It was past 11 pm when I got a hurried call from my photographer in Mumbai saying he wouldn’t be able to reach Farooq Sheikh’s residence in the morning.
I was told by the actor that the photographer should reach sharp at 10 am as he was specially taking out time from promotion schedule of listen Amaya. Panicked by the call, I requested a photographer friend in Mumbai to send someone else instead. Following day, sharp at 10.45 am, I got a call from the man himself. I expected a furious tone. But the voice on the other side was beaming with honesty, gratitude and happiness. “I wanted to say thanks,” Sheikh said. I was astonished. He continued, “When I struggled to become an actor, very few people helped me. Your photographer was one such. My work was done, life moved on but I never got a chance to meet him again. And this morning, he stood at my door. I have been happy like never before. It feels like I have shed a burden.” That man was Kamlesh Shah, the photographer sent by my friend. And I didn’t even know that destiny would work in strange ways. Help Sheikh settle his final account.
Before this I had only heard stories of Farooq’s humble, heartwarming, all-embracing attitude and now I had an example to quote for life. This was in January 2013, and after that day, there was not a single week that went by without a text from him. Sometimes he would ask me how work was and sometimes just two words, “Stay blessed.” His last was this Christmas.
The veteran and versatile actor passed away late on Friday in Dubai after a heart attack. He was 65. Sheikh was born in Amroli, Gujarat, to a family of zamindars. He studied law at the Siddharth College of law in Mumbai, chasing the 70s dream of a respectable profession. But acting was his passion. He started with theatre, doing plays with IPTA and well-known directors like Sagar Sarhadi. He continued to be an avid player till the end, his reading performances with Shabana Azmi in Tumhaari Amrita having toured globally.
His first major film role was a supporting role in Garam Hava (1973) as Balraj Sahni’s son. The film pioneered the new wave of Hindi arthouse and helped Sheikh bring to life real time sensibilities. A master of understatement and gentle emotions, Sheikh was the original expressionist of alternative cinema, something that has mutated to become indie or genre films today. At a time when mega heroes and their crusade ruled the screen, he made realism and a man’s puny abilities saleable with Chashme Buddoor.
Here was a regular guy and his gang of sprightly but normal friends who made overtures to a girl over soap sud, dream Bollywood sequences, but face proposals humbly, innocently, honestly, even if gawkily. If it was the average tongue-tied but secretly aspirational job seeker, Sheikh embodied it perfectly, often with his body language than dialogues.
“Most films had me in simple, guy-next-door roles to which people easily related. It is important for me as an actor to believe in the roles I choose for myself. I have always looked forward to working with directors who arouse confidence in me and allow me to do something different in the simple space that I enjoy. When people like me, Pankajji (Pankaj Kapoor), Shabana Azmi, Naseeruddin Shah and Deepti Naval debuted in the industry, cinema was just about beginning to change. It was then that ‘everyday life’ films, which were simple, not overtly dramatic and about common people walking on the streets, travelling in Mumbai locals and double deckers, gained popularity.
So these films became an integral part of our identities. Some of us moved to diversified projects and coincidentally continued to get more of those kind of films, which I can’t complain about. I didn’t deliberately become part of the movement, it happened. I only cared about the stories and characters. Each was equally challenging and interesting and I worked hard for each one of them,” he had told us in an interview. Take any coming-of-age films today, even those in the big commercial format, and you would find Sheikh’s grammar picked up in bits and pieces. The thing about Sheikh’s films was they were never harshly fatalistic but suffused with hope even in the worst challenging situations. Sheikh broke moulds early in his career, playing a lovable cad in Satyajit Ray’s Shatranj Ke Khiladi and then, of course, the brooding, torn, indecisive nawaab in Umrao Jaan.
His chemistry with girl next door Deepti Naval made for a photostream of urban love and the angst of youth in a changing India, be it in Saath Saath, Katha, Kisi Se Na Kehna. On his chemistry with the actress, he said, “While working with her, I realised she knows what to give and how much to give. We keep texting but are as different as chalk and cheese. Our eating and sleeping habits are completely different. She would often drive to the mountains alone, just to take a break from the mundane. I would never do such a thing. First, because I cannot drive and second, I am not a person who would go to the mountains alone. I would love to have some company.”
Though he kept away from meaty character roles for quite some time, he shone again. Perhaps out of a sense of foreboding, Sheikh’s work will remain fresh because of Shanghai, where he slid into the oily obsequiousness of a placatory bureaucrat, for being a doughty boxing coach in lahore, the misunderstood but encouraging father in Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani and an adoptive father finding his solace in the dreams and passion of a young girl in listen Amaya. He won the 2010 National Film Award for best supporting actor for lahore. Perhaps these last films uniformly showcased Sheikh, the jovial gentleman.
Many would not acknowledge it but Sheikh hosted TV shows with his artful effortlessness much before Amitabh Bachchan or Salman Khan. And if you thought Karan Johar got everybody to spill the beans on the naughty and dirty, Sheikh kept his Jeena Issi Ka Naam Hai clean, sensitive, heartfelt, warm, elegant and blended everything into a drawing room chatter. He event played a tormented and confused Shrikant in the television adaptation of Sarat Chandra Chatterjee’s novel.
One thing he pointed out last winter was that “the present generation is missing the sukoon that we lived in. I wish I can get that sukoon too, some part of those bygone days that are still fresh in my memory.” Maybe he has got it at last.