(From left) Akarsh, Dilshad, Akash, Meera, and Adhaar Khurana. Pic Courtesy/Akarsh Khurana

It is a busy afternoon while the cast and crew of Micro Theatre sets up their technical check on stage at antiSOCIAL in Lower Parel. Akarsh Khurana smiles, as he walks in; the tiredness of a battle-weary veteran of Mumbai traffic is hard to miss. “It feels like this city is at war with itself. I have grown up in Mumbai; a Bandra boy through and through, and yet, I find it tough to defend it these days,” he admits.

The conversation flows over cups of coffee, jokes, and insight into anecdotes and observations on everything from the stage to film.

Excerpts from the interview 

It was in 2000 when we set up our production. Last year, we wanted to just celebrate. This year, it might be a reduced showcase.

I was at St Xaviers’ College. Arghya [Lahiri] was a schoolmate, back from Arya Vidya Mandir in Bandra. One evening at Prithvi [Theatre], he suggested I submit a play to Thespo.

It was Brothers. I recall one of our lead actors contracted malaria two days before the opening, and I had to step in. Thankfully, we did well.

Yes, but at a cost. The next season, I got more ambitious, and set up a production with 28 actors. We were literally booed off stage. I considered quitting theatre altogether.

Back then, you had to apply in advance for dates at venues. Just then, the National Gallery of Modern Art (NGMA) offered me two dates. Quasar Thakore [Padamsee], Arghya [Lahiri], myself, and a few others quickly put together a quartet of short plays which did spectacularly. That was a resurrection.

It felt like a place I wanted to be in. The name, Akvarious, came from my father’s [Akash Khurana] writing company — a combination of his initials, and his star sign, Aquarius. But it was not till 2010, that we found a contemporary, urban language that defined us.

We did. Do you remember that now famous scene of Dulquer Salmaan, Mithila [Palkar] and Irrfan [Khan] on the bridge? It is now called the DQ Bridge.

It had been built just a week before we arrived. Avinash [Arun, Director of Photography] and I picked it because it was an isolated place. Unfortunately, on the day of the shoot, there was a funeral in the village. Suddenly, hundreds of people were trying to catch sight of Dulquer [Salmaan]. Everyone else became almost irrelevant.

Two hilarious episodes occurred. Irrfan couldn’t reach his car, and just hopped on a passing local bike for a lift. The other incident was that Avinash and I were trying to set up a shot, and one over enthusiastic gentleman climbed up on my shoulder to take a picture of Dulquer (laughs). It was memorable.

They [antiSocial] approached us with the idea as they found that a few days in the week were slower at the venue. It sounded like a good alternative to experiment with subjects to suit the space. After a while of staging plays, we also stepped on board to help with the curation. The Micro Theatre itself is an interesting idea, and is mainly overseen by Jahaan Singh and Rayaan Khatib.

We want to build a community of theatre lovers, actors, and audiences. To do so in Lower Parel is an interesting project.

I don’t think we consider legacy much. Even this community-building exercise is something we simply chose to do as an interesting experiment.

The ultimate dream is to have my own venue. But it takes a lot. In this next five-year plan, it is something I would like to achieve.

Comic Con Mumbai kicked off over the weekend, bringing together immersive booths, creators, fans, and cosplayers in a vibrant celebration of pop culture. Babil, who recently returned to movies after a brief hiatus, made a special appearance for BT and soaked in anime culture’s soaring popularity among young fans. Warm and unassuming, Babil happily posed for selfies and responded to every fan who enthusiastically spoke about their love for his father, the late Irrfan.

Babil’s connection with superheroes is also deeply personal because of his father’s association with The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), which starred Andrew Garfield as Peter Parker. Speaking about it fondly, he said, “We know from the Spider-Verse that there’s an Indian Spider-Man. Seeing my dad in the film was surreal, but not as crazy as him telling Christopher Nolan he didn’t have dates for Interstellar because he was already committed to another wonderful film – Piku with Shoojit Sircar.”

He added, “Spider-Man is my favourite superhero because he’s human in a very real way. He goes through all the emotions of being a kid growing up and coming to terms with being handed this immensely heavy responsibility and legacy. I relate to that deeply.”

Babil believes the enduring appeal of superhero films lies in the hope they inspire. “I’m not sure if good always triumphs over evil,” he reflected, “but the fact that superhero films make you hope for that is enough to keep you going and striving towards the right path.”

While superhero cinema is often critiqued for relying heavily on CGI spectacle, Babil sees its value differently. “Sometimes, it’s not about how technically sound or inventive a film is,” he said, “Sometimes, it’s simply about the feeling it leaves you with – and superhero films make you want to become a better version of yourself. I think that matters.”

Admiring the passion and effort behind cosplayers’ creations, Babil said, “To believe your way into creating worlds and characters is what I do for a living as an actor, so I feel at home at Comic Con. There’s also a certain bravery and rebelliousness to cosplay. It’s about standing up against the rigidity of reality and refusing to let go of imagination – and all the magic that comes with it. Sometimes, our souls need a little magic.”

For the actor, superheroes represent more than pop-culture. He revealed, “I was always that weird kid no one spoke to. It was difficult for me to make friends. I was often bullied, and for any child going through that kind of loneliness, superheroes and the imagination that came with them became the friends I desperately wanted. They created an inner world for me where resilience became my superpower.”

Six years after actor Irrfan Khan’s passing, an unreleased film featuring him finally saw the light of day. The Last Tenant, co-starring Vidya Balan, premiered on YouTube on his death anniversary (April 29). Directed by Saarthak R Dasgupta the 43-minute film was shot 26 years ago.

He tells us, “Those days, you didn’t have digital backups… One beta got lost, the other one was full of fungus. I forgot about the film all this time.”

But things changed just two weeks ago, during a house move: “I found an unlabelled VHS tape and assumed it was my wedding video... I was about to throw it away, but then I decided to check what was on it, and that’s when this film appeared.”

Since the video quality was not up to the mark, he was apprehensive about releasing the film: “(But) I felt I needed to pay tribute to Irrfan... So I decided to upload it on April 29. I didn’t even speak to Vidya before, as it was such a quick turnaround.”

But Vidya was “very excited” about the retrieval. “I messaged Vidya after putting it out... This is the only film where these two legendary actors share screen space. So it’s special for her too,” he signs off.

Originally, a documentary wasn’t a part of the plan. Director Tigmanshu Dhulia had hired Ranjeeta Kaur only to shoot the behind-the-scenes footage of Paan Singh Tomar (2012). She, in turn, suggested that they turn it into a documentary. The result — A Story That Refused To Die, which examines one of Hindi cinema’s most honest performances: Irrfan as Paan Singh Tomar.

