Corks in the Ocean: Four Meetings with Irrfan

2005

On good days, Mumbai is difficult. And on bad ones, nearly impossible. Especially when you are new & knocking on concrete walls with bruised knuckles, hoping to find a crack to enter the film industry. The pace of the city, the monumentally disorganized industry, and the habitually complex people inhabiting it create a frustrating puzzle with pieces missing. As is the norm in our country, if you are inclined towards a life in arts, there’s a huge chance that you have arrived in this city after fighting with or being disowned by your family. It shapes individuals through molds of insecurity, ego, and haste. That’s another reason that communication between established people and newcomers in this industry is broken or difficult. It’s like two complex life forms from two different planets trying to reach a consensus on an optical illusion problem.

It was in such a confused state in 2005 when I was strolling with my fellow-confused friend and co-writer Rahul Patel in Inorbit Mall (Malad, Mumbai) in early 2005. I had been in Mumbai for a year or so by then and still figuring things. Me and Rahul would watch Tuesday morning shows of latest releases because the tickets were cheap and seats were empty. Even though we had scored a writing gig as ghost-writers for a TV show, the survival was a struggle and we’d spend every penny after elaborate mental calculations. Like most new writers, we also had 4–5 scripts in our head (within a couple of years, most of those ideas revealed themselves to be trash) and our weeks were spent in trying to find & meet directors, producers, or actors who would be interested in any of them. But the leads we used to get were few and mostly unreliable.

We had just stepped out of the movie when we spotted Irrfan in the mall. Probably he had also stepped out of the same screening. By that time, he had had only two prominent film releases in the leading role — Vishal Bharadwaj’s Maqbool (2003) and Tigmanshu Dhulia’s Haasil (2003). Both had fared below-average at the box office but managed to create strong tremors on the movie-buff planet. Though very few would have recognized him in that mall on that day, for me and Rahul he was a rockstar.

As he was about to enter an elevator, Rahul and I approached him nervously. We told him that we are aspiring to be writers and love his work and intensity. He listened patiently and expressed surprise that we had seen Maqbool and Haasil. We told him we have a few stories we would like to narrate to him. He immediately shared his number and said call whenever you are ready. We didn’t have anything meaningful/utilitarian to ask further but, like fanboys, we wanted to continue chatting. Rahul had seen in American films that if you wanted somebody’s time, the polite way to say it is — ‘Can I buy you a coffee?’ Maybe Irrfan had also not seen these American films because when Rahul said this, both Irrfan and I were a bit taken aback. He said ‘Arre why would you guys buy me a coffee? I will buy you a coffee.’

We sat in a coffee shop in the mall but none of us ordered anything. The thought of who’d buy whom the coffee probably created an awkwardness. We chatted for five-seven minutes only — and I don’t even remember what it was about.

But what I clearly remember and would never forget is how an artist treated us inexperienced kids like fellow artists by giving us time, respect, and a space to be awkward.

2012

This was not even a meeting but a phone conversation. I had written lyrics for Vasan Bala’s Peddlers (2012). It was only my second film as a lyricist — a film made by debutant director, actors, editor, cinematographer, and composer. This was the year Paan Singh Tomar had arrived and Irrfan had established himself as one of the powerhouse actors of Hindi cinema.

One day in November or December 2012, without any prior contact, I got a call from Irrfan. He had recently seen Peddlers at one of the private screenings and called me to tell that he had liked the lyrics of a song (‘Chidiya mein jaise ambar, machhli mein jaise paani’) in the film. He was curious why I wrote those words, what kind of Hindi literature I read growing up, and which cities I had lived in. Six-eight lines in a song from a film forgotten by the city had prompted him to make that call and spend time understanding my process, my entire life even.

Acting is unique in the sense that it’s one of those rare art forms that produce something intangible. Not only this, there is no separation possible between the art and the artist when it comes to actors. A painting one can touch, a piece of writing can be published, music one can tape & preserve but actors’ art pieces are the actors themselves. So to understand this art, understanding the artist is the only way.

When you see him on screen — in scenes when he’s not speaking — he looks like debating philosophical questions in his mind. And that hint of a smile sometimes, as if he has un-knotted a new theory.

[The full essay continues with two more meetings — at TIFF 2013 and a reflection on Irrfan’s passing in 2020. Read the complete piece at the canonical link above.]