Cast: Vijay Anand, Rekha, Dr. Shreeram Lagu, Leela Misra, Agha, Iftekhar, Pinchoo Kapoor, Dheeraj Kumar and Padma Khanna Directed by: Tulsi...
Cast: Vijay Anand, Rekha, Dr. Shreeram Lagu, Leela Misra, Agha, Iftekhar, Pinchoo Kapoor, Dheeraj Kumar and Padma Khanna
Directed by: Tulsi Ramsay and Shyam Ramsay
Music by; R D Burman
There are films that linger in the memory for their storytelling, some for their performances, and others for the music that outlives the film itself. Released on 2nd October 1981,Ghungroo Ki Awaaz, which completes 45 years of its release in 2026, belongs firmly to the last category. A film that promises mystery, suspense, psychological intrigue and a touch of the macabre, it begins with the ingredients of a compelling thriller but gradually loses its way, leaving behind a handful of memorable songs and the faint recollection of a mystery that could have been so much more.
Produced by Vijay Anand under the Navketan banner and directed by the horror-specialist brothers Shyam and Tulsi Ramsay, Ghungroo Ki Awaaz brought together an interesting combination of talent. Vijay Anand, better known to generations of Hindi film lovers as Goldie, played the leading role opposite Rekha, with Dr Shreeram Lagoo, Padma Khanna, Dheeraj Kumar and Leela Mishra in supporting roles. The music was composed by R. D. Burman, with Vijay Anand himself penning the lyrics. On paper, it was an intriguing coming together of the Navketan tradition of stylish thrillers and the Ramsays' fascination with suspense, mystery and the supernatural.
The film's most obvious inspiration was Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo, that haunting exploration of obsession, deception, psychological instability and the blurred boundaries between reality and illusion. Like Hitchcock's masterpiece, Ghungroo Ki Awaaz builds its narrative around a man whose emotional and psychological state becomes central to the mystery unfolding around him. Vijay Anand plays a disillusioned landlord who falls in love with Rekha. When he believes that he has shot her dead, the narrative enters increasingly uncertain territory. What follows is a journey through suspicion, fear and psychological confusion, with the audience left wondering whether the woman he believes he has killed is somehow still present, whether his mind is playing tricks on him, or whether there is a far more sinister explanation waiting to emerge.
The premise is certainly promising. The possibility that a man might be losing his grip on reality provides ample scope for an atmospheric thriller, particularly when the narrative leaves sufficient room for doubt. Is the protagonist hallucinating? Can he trust his own senses? And what exactly lies behind the mysterious events that begin to take over his life? These are questions that should have kept the audience firmly invested in the story.
Unfortunately, the film's execution never quite matches the potential of its premise. What begins as an exercise in suspense gradually becomes an uneven, meandering narrative that struggles to sustain its intrigue. The mystery deepens, but the tension does not always rise with it. Instead of allowing the uncertainty to develop organically, the film often seems more concerned with moving towards its eventual revelations than with making the journey itself genuinely compelling. By the time the climax arrives and the various strands of the mystery are explained, the sense of discovery has diminished considerably. The answers are there, but the satisfaction one expects from a well-constructed thriller is conspicuously missing.
The film's central difficulty lies in its handling of the psychological dimension. A story built around a man's potentially disturbed mental state requires a delicate balance between what the protagonist experiences and what the audience is permitted to believe. Vertigo understood this distinction brilliantly, making its psychological unease inseparable from its cinematic experience. Ghungroo Ki Awaaz borrows the broad contours of that approach but fails to recreate its haunting ambiguity. Its protagonist's predicament remains interesting in theory, but the film does not explore it with sufficient depth or consistency to make the mystery truly unsettling.