The documentary is set to première at the Nita Mukesh Ambani Cultural Centre in Bandra on April 29, remembering the late actor on his sixth death anniversary. Proud as Kaur is to have helmed it, it also comes with regret. The actor never watched the creation. Kaur recalled, “I had sent him a DVD because he was travelling, but to my knowledge, he never saw it. Tigmanshu sir and his family saw it.”

A Story That Refused To Die comes 14 years after Paan Singh Tomar’s release, after facing hurdles of lost footage, crashed hard drives, and more. To her, one sequence in the docu remains special, in which the actor explains how he approached the scene where the lead meets his son. “When you watch that, it stirs something inside you. From an art point of view, you want to know how Irrfan sir did that,” she said.

What, according to her, made Irrfan such an extraordinary artiste? She reflected, “He was curious and valued existence. He wanted to know more — about himself, people, and their psychology. He’d bring his consciousness to his character.”

What made him unforgettable was that it didn’t come wrapped in self-importance. “He loved laughing. It was never, ‘Look at me, I’m so serious about my art’.”

It’s barely been five months since he became a dad, and now, actor RajKummar Rao is already on his way to becoming ‘Dada’ — on screen, that is, by portraying former cricketer Sourav Ganguly in his biopic. The 41-year-old’s life, both personally and professionally, seems to be in a happy space. Adding to this phase is his debut as a producer with the recently released Toaster. He spoke candidly on The Right Angle with Sonal Kalra. Excerpts:

It’s beautiful. Whenever somebody talks to me about Parvati, there’s a big smile on my face. A co-actor once asked me her name, and after I replied, he was like, “Have you noticed how our faces change when we talk about our kids?” So, I’d say everything has changed. Now, my motivation to do anything is how she’d feel about it, what kind of films she’d like to see. I just want to spend all my time with her. I took a five-month break after she was born, before going back to shoot for Dada. It was tough. I want to see her grow into this beautiful girl one day.

Yes. And softer in life. I’ve decided I’m going to cut down on work and try doing only two films a year. I am also being very careful about the kind of films I choose. I just want to push myself and make Parvati, along with my mother (Kamlesh Yadav) and my wife (actor-producer) Patralekhaa, proud.

From television breakout to National Award-winning lead, Vikrant Massey has redefined the “outsider” success story. The 12th Fail star recently sat down with the FICCI Ladies Organisation (FLO) in Hyderabad to discuss his transition to films and the widespread acclaim following his 71st National Film Award win.

Money was the reason I stepped out of my home at the age of 16. My goal then was simple – to earn for education, a home, and eventually Rs. 1 lakh a month. I grew up in Andheri Versova, where all the shootings used to happen. I was one of those kids standing in a crowd, watching Jackie Shroff, Anil Kapoor, and Sanjay Dutt shoot from the sidelines. I was fascinated by the lights, the walkie-talkies, and people running around with scripts.

Despite making a mark on TV with shows like Balika Vadhu, I faced skepticism when he transitioned to films. There was this unfortunate preconceived notion that TV actors can’t act. That was the first sting, the first jab I took on my chin. It honestly surprised me, because I felt these people didn’t know where actors like Naseeruddin Shah, Shah Rukh Khan, Om Puri, Irrfan Khan came from. Some of the greatest stalwarts came from television. Amid many challenges, one thing I always felt very strongly, and still continue to hold on to, is that what I do in front of the camera, between action and cut, is what matters the most.

Today, with 21 years of experience, I can honestly say that people who are sitting at a certain stature are there because of the quality of work and dedication. Success doesn’t come easily; you have to work relentlessly for it. For every role, I must perform and position myself as a strong contender. Yes, there is that insider-outsider divide, but it’s only up until access.

Vidhu Vinod Chopra sir told me very honestly, ‘I want to make a theatrical film, but OTT gives you Vikrant Massey for free — why would anyone come to see you in a theatre?’ That was brutal, but it was true. I was very lucky to be part of 12th Fail. People didn’t see the story of an IPS officer; they started seeing themselves. I would quietly enter theatres in the final minutes, sit in the last row and watch people completely immersed. Once, an elderly man sitting next to me started weeping, his chest was shaking, and he held my hand very tightly. That was the moment I realised I had done something that would last.

In an industry fixated with figuring out what the audience will opt for next, director Aanand L Rai insists that the real crisis isn’t of misreading the audience, but of diminishing honesty and genuineness from the filmmakers. It wasn’t the audience that changed, he says – it was the filmmakers whose conviction began to wobble. From his learnings from the success of Raanjhanaa and Tanu Weds Manu, and the failure of Raksha Bandhan, to the coming full circle and trying to reconnect to his middle-class grounding, the director opens up about an internal battle that many artists face, but few admit to.

The audience has become very – how do I put it – woh thodi se bhi beimaani ab nahi le pa rahe hain storytelling mein.

Nahi, I think woh toh aise hi thay, hum (filmmakers) beimann ho gaye. Humko lagne laga, achcha, unka yeh emotion exploit kiya ja sakta hai. Iss tarah ki kahani, uss tarah ki kahani unko pasand aayegi. But in all that, joh ek cheez chali gayi in filmmaking, woh thi conviction – jo ki ek Pushpa ya KGF ya Kantara – inmein hai. They have proved that conviction works.

Our approach to the film was just to please the audience. Their approach was to tell a story. There is a huge, huge difference between the two. I can speak for myself – kahani hi banayi thi na Tanu Weds Manu, kahani hi banayi thi na Raanjhanaa. But jahan mujhe laga ki audience ko yeh pasand aayega – Raksha Bandhan – nahi! It didn’t work for anyone.

My conviction was that they will like it.

​When I was shooting last in Delhi, over a year back, I was staying near Nehru Place. And early morning I was on my way to the shooting location when I asked my driver to take a short detour to Sadiq Nagar. Our family stayed in Sadiq Nagar, government quarters – a Type III Quarter – that was allotted to my mother. I stayed there till my Class XII and then went to do my engineering. So on an impulse I told my driver, idhar le chal, main zara dekhoon Flat 152, Sector 1, kaisa dikh raha hai. Maine neeche khade ho kar dekha.

I remembered all those days. Roz wahin se nikalna, peeche bus stop se bus pakadna, uss window pe baithna, 2:45 pe ek ladki ka wahan se cross kar ke jaana, school uniform mein…that was such a memory. Maa ka chale jaana pyaaz ki rotiyan bana ke. Mera ghar aana, fridge mein se chhachh ka jug uthana…But if I don’t go there, all this is not happening to me. Main toh bhool gaya tha. Maine woh detour liya toh sab mujhe yaad aaya.

