan. 'If you don't mind I would like to retire', he said, and got up to go to his room. These would be the last words Abrar would hear from the man with whom he had shared the 10 most creative years of his life.
There is nothing to prove that his unhappiness with the way his latest film was shaping up was one of the causes behind his suicide, but the fact remains, sadly and irrevocably, that before he could complete his film, Dutt was dead. The story of one of India's most sensitive filmmakers had prematurely come to an end.
Buy the book right here!
Advertisement
