Kimberly Colaco (BOMBAY TIMES; January 25, 2021)

Coming to International Film Festival of India (IFFI) – after many months of not stepping out – was a form of closure for Sutapa Sikdar, wife of the late actor, Irrfan. Sutapa, herself a writer, and son Babil attended a screening of Irrfan’s classic Paan Singh Tomar at the festival in his memory. On the sidelines, Sutapa spoke to us about missing Irrfan, why the actor’s profession was never his life and that for her, his passing is like a friend leaving. Excerpts:

The screening of Paan Singh Tomar at IFFI on Friday was an emotional moment for the entire audience, as it was for you. People remember Irrfan in so many ways — a towering actor, an ambassador of Indian cinema to the world, but above all, as a wonderful human being. How does it feel when you hear people remember him so fondly?
This is the first time I’ve come out of my home and I’m meeting people. I didn’t know how I would react, but I knew I was vulnerable and didn’t want to leave my home. People have such fond memories of Irrfan. I would get messages from people that they had met him, which was a surprise for me. He was an introvert and didn’t enjoy the public gaze at all. But he connected with people, and that is what you see in his performances. Babil would ask me, “why are people so connected to baba?” I’d tell him, “Irrfan behaved in the way his guts dictated, or his soul said.” For instance, if he felt that a writer — big or small, didn’t matter — had honesty and truth, he’d listen to them for five hours.

People keep talking about Irrfan’s legacy, but he was not that kind of a star. He doesn’t have a legacy — what he has made are imprints on souls. It’s for a generation of actors who are not from star families, but those who have a will that hum bhi kar sakte hain.

Over the years, Irrfan became one of the ambassadors of Indian cinema abroad. Yet, he was a down-to-earth, affable person. What do you think helped him stay so grounded?
We as a family are very weird, quirky and mad. We didn’t spend time at filmi parties; we would rather spend time at some park or visit a jungle. His profession was a career; that wasn’t our lifestyle. We are growing organic veggies, watching the stars through telescopes. He trained our kids to watch documentaries, and not just feature films. We are not a conventional family; we all have our spaces, where we do our own thing. What makes us special is that we are what we are inside and outside. We never believed in definitions; we didn’t believe that we need to get married to move in together; we didn’t believe that my children should have a mainstream education.

We got married because we wanted a home loan. Irrfan was at ease wearing a branded suit on stage, waving his hand, yet he was comfortable staying in a hut in Karnataka where there wasn’t even an attached bathroom. What makes me extremely sad and heartbroken is that it’s not about a person dying, it’s about a life I think I’ll never live again. The basic rules, values and fundas are so alike in us that we never had to fight. We both wanted the same kind of things. It’s not more of a partner going, but more of a friend leaving. He was a rare individual; you don’t meet people like this every day.

Six months before he went away, I asked him who he loved more, as I always felt he loved the kids more. He said, “I love you the most. I wouldn’t have admitted it before, but today I am admitting it.” I would tell him that we would sail through this sickness together.

For years, before he gained widespread recognition, Irrfan was a character actor on the fringes of Hindi cinema, waiting for his place under the spotlight. What were those years for him like? Were there moments of despair? How did you support each other during that period?
Irrfan would never feel jealous and even in private moments, he never said that “I should have got that role.” It was always, “Whatever is written in my destiny, I will get it.” He was always hopeful that he will make it. To me it didn’t matter as long as I sat in his vehicle and roamed the city. I’m not a very ambitious person; I wouldn’t push him to be part of camps or chase directors. I wasn’t a good influence on him that way (laughs).

You told us that IFFI would bring you some form of closure. Babil also spoke about dealing with personal loss as part of a person’s evolution, and not something to be afraid of. It’s been nine months since Irrfan left us. How have you coped? Have you found some closure?
I still haven’t come to terms and accepted the fact that I lost him; it was difficult. That’s why I wasn’t coming out of the house. IFFI is special because I wanted to relive the moments. When I’m in Mumbai, I’m reminded of him as a celebrity. I wanted to get back to the roots and come to terms with it. When we had nothing, we were nobody and just had dreams. So this reminds me of where it all began and where it has reached.

Over these months, and through the pandemic, has work kept you occupied? Does it serve to keep the mind busy and from straying?
I’m planning to restart my career, which I kept on the back burner for many reasons. We have a farm a few kilometres from Mumbai where Irrfan planted around 300 trees, and now I’m taking care of it. He was interested in quantum physics, astrology – things that had nothing to do with business. We like to celebrate life the way it is. If you don’t know how to be happy, you’ll never be happy no matter what you have. When needed, Irrfan would wear a branded suit, but at home he would wear whatever made him comfortable.

You penned a heartfelt note on social media on Dec 31, saying, “It’s so difficult to wish 2020 as the worst year as you were still there. Last year this day next to me, gardening, busy building birds house, how can I say goodbye to 2020!!” Do you feel his thoughts and ideas still guiding you in life?
I feel he was there with me. It’s not easy to bring up two teenage kids alone, and we are a nuclear family in Mumbai. I’m not that mother who will stop her kids from doing anything. At the same time, I need that little nudge from him where we need to know if we can give them something and stop at that — which you have to do with teenagers. Irrfan was very busy before that, he had many shoots back to back and we couldn’t spend much time together. When we were in London, we would meet so many people, it was a roller-coaster ride. This two-year journey was a completely different love story of ours — which has a start, a middle and an end.