No. Even if I make a film that I want to make, there is no assurance that it will work – but at least ek jana to khush hoga! Doosre tareeke mein toh dono hi khush nahi hain. This theory is easy, the practical – not so much. But when I think like this – mujhe mazaa aa raha hai – I can see the difference in how things go when I change the approach.

My self-education is that when I was telling stories fearlessly, and at the same time, main apne pe kabhi successful film ka pressure nahi le raha tha, sirf kahani sunane ka pressure le raha tha – achche se sunane ka – tab tak meri duniya theek thi. Jab mujhe laga ki there are these growing expectations from this director, and I should go bigger – I started faltering.

Haan. At the end of the day, we are human – but at the end of the day, artiste jitna apni fakeeri mein reh jaye, utna achcha…

Aa jaata hai! Mujhe khud ko hi lagne laga ki bolta rehta hai middle class, middle class, but it doesn’t reflect in your work anymore – but it used to, earlier.

Achanak se sab badal gaya. So you keep talking about middle class, middle class, but you didn’t nurture the middle-class sensibility inside of you. My holidays changed – I began holidaying in Europe. I’m not saying that is wrong. If God has given you that success, you have to enjoy, there is nothing wrong with that. But it is a professional hazard – this profession makes you lose touch with your roots, and you have to understand that, and to hold on to it, if you want to remain in that space.

Midway nahi hai yahan. Ya toh aisa kar lo, ya toh phir udd jao. Be clear ki main toh aaya hi paise kamane ke liye tha. That is a different direction, a different track. But if you want to tell the stories that are inside you, then you have to stay grounded, stay in that world, and tell your stories.

Yes, I feel I am coming back to my world, jahan mujhe maza aayega.

I think if I am evolving, I should try to have my audience evolve with me. I will never be scared of telling an old story in a new way. I think the man-woman relationship was not depicted as an equal one for a long time. Many filmmakers got it wrong, and I need to make it right – that is my learning. Shayad main Tanu Weds Manu ya Raanjhanaa ke waqt iss tarike se nahi sochta tha, lekin ab sochta hoon.

Yes, yes, and I took it. I understood. Ho sakta hai ki mere kaam mein going ahead you will see that I understood.

I don’t disagree that many of the hits have a strong male perspective, they are very macho, and all that, but at the same time I think we cannot be the masters who decide beforehand what the audience should or should not watch.

I disagree with the thought that if we show them a lot of aggressive, macho male characters it will reflect in their behaviour. Because the reverse does not happen, does it? If I make films on Swami Vivekananda tomorrow, will all of them start doing sadhna? If they will not emulate what he does after watching a film on him, then they will not emulate the macho aggressive character either, will they?

Now you have seen me with my success and failures and trajectory. Obviously, success and failure matter, but at the end of the day, I enjoy the process. I am trying to not be afraid. I am trying to experiment. When I was making Raksha Bandhan I was thinking we don’t make enough cinema for the Tier-2 and Tier-3 cities. I thought I had it all clear in my head. But my judgement was wrong.

Staying connected is very important. Meri zameen chhoot jaati hai, phir mujhe pakadna padta hai, phir mai apne penthouse mein chala jaata hoon, phir mujhe yaad dilana padta hai apne ko Tu woh Dilli ka ladka hai, teri aadhi zindagi unn peele gharon mein guzri hai. Teri apni kahaniyan woh hain! Tu soch kyun nahi raha hai!

Obviously (laughs)! The problem is that, fortunately or unfortunately, even when you have failures, so to say, your bank balance does not change dramatically. Your lifestyle does not change. So, you feel ki theek toh chal raha hai sab. After a point you have to realize that it does not matter how much you made or how much you lost in a project. You need to sit down and introspect and see how far you have drifted from your original path. If you don’t do that then even failure is teaching you nothing.

Right now I am enjoying myself. I am also relishing making films for other directors as a producer. I can’t compete with the big houses, but I will try to pick the stories that others won’t. I will search for an identity, something that is original, not a copy of anything ‘successful’. I have not reached a 200-crore movie ever. But I ask myself, what is a better option? To make something that I have fun making and have something that is still not a bad return, or to chase that number? I am not chasing that number. I am not chasing any number. I will keep my middle-class approach. Mujhe khana achcha chahiye, lekin mujhe chaandi ki thaali nahi chahiye.

It’s not just directors, though, is it?
Amol Palekar, Farooq Sheikh – they played some very relatable, everyday; then paused and said: Main dhoond raha hoon Vinod Mehra in this character. Tu mujhe bana ke de raha hai Vinod Khanna. If I do that, the character itself will change and you may not be the right fit for that version of it! Some directors complete the circle, like we were discussing, and come back to a more grounded version. But actors, if they do the same, wapas aa hi nahi paate hain. They reach a point of no return and sometimes they are neither grounded, nor superstars either.

Bilkul. Woh chala gaya, phir bhi aaj bhi kahaani bolte-bolte aap ruk jaate ho aur kehte ho, ‘Irrfan sahab hone chahiye thay…’ (Pauses) Bahut kahaniyan directors ke andar maar gaye woh. Ab aap suna hi nahi sakte, unke bina.

Yes (laughs)! Yeh ajeeb sa circle hai! When you talk about great makers – and when I say great makers, I mean Hrishikesh Mukherjee or Bimal Roy, names like that – they somehow never lost connect with their roots or their storytelling. Even the Hollywood names who have taught us things about filmmaking – they have kept a consistency in their storytelling. I hope more of us can do that.

Actor Parvathy Thiruvothu, who has been a part of Malayalam and Tamil cinema for over 17 years and marks eight years since her Bollywood debut Qarib Qarib Singlle today, feels that the lines between Hindi and regional cinema have blurred significantly since then. She shares, “Audiences no longer care about language; they just want an honest story. That’s a beautiful change because it pushes all of us to work harder and stay true to our craft.”

Parvathy adds, “Earlier, I used to think regional cinema, especially in the South, was more rooted, while Hindi films often followed certain set formulas. But that distinction doesn’t exist anymore. The kind of storytelling emerging from Hindi cinema today is far more authentic and experimental than it used to be. At the same time, southern industries have opened up to a global audience, especially after OTT. So, I feel both worlds are learning from each other now.”

The 37-year-old credits this change to the audience: “The audience has become the biggest game-changer. They’re far more aware, intelligent, and demanding. You can’t fool them with the same old ideas anymore.”

Reflecting on her journey since then, Parvathy admits she’s become far more selective about the projects she takes up. “Sometimes a script looks great, but if the energy with the team doesn’t feel right, I know it’s not for me. I’ve learned to listen to my instincts,” she explains.

