Firstly, when I hear anyone say ‘he was’, it doesn’t stop shocking me. Irrfan was one of those people with whom it became hard to come to terms with (his death) because I knew him for almost 20 years. I did one of my works with him, called Ek Shaam Ki Mulaquat, which was part of a series called Star Bestsellers (1999). When we started shooting for it, I was in a space where I was considering giving up movies because I thought it wasn’t the place for me. He figured out my personality quickly and realised that if he tells me mat chhor, I won’t buy into that narrative. So instead, he goaded me into staying, saying, ‘Chhor de, kya hai. Tere mein guts toh hai nahi’, ‘Tere se hoga nahi, tu chhor de’, ‘Mujhe pata hai tu chhor degi’, and that kind of made sure that I didn’t quit.

Years later, we worked together in Qissa (2015). The wonderful thing about Irrfan was that he created an atmosphere on the set and in the scene, particularly in that moment, when everything seemed alive, and be the reality of that moment. He sought and saw many strange things, which I don’t think many other people notice in the ordinary... he’d notice the light switch in the frame not working, and he’d use that in the scene. He would switch it on and off to show that the place is crumbling.

In a particular scene (in Qissa), I was rubbing my forefinger on my thumb to show that my character was stressed. During the shot, he put his finger between my forefinger and thumb and pulled them apart, like a husband would, to say ‘don’t get stressed’. It communicated just that in such an intimate and fragile way... that’s what made him Irrfan. He didn’t worry much about lines and dialogues, and he would make others feel comfortable about it too.

He would send me films such as Once Upon a Time In America and would say, ‘Dekhi toh hogi nahi tune.’ When I’d tell him that I have watched it, we would talk about it. In many ways, he became a friend, philosopher and guide.

I had a sort of bantering relationship with him, like people who go back a long way do. We travelled a lot with Qissa – to Abu Dhabi, Rotterdam, Toronto – and whenever we’d spend time talking, he would reveal something that would stay with you forever. He would find the whisperings of the universe in the mundane.

I remember I’d be dressing up for the Toronto International Film Festival or in Abu Dhabi, he would say, ‘Kar le fashion, kar le. Iss se kya hoga?’ He would pull my leg, and I’d keep telling him, ‘Farak padta hai. Aap bhi dress up karo thoda sa. Aise thodi na aata hai koi.’ He would say, “Nahi, aisi baat nahi hai, maine Cannes mein pehna tha tuxedo...’ His expression and affection were for what he believed was the authenticity of the person, and he wouldn’t take a moment to call out something or someone. His passing shattered me to the point where I couldn’t collect myself for days, and I still can’t.

— As told to Harshada Rege