Vijay Anand's presence adds an additional layer of interest to the film. Goldie was, of course, one of Hindi cinema's most accomplished directors, responsible for such enduring classics as Guide, Jewel Thief and Teesri Manzil. His work behind the camera had established him as a filmmaker with a keen understanding of cinematic rhythm, visual style and suspense. His appearances as a leading man, however, were a different proposition altogether. During the mid and late seventies, he enjoyed a relatively successful phase as an actor, with films such as Kora Kagaz and Main Tulsi Tere Aangan Ki finding favour with audiences. His screen persona carried a certain maturity and introspection, qualities that suited the troubled landlord in Ghungroo Ki Awaaz.
Rekha, meanwhile, was at a particularly interesting stage of her career, steadily evolving into one of the most compelling performers in Hindi cinema. The film marked her second leading-role association with Vijay Anand after the poorly received Double Cross in 1974. Their pairing offered a certain curiosity value, although Ghungroo Ki Awaaz did little to establish itself as a memorable milestone in either actor's career.
The supporting cast, which included the dependable Shreeram Lagoo and the familiar presence of Leela Mishra, lent the film a degree of credibility, but the screenplay never fully capitalised on the possibilities offered by its ensemble. Dheeraj Kumar and Padma Khanna sleepwalked through their respective roles. The Ramsay brothers' involvement also raises expectations that the film only partially fulfils. By the late seventies and early eighties, Shyam and Tulsi Ramsay had become synonymous with Hindi horror, building an audience through atmospheric settings, eerie sound design and narratives that often thrived on the fear of the unseen. Yet Ghungroo Ki Awaaz occupies an interesting middle ground. It is not quite a conventional horror film, nor does it entirely succeed as a psychological thriller. Its mood hints at the supernatural, while its narrative ultimately seeks rational explanations. That tension could have been its greatest strength, but the film never quite finds the balance necessary to make either approach work completely.
And then there is the music. If Ghungroo Ki Awaaz continues to be remembered four and a half decades later, much of the credit belongs to R. D. Burman. The soundtrack provides the film with an identity that its storytelling struggles to establish. Songs such as Rote Rote Naina, Jo Bhi Tune Dekha, Ankhiyon Ka Kajra, Pagla Pagla and the title track, Ghungroo Ki Awaaz, remain the most enduring elements of the film's legacy. They possess the melodic richness, distinctive arrangements and emotional texture that made Burman's music so special, even when the films for which he composed failed to achieve comparable longevity.
Vijay Anand's lyrics add to the soundtrack's appeal, ensuring that the songs are not merely incidental embellishments but an integral part of the film's identity. Burman, as so often in his career, provides moments of musical pleasure that survive independently of the narrative. Even when the film falters, the songs invite a return to its world, offering listeners a reason to revisit a cinematic experience that might otherwise have faded from collective memory.
By the time Ghungroo Ki Awaaz reached its conclusion, the novelty of its premise had largely worn off. Its Hitchcockian foundations were evident, but the film lacked the narrative discipline and psychological sophistication needed to transform its inspiration into something distinctive. What should have been a steadily tightening web of suspense became an increasingly laboured journey towards an ending that explained the mystery without entirely redeeming the experience.
Forty-five years on, Ghungroo Ki Awaaz remains an interesting footnote in the careers of Vijay Anand, Rekha and the Ramsay brothers, as well as a reminder of R. D. Burman's remarkable ability to create music that outlasted the films it accompanied. It is not a lost masterpiece, nor is it a thriller that has grown more effective with time. Its appeal today lies as much in its unrealised possibilities as in its surviving pleasures.
Some films leave us remembering the stories they told. Others leave us wondering about the stories they might have told had everything fallen into place. Ghungroo Ki Awaaz belongs to the latter category. Its mystery may have lost much of its power, its climax may disappoint, and its narrative may meander towards an underwhelming conclusion. But somewhere in the recesses of memory, the music continues to play, and the sound of the ghungroos refuses to disappear.
Perhaps that is the film's most enduring irony. A story about the uncertainty of what we see and hear has itself survived not through the mystery it created, but through the music it left behind. The mystery may have been solved on screen, but the ghungroos continue to echo long after the film has ended.
By Pratik Majumdar (author: Love Coffee Murder and 1975 The Year That Transformed Bollywood)
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