That instinct, she says, has guided her choices across industries, including her Bollywood debut opposite the late actor Irrfan Khan. She recalls, “Working with Irrfan sir was one of the greatest blessings of my life. There was never any sense of hierarchy, only mutual respect and curiosity. He made every moment on set lighter, and that energy was contagious.”

At the Dharamshala International Film Festival, Adil Hussain reflected on the craft of acting and the mark Irrfan left on audiences. When asked about overcoming the challenge of being different in films of the same genre, he said, “It will be always different if you are truly yourself, even if the genre is the same, if you don't fall into the cliches of acting. It is extremely difficult. When you are not that person who is wearing a social mask, the one you wear when you are with your parents or lover or husband or when you are at a party and nobody is watching you and therefore, you are quieter, and from there when you act, you will be different. And the one actor who comes to my mind who was like that was Irrfan.”

Adil opined that Irrfan embodied a rare honesty in his work. “He tried his best to do that and that’s why when he died, I was shocked despite knowing that he was suffering from a terminal disease. I had a tough time accepting his demise. He tried his best to be as vulnerable and as transparent as possible. Did you see him very different in different characters? No. He was trying to be as open and vulnerable as possible. Not in all films. He was brilliant in The Warrior, The Namesake and Qissa - he was at his best in these films.”

Despite meeting Irrfan only a handful of times, Hussain recalled the deep personal impact his passing left on him. He shared, “I had met Irrfan only thrice during the promotions of Life Of Pi. I never had any conversation with him about acting or anything, but despite that, I felt a punch in my heart when he passed away. I was surprised about the way I felt.”

It’s been a few days since the country’s most talked-about film hit the screens. Naturally, leading man Vishal Jethwa is still absorbing the wave of love and acclaim for Homebound — India’s official entry to the Oscars.

When we get on a call with him, he starts with, “Everyone is talking about the film, and the fact that it’s officially entered for the Oscars,” he says. “Usually, when a film is selected, there’s some debate — people ask, ‘Why this film? Why not another with a better story or performance?’ But this time, I’ve only heard appreciation. That makes me so happy.”

For Jethwa — who had blink-and-miss roles opposite Irrfan Khan in Hindi Medium (2017) and in the Salman Khan-starrer Tiger 3 (2023), then played the antagonist in Mardaani 2 (2019), and a patient suffering from Duchenne muscular dystrophy in Salaam Venky (2022) — the journey to this moment is not lost on him.

Recalling his first big-screen appearances, he says, “I did a role of a tea vendor in Hindi Medium, a 30 to 40-second character with Irrfan sir. I’m glad I at least got to share that much screen time with him.” 

Now, people are hailing his act as the moving performance of the year. “Someone told me I’m the next Irrfan Khan,” he says, almost incredulous. “I felt very strange. I couldn’t accept it at all.”

Jethwa, well aware that he is an outsider who has carved a place for himself, doesn’t wish to engage in conversations about nepotism or the lack of a godfather in the industry. He acknowledges that the journey is challenging but accepts that even those with a film background “don’t have it easy”.

Rather than complaining, he says, “I take inspiration from people like Shah Rukh Khan and Akshay Kumar, not from those who keep complaining about nepotism. I accept that nepotism exists. But if you keep complaining about it, it gives a loser’s vibe.”

Jethwa credits his director Neeraj Ghaywan for shaping his performance as Chandan in Homebound. The actor shares that the director advised them “to live the character” rather than act the part. Ghaywan asked him to read Annihilation of Caste.

“My [knowledge] about caste and religion is mostly bookish. Experiencing it is very different. Shooting the film changed me. It changed how I looked at society and identity. He’s a director who truly walks the talk. He wanted us to deliver lines in a way that was authentic, not preachy.”

Despite international acclaim, Homebound’s theatrical performance in India has been mixed. Jethwa says he hasn’t tracked the numbers closely, “I don’t think a film like Homebound is made for monetary reasons. Still, I want people to go to the theatres so the message can reach more people.”

While film offers are pouring in, what surprised Vishal Jethwa more was when post Cannes, companies and designers approached him for fashion. “Another wing has opened up in my life,” he says.

Rohan Kanawade, Nikkhil Advani

Rarely does this emotion strike filmmakers, but when it does, it hits hard. Nikkhil Advani experienced it — that feeling of a filmmaker reminding you of your younger self — when he watched Rohan Kanawade’s Sabar Bonda. “Rohan is the filmmaker we set out to be 30 years ago. But along the way, we had to take other decisions,” he says. “The purity with which Rohan has made the film is beautiful.”

Sabar Bonda tells the story of Anand, who, while navigating the grief of his father’s demise, finds love in Balya. The Marathi film has Advani, Vikramaditya Motwane, Sai Tamhankar, and Nagraj Popatrao Manjule as its executive producers. It’s notable how the movie brought several filmmakers together. Not a rare phenomenon, according to independent producer Shiladitya Bora, who recently told us that mainstream Bollywood filmmakers have more unity than their indie counterparts.

But Advani disagrees. “You can’t even name five mainstream filmmakers who are united. In the 1990s, 44 Aram Nagar was Sudhir Mishra’s office where all of us — myself, Tigmanshu Dhulia, Irrfan Khan, Manoj Bajpayee, Anurag Kashyap — used to hang out. Today, there’s more unity among indie artistes because their struggle is the same.” 

As an executive producer, Advani is happy to nurture Kanawade and hopefully ease some of his struggles. Asked whether he felt almost envious while watching the director’s work, and he admits, “When I saw Aligarh [2016], I said, ‘Wow! Hansal [Mehta], what have you done?’ When we saw Udaan [2010], we were like, ‘Who is Vikram!’ I want to be jealous of [good] films when I see them.”

Advani, who made his directorial debut with Kal Ho Naa Ho (2003), knows that preserving one’s voice is far from easy. For Kanawade, he has a simple advice.

“He has to learn from me. I made Salaam-E-Ishq [2007] as my second film. My [approach] was that since nobody is giving me credit for my first love story, I’ll make six love stories. The decision was wrong because it was [born] out of arrogance. But you have to tell yourself, ‘I won’t go against [my instincts]’.”

A jilted husband-turned-gigolo is a role that Viineet Kumar Siingh had never been offered before. Naturally then, given his pursuit of novelty, the actor was immediately drawn to Rangeen. “I love to experiment. Just reading three episodes of Rangeen, I was sure I wanted to do it,” he smiles.

But before he said yes, the actor wanted to ensure he could trust the makers. The series, which also stars Rajshri Deshpande and Taaruk Raina, is created and written by debutants Amardeep Galsin and Amir Rizvi. “The subject is so sensitive that I needed to consider the people associated with it. I saw that Kabir Khan sir [producer] was there, as was Amazon Prime Video,” he says.

Rangeen tells the story of a woman who is stuck in an unfulfilled marriage and gets involved with a gigolo, which in turn makes her husband reevaluate his life. With the show examining the loneliness of the three prime characters, we ask Siingh whether he experienced loneliness over his two-decade career. “When you come to a city like Mumbai, your beginning itself is with loneliness,” he candidly shares. But to him, it’s not a disadvantage. If anything, he believes the sense of isolation can become an armour for an artiste.

“That emotion remains alive inside you and gives you strength. Your spirit will break, and so will your trust every day. This field shines from the outside, but there is emptiness, loneliness, and unemployment, until you create an identity as an artiste. You have to fight that fight alone. There are times when a role that you could do passes you by, but you have to be happy and headstrong.”

Evidently the actor speaks from his personal experience. Having started with smaller roles and finally landing a leading part in Mukkabaaz (2018), he enjoys a stronger position in the industry today with mainstream entertainers like Jaat and Chhaava behind him. He credits the actors before him, who made their craft their singular focus and rose to prominence, for making his path easier.

“It’s a long list — Irrfan [Khan] saab, Naseeruddin [Shah] saab, Nawazuddin [Siddiqui], Manoj [Bajpayee] bhai, Rajkummar [Rao], Vicky [Kaushal], and Vijay [Varma]. Ten people placed their trust in me because these actors [paved the way]. If such actors — whom the audience trusts and finds relatable — have gone ahead in their careers, they’ve helped me knowingly or unknowingly.”

Deepak Tijori, who was in Ahmedabad recently for the muhurat of Get Set Go, is excited about doing a Gujarati film after a long time. The Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar actor shares, “I did a Gujarati film (Hun Tu Ne Ramtudi) more than two decades ago. I have been watching Gujarati films and fortunately, things have changed for the better and interesting concepts are being explored. I was offered a couple of other films prior to Get Set Go, but I felt I should explore this one. Ahmedabad has changed a lot over the years, but I have always enjoyed coming here. The city has a rich culture, with the right blend of modernity, and I love the people. Whenever I am here, I never miss eating dal dhokli, which is among my favourite dishes.”

Talking about how he was stereotyped as an actor, he says, “I always wanted to do contemporary films which were out of the box, but I was typecast as a commercial actor during my prime. I grew up watching actors like Naseer sahab (Naseeruddin Shah) and Om Puri sahab, and I had a theatre background. Once, I met Govind Nihalani and asked if I could work in his films. He told me that I could never work with him as I was recognised as a highly commercial actor. This had such a big impact on me that I never approached any makers of art films, as I didn’t know how to change this perception.”

He adds, “Now, after almost 20 years, I am reinventing myself with a new look in Veena Bakshi’s Ittarr. I always wanted to do such films, the kind that Irrfan did. Once, I even met Irrfan to discuss a film on these lines, but unfortunately, it was too late. Now, I am getting opportunities to experiment. I want to do roles which suit my age and have depth. I would love to do a sequel of Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar with Aamir (Khan). It should be a continuation of the story. May be, we can play headmasters of rival schools.”

Recently, he was nominated for the Best Actor award at the Independent Short Awards, Los Angeles, for his short film Echoes of Us. He shares, “I wrote and acted in it as I wanted to explore something beyond stereotypical roles like playing a father or other supporting roles. I wrote this movie in English as I did not want to limit it to regional languages, as it then gets considered in the foreign language category at international film festivals, thus limiting the scope. This movie received laurels at film festivals, and I was excited to be nominated for the Best Actor award.”

While he has also directed and produced films, he says, “My passion has always been acting. But I took a step back intentionally as I was swayed into the wrong kinds of roles. I put myself in a bracket where producers did not bank on me. Once, when Bhatt sahab (Mahesh Bhatt) tried to offer me a lead role, producers said that I can’t be a hero. I idolized Sanjeev Kumar and dreamt of the kind of roles he played in films like Trishul and Sholay. After the slump, I’m now ready with interesting films. I hope directors offer me more character roles suitable for my age. I don’t want to play just a father.”

Asked about his thoughts on the OTT boom, he shares, “OTT is a haven for hidden talents and artistes who never got recognition. There are many stories that can’t be told on the big screen due to time limits, and OTT doesn’t have this constraint. It has its pros and cons. Audiences now know that even if they don’t watch a film in theatres, they can watch it on OTT after a month.”

Recently, Deepak had supported Deepika Padukone’s decision to opt out of Sandeep Reddy Vanga’s next film due to a disagreement over working hours. He says, “I fully support her demand for an eight-hour workday because she wanted to spend time with her child. She has worked in 12-hour shifts in the past. It (working hours) should be one’s individual decision and she shouldn’t suffer because she is a mother. While there are factors like budget, time, and availability constraints, I feel these things can be managed. Earlier, actresses had to give up acting after marriage or having kids, but the industry has evolved, and we need to be more progressive.”

Nawazuddin Siddiqui, whose cinematic journey began in a theatre in the remote village of Budhana (Uttar Pradesh), believes that Indian cinema’s global recognition has been largely driven by independent filmmakers. With their work being appreciated in Europe, this acknowledgment, he feels, was long overdue and keeps him anchored to the kind of cinema he has always loved – from Naseeruddin Shah’s powerful performance in Sparsh (1980) to Irrfan’s in The Lunchbox (2013).

“These films, performances, and my theatre training shaped me into the actor I became,” he says. In conversation, Nawaz speaks to us about the deep impact films have had on him.

According to Nawaz, film festivals expanded his vision of what Indian cinema could be. Sharing that he has been in screening rooms from Venice to Berlin, where audiences come for cinema, not spectacle, Nawaz says, “Berlin ho ya Cannes ya Venice, itne log aate hain sirf cinema ke liye. You go there, watch films from around the world, and then you see the ones that went from India, aur tab lagta hai ki ‘Thank God! Hamare yahan se bhi itni achhi filmein gayi hain.’ Even if they didn’t run in India, even if people here didn’t know about them – they worked globally.”

He adds, “Be it All We Imagine As Light (2024) or The Lunchbox – these films went on to become global phenomenon.”

This year, Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound made it to Cannes. Payal Kapadia was on the Cannes jury. About the growing global recognition of Indian indie films, Nawaz says, “Indian cinema ko global level pe kisi ne crack kiya hai toh woh independent directors ne . Most of our commercial films are preferred by Indian diaspora and Middle East. But in Europe, our independent films are more appreciated.”

Nawaz reveals he has always been a cinephile, drawn to movies by actors who pushed boundaries. “There are so many films I keep going back to Dev Anand and Dilip Kumar’s films, Naseeruddin Shah’s Ijaazat (1987), Om Puri’s Ardh Satya (1983), Pankaj Kapur’s Ek Doctor Ki Maut (1990). Yeh filmein main baar-baar, hazaar baar dekh sakta hoon .”

For him, it’s not genre or director, but the power of performance that links them. “It’s the actors,” he says. “Hamare country mein aise actors ka hona, yeh hamari khushnaseebi hai. Naseeruddin Shah, Om Puri, Kamal Haasan, Manoj Bajpayee, Irrfan – they’re great actors.”

“The first film I ever watched in a cinema hall was Jaggu (1975),” Nawaz recalls, adding, “I must’ve been five or six. Hamare yahan toh Shatrughan Sinha bahut hi popular thay western UP mein.”

Avinash Tiwary finds himself at an intriguing and unique phase in his career. While steadily building a repertoire of critically acclaimed performances across diverse genres, he hopes to make a space for himself within the exclusive club of new-gen actors who successfully blend stardom with craft.

The initial release of Avinash’s debut film Laila Majnu in 2018, was heartbreakingly brief. However, everything changed with its 2024 re-release — a success Avinash believes was entirely driven by the audience.

He shares, “It’s time I start focussing on how grateful I am that it was the audience alone who brought it back to theatres. After Laila Majnu found box office success, many producers began re-releasing and promoting their films. But we didn’t feel the need to do that — the love for this film came entirely from the audience, and we didn’t want to interfere with that organic connection.”

Despite the positive turn with Laila Majnu, the actor remains clear-eyed about the broader realities of the industry. The challenges he faced earlier haven’t vanished. “I don’t think the challenges have changed,” he admits candidly, adding, “The system is still the same... Nothing has really changed.”

He credits his perseverance to personal resilience and a belief in age-old wisdom – ‘Stay in the game, play it and move forward — one step at a time’.

Speaking about the industry’s flaws, he points to the dominance of the “attention economy” in content creation. “If you have attention — whether good or bad — even if 950 out of 1,000 comments are negative, the sheer volume of engagement drives the algorithm to support you, leading to significant revenue,” he explains, adding, “We’re rewarding attention, not quality — and that says everything about the system. It’s led to widespread mediocrity, where real value holds little importance.”

Avinash laments how creators are often blamed without considering the audience’s role in shaping consumption patterns. “We sit and complain about the creators, but we don't want to take any responsibility as consumers. If consumers took responsibility, creators would be accountable too,” he says.

He points to the late Irrfan Khan, widely regarded as one of India’s finest actors, and asks, “How many of his films had ‘housefull’ cinema halls?” He adds, “Is it Irrfan’s fault? It’s the audience. We’ve reached a point where we fail to acknowledge true value.”

He criticizes the “bheed” (crowd) mentality, where popularity breeds more popularity, driven by manufactured FOMO rather than genuine appreciation. “My problem is the celebration of mediocrity,” stresses the actor, adding, “When consumers glorify mediocrity, it feels like you’re disrespecting your own sanity. But this is where we are today.”

Years of navigating the film industry have bolstered Avinash’s confidence. “I feel much more assured about myself, my craft, my skills, and my space in the industry. Top directors and producers have reached out to me, appreciating my work. I can definitely say that when I walk into a room today, there’s a certain level of admiration and respect for my work and me. I am grateful for the opportunities, but I am waiting for that one major film that will reach out to everyone. It’s a matter of time.”

He sees himself aligning with actors who balance stardom with strong character portrayals. He says, “Ranveer Singh, Ranbir Kapoor, Shahid Kapoor, Vicky Kaushal and Rajkummar Rao have the ability to pull off stardom while bringing depth to the characters they play. I would like to be counted among them.”

With characteristic wit, he adds, “For now, I’m a similar product at a much lower price (smiles).”

There were many inspiring qualities of customs officer Costao Fernandes that compelled Nawazuddin Siddiqui to come aboard his biopic. But what got him more excited was the way Fernandes laughed. “He laughs a lot, but there’s still something hidden behind his laughter. That was very interesting to explore,” Siddiqui tells us. The Zee5 biopic drama, directed by Sejal Shah, follows a gold smuggling case that Fernandes fought against in the 1990s. Siddiqui was awed by the officer’s courage and moved by his suffering when standing against a corrupt system.

Costao is an addition to his 26-year glorious filmography as an actor. As we remind him of the number of years he has been in the industry, he smiles and says, “The more I am experienced, the more I am scared thinking about acting because there are so many things to be explored. There could be 1,000 ways to perform a scene and the process of finding them is what I feel is interesting.”

Last month, at the Chandigarh Film Festival, Siddiqui had spoken about how he used to be annoyed at being called “unconventionally looking”. Even his NSD (National School of Drama) batchmate, lyricist Swanand Kirkire, in an interview, mentioned how the industry was cruel to him as he didn’t fit their definition of a hero. Does the actor consider it the industry’s failure that it doesn’t trust actors who don’t fit its stereotype of how a hero should look?

“But those, whom you are trusting, what are they doing? We are seeing what’s happening to the films that are coming nowadays with new actors,” he shoots back, before continuing, “The problem is, whether it was Irrfan [Khan] bhai, or Manoj [Bajpayee], Naseeruddin [Shah] saab or Om Puri saab, has anyone ever made a film with them worth Rs. 20-30 crore? Today, you shower praise at them and call them great actors, but no one ever made a big film with them. It happens only here. Internationally, they don’t differentiate between actors. They just cast a good actor. Here, we have categories like actor, hero, star, superstar. We have such great actors among us, you will spot them in movies or series in smaller roles. They aren’t supporting actors. They are great actors. Yet no one thought of making a film with them. And maybe no one ever will. We will be gone one day, but this will go on.”

When we mention that director Anurag Kashyap got offers recently to make the third edition of Gangs Of Wasseypur, Nawazuddin Siddiqui promptly tells us, “Anurag won’t make it. Neither will I act in it. I get such offers so much. People even tell me, ‘Lets take your character of Faizal Khan from Gangs and make a film on him.’”

In 2010, when the late actor Irrfan bought a land parcel in a tiny hamlet in the lap of the scenic Sahyadri range in Igatpuri taluka of the Nashik district, very few people knew of him here.

By then, he was already an international star, having worked in Danny Boyle’s Oscar-winning film Slumdog Millionaire (2008), and classics such as Asif Kapadia’s The Warrior (2001), Vishal Bhardwaj’s Maqbool (2003), and Mira Nair’s The Namesake (2006), apart from many other Hindi box office hits.

It’s no surprise that people didn’t know him here, given that televisions are still a rarity in this tribal village called Hiruchiwadi. In the era of 5G connectivity, the network here is spotty, with just 3G connectivity if you’re in the right spot. When we asked a local farmer, Revati, 28, when was the last time she had watched a film, she responded, “Mee kadhi chitrapat naahi baghitla (I have never watched a film).” However, she came to know about Irrfan after he moved here, as he socialized with the villagers quite often.

It may be bewildering to many, but films are not the main source of entertainment in this tribal village. The closest film theatre from here, Victory Cinema, is around 11 km away, near Igatpuri railway station. With no state transport facility to connect Hiruchiwadi, travelling outside the village is not an everyday affair for everyone. Adults who have two-wheelers and a few families with cars are the only ones who frequently travel towards the city side.

Though just 120 kilometres from Mumbai, this tribal hamlet feels light-years away from modernity, still living in the 1990s. Old Hindi film music can still be heard on the radio sets if you stroll through the village on a quiet afternoon. The Sahyadri range surrounding it from all sides protects it in its soft fists, much like a mother coddles a baby in her lap.

It’s probably this simplicity and rawness that appealed to Irrfan, and he chose to build his farmhouse here, which was completely ready by 2015. It’s a perfect escape from the glitz and glamour of Mumbai, a city that always kept him busy and where everyone knew him.

Social media is full of stories and articles claiming that the village’s name has been changed to “Herochiwadi,” meaning “the hero’s neighbourhood” in Marathi. However, when Sunday mid-day spoke to the village Sarpanch, Ashok Pingle, it revealed what can be described as both coincidence and misinformation.

The Sarpanch explained, “The village’s actual name is Hiruchiwadi, named after Hiru Pingle, the mukhiya of the local tribal clan, who fought the British alongside the tribal revolutionary Raghoji Bhangre. Local NCP leader Suresh Bodke, who has worked for the village, proposed that the village’s name should be changed to ‘Herochiwadi’ to honour Irrfan after he passed away. But we didn’t want that. Because firstly, we are the descendants of Hiru Pingle and take pride in the fact that the village is named after him. Secondly, if two letters in the village’s name are changed—from ‘Hiru’ to ‘Hero’—it may bring popularity to the village, but it would also mean that all our documents, from Aadhaar to property papers, would need to be changed as well… It’s too long a process for changing just two letters.”

It’s a major coincidence that both “Hero” and “Hiru” have a very similar phonetic sound. The visit to the village was another lesson in the age of social media—do not trust everything you read online.

Regardless of the village’s name, the Sarpanch said the village loves its “Hero”. “The humility Irrfan showed by visiting houses around, providing livelihood to the locals by giving them jobs at his farmhouse, and his interaction with the children was something we did not expect from such a big film star. He could have arrived in his SUV with his bodyguards and chosen to stay in, enjoying the serene view and spending time only on his estate without stepping out. But he always chose to come to us.”

Ashok Pingle’s uncle, Damu Pingle, lives just a stone’s throw from Irrfan’s farmhouse, being the third house from his gate. When Irrfan learned that Damu was a tailor, he gave him the task of altering and tailoring all the drapery he had purchased for his farmhouse, including furniture covers for when the house would be closed. Damu refused to share how much he was paid for partly being involved in the “interior designing” of a film star’s house, but he mentioned it was more than all the money he made in the last five years.

When we asked Damu about his interactions with Irrfan, he said, “Aamcha bolnach zhaala nahi, kaaran tyaanna Marathi yaet nhavta ani mala Hindi bolta yaet nhavta. (We never spoke a word as he didn’t know Marathi, and I couldn’t speak Hindi).” But Irrfan’s staff did the translation for the two.

Another employment opportunity arose for Damu’s family as caretakers. It is his family that tends to the farmhouse during Irrfan’s family’s absence. As he showed this correspondent the farmhouse from outside, he further added, “I also worked on items like the tablecloths, kitchen cloths needed for regular use, and even doormats. Irrfan brought these items from outside, probably Mumbai, but they needed to be tailored to size. All the tailoring on this farmhouse is my work.”

But the real surprise came when he revealed that he had also stitched a few kurtas for Sutapa Sikdar, Irrfan’s wife. “She gave me a kurta that fit her well. I took the measurements and sewed many clothes for her for over two years.”

The trust Irrfan placed in the villagers was evident as we walked around his farmhouse. Villagers freely moved around, as there were no locks on the gates. A trophy he won for a film, along with various décor items, lay scattered on the façade of the farmhouse, yet nobody touched their beloved hero’s possessions.

Locals mentioned that Irrfan was deeply committed to community work. According to Subhash Mengal, a primary school teacher in the village, Irrfan was planning to have some films shot there, those that fit the village’s terrain—mountainous, rugged, yet green.

Mengal says, “In one of the interactions I had with him, he mentioned that film shootings would generate employment for the locals. It’s a location just three hours away from Mumbai, and it may help filmmakers save costs on VFX or travelling to distant locations. It was a very interesting prospect. You can see how disconnected the village is, despite being at the border of three major districts—Nashik, Palghar, and Thane.”

Though he never formally adopted the village, during his time here, Irrfan touched lives across all domains. A resident of the village, Eknath Pawar, told us that Irrfan had donated Rs 50,000 for a local temple, now the largest in the village.

“We mentioned that the Hanuman temple needed renovation. We didn’t care whether the donation came from a Muslim, as it was god’s work. He never cared about religion either. The funds arrived within a few days, around the time when he was already sick. It didn’t come directly from him but through Sutapa Didi.”

But closest to his heart were the children of Hiruchiwadi. Bhavrao Bandu Bangar, the former headmaster of the primary school in the neighbouring village of Patryachawada, knew how big a star Irrfan was. However, his approximately 100 students had no idea who he was. In 2015, when Bangar learned that Irrfan’s farmhouse was nearly ready and that he would be arriving soon, he went to the farmhouse to request him to meet the students. “It may have been their only chance to meet such a big film star. Meeting an influential figure at a tender age can make an impact,” he tells Sunday mid-day.

But Irrfan was seemingly busy that day, telling the headmaster, “I will come later in the day...” School ended at 5 pm, and the children waited until 5.30 pm, but Irrfan did not arrive.

Bangar says, “It was understandable. He is a busy man.” But, to his surprise, the next morning, Irrfan, along with his family, arrived at the school earlier than anyone else and waited for the students to come. Delighted that he had shown up with his entire family, the headmaster asked, “Why did you not come yesterday?” To which Irrfan replied, “I didn’t want to come empty-handed.” Bangar recalls, “He came with two cars full of school bags, stationery, sweets, and whatever he could get for the children from a nearby market in Nashik.”

A few years later, Irrfan visited the farmhouse again. By this time, the children knew he was unwell. Bangar told the students, “Hero aajaari aahe (Hero is unwell). Make bouquets for him from whatever you find on the farms.”

The students got to work immediately, and within a few hours, a hundred bouquets made from local flowers and leaves were ready. Bangar informed Irrfan that the children had brought him something this time. Soon, a hundred bouquets adorned the façade of his farmhouse. “He started crying when he saw the gesture,” recalls Bangar.

This happened towards the end of the monsoon season, and Irrfan had noticed the children walking to school with plastic sheets or nothing at all during heavy rains. Bangar shares, “Ten months later, at the onset of the next monsoon in 2018, I received two massive cartons. The sender’s address was from Rajasthan, where Irrfan originally hailed from. I had never asked for it, but even while he was receiving treatment in London for his illness, he remembered the children and the fact that the monsoons had begun, knowing they would need raincoats to go to school. I never got to see him again, as Saheb was very sick.”

Today, the plans Irrfan had for the village sit stalled, which included basic infrastructure for shooting, proper roads till the Trilangwadi Fort, modern classrooms in the primary school, and much more. Locals say his family does not visit as often, and they mostly keep to themselves, unlike Irrfan. He once told primary school teacher Subhash Mengal, “The film industry is a lonely place. I am glad to have you all.”

However, the work he did for the village remains. The children still cherish fond memories of spending entire days, multiple times, with an international star. Some now aspire to become actors. Bangar says, “Without him, even the thought of learning theatre or becoming a film star would not have occurred to these children. We are close to Mumbai, yet so far.”

The questions posed to the residents about Irrfan make them light up with pride, knowing that their village is recognised now because of their hero.

Today, the gate of his farmhouse, which opens directly in the village, has a seat that nobody sits on, next to an epitaph that reads, “We live because you reside in our soul.”

Irrfan’s farmhouse in Hiruchiwadi, Igatpuri—where he helped the village grow and found a second family. Pics/Satej Shinde

Late actor Irrfan Khan’s wife, writer-producer Sutapa Sikdar, candidly opened up about the challenges faced by their son, actor Babil Khan, who has featured in The Railway Men and Qala, during her recent visit to Lucknow. Sutapa revealed how constant comparisons with his legendary father have created immense pressure on Babil, affecting his emotional well-being.

“Babil pe bahut zyada pressure hai aur mujhe yeh thik nahin lagta! This pressure should not be there. Irrfan never had this kind of burden, and when you don’t put pressure on yourself, your individuality shines. It’s not just about work; losing his father has left Babil almost in depression. Usmein yeh stress and comparison hai all the time. As a mother, I feel, ‘Please mere bachche ko chorr do.’ He’s very vulnerable and does not have a fighter’s spirit. His father was very strong and so am I, but genetically kahin se toh aaya hoga,” shared Sutapa.

Drawing parallels, she compared Babil’s journey to actor Abhishek Bachchan’s career struggles. “Like, Abhishek Bachchan did amazing work in I Want To Talk but wahi hai...comparisons with legendary Amitabh Bachchan have worked against him. I feel Babil is going through a similar ordeal. I just hope he overcomes it soon.”

On the professional front, Sutapa, who contributed to Kahani (2012), is slowly returning to her creative pursuits. She has consulted for two TV shows and is now working on a book and a film. “I am writing a book and a film, but to be honest, I am still unable to become an individual that I can focus on career or writing. I am unable to detach myself, and simultaneously, Babil’s career has started, and phir kabhi kuch, kabhi kuch…so I am still stuck. I have written the skeleton part of the film. Besides, I have started a book on Irrfan but not a serious preachy one and want to do it in a funny genre, which needs time,” she said.

Asked if she plans to direct or act in her film, she said, “Whoever I have narrated the concept has suggested that I should direct it. Babil can fit in as it’s about mother and son, but surely, I won’t act in it.”

Sudhir Mishra sees filmmaking as a constant process of rewriting. But, he insists that filmmaking is not only a director’s medium. “Actors are co-writers of the film. Every actor has a different process, and the director’s job is to follow their process,” he says. In a recent interview, the filmmaker opened up about the making of Tanaav Season 2, his love for long-form storytelling, how he connected with Kashmir, and what it’s been like working with actors throughout his career.

Sudhir Mishra tells us, “I consider cinema a constant process of rewriting. You rewrite with locations and with the actors, otherwise, what’s the point of actors when everything is pre-written? Imagine Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi without Chitrangda Singh’s face, or Chameli without Kareena Kapoor, or Serious Men without Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Yeh Saali Zindagi without Irrfan Jhan, or Dharavi without Om Puri and Shabana Azmi. You can’t – they’re co-writers.”

He adds, “Then, the camera takes its position, the location speaks, and you gather all that material and sit with the editor. The film you imagined may not be there, so you try to find it. You add music – take A R Rahman’s score in Lagaan. Put another piece and the film changes. So, for me, Rahman is a co-writer of Lagaan.”

For Mishra, discovering the film is the aim of making a film. He says, “When I make a film, I should learn something I didn’t know before. The film should impact me – that’s the fun, the excitement, the therapy.”

Sudhir Mishra says all his films have surprised him – sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. “You can’t say it’s not the cinematographer’s medium – then why do you hire him? The director is a bit like an architect or a designer of the overall film. A director is like a conductor of an orchestra. Sometimes he writes the score and also conducts it,” he adds.

About making Tanaav and shooting in Kashmir, he says, “I just love Kashmiris. They are really compassionate, warm, but also very sad. So, you have to work with that rhythm. I tried to bring out the human aspect (in the show). After making Tanaav, I understand Kashmir better.”

Talking about films on Kashmir and how he managed to avoid any controversies, Mishra says, “Most films about Kashmir are made by outsiders, and many of them don’t have a deep enough connection to the place. If your purpose is not to offend, and you approach things without bias – seeing them as they are – no one gets offended. If you’re not a sensationalist, not pretending to be the final word on anything, not strutting around like someone who thinks they know everything, there’s no issue.”

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About working with Rajat Kapoor, the filmmaker says, “You just have to indicate the character to Rajat and he will bring himself to it”

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Talking about Irrfan, Sudhir Mishra says, “He knew the character and was more interested in ensuring the entire scene works, because if the scene worked, he worked”