An unremarkable, frail man with remarkable conviction in his possibilities but conflicted by his compromises. That was Anant Welankar, the torn cop who breaks down while reading a poem in one of the heart-rending moments of Ardh Satya, perhaps one of the finest cop dramas of our time. Filmed in a long take, the cathartic moment imprinted a pockmarked face, his hidden angst, fiery eyes and his voice forever in a nation’s consciousness. Om Puri, the actor, had arrived. A peerless actor who never settled for half-measures, even if the script was no good, and poured his sincerity into the realism or frivolity of the moment.
Director Govind Nihalani once said that Puri started weeping during the rehearsal. He extended a hand to comfort him and then withdrew it feeling that “his anguish was too monumental for a mere touch to provide any solace.” Puri seized the moment and got under the skin of his character and context, be it as a victimised tribal in Aakrosh, a militant leader in Maachis, a tousled Nathu in Tamas, a comedian par excellence in Singh is King or the subtle Indian restaurateur who warms up to Parisian superchef Helen Mirren in The Hundred Foot Journey. Mostly an introvert, Puri blazed through characters that were flamboyant with a panache that showed the depth of his effort and focus in subsuming himself completely to his craft. That was the easy part. Playing a dead Dalit in Ray’s Sadgati has got to be his most difficult, becoming one with the mud and squalor, reducing himself to the nothingness of dust in the hands of his tormentor. If there could be a cinematic equivalent of RK laxman’s Common Man, he would be it, rescuing every underdog in our conscience.
As an assimilative artiste, he edged past his compatriots of the new wave and arthouse films of the 80s — Naseeruddin Shah, Shabana Azmi and Smita Patil — and perched himself comfortably in mainstream films, even oddball comedies. “There are two kinds of cinema — one is just for entertainment, the other touches your heart. Both have their own purpose and my job is to do justice to both,” he had said. This attitude endeared him to the industry, particularly at a time when the arthouse performers were perceived to be snooty and a cut-above.
He was one of the first serious actors to venture into television with Tamas, Bharat Ek Khoj (he played Duryodhan, Ravana, Ashoka, and Aurangzeb) Kakaji Kahin (a political satire on the lines of Yes Minister) and BBC’s The Jewel in The Crown. And amid all talk of Bollywood taking on Hollywood, he was our first international star, appearing in sizeable lead characters, be it in East is East or the Hundred Foot Journey or as the protagonist in My Son The Fanatic.
In the interregnum, he appeared regularly as sub-continental characters. A deft narrator for many media projects, he even used his distinct baritone for the voice of the black panther Bagheera in the dubbed version of The Jungle Book. The Guardian in its obit has called him a “veteran of the UK film industry.”
At one level, therefore, you can call this deeply-furrowed scarface a maverick performer.
And he was one in real life too, grabbing headlines with his controversial remarks, be it on soldiers after the Uri attack (“who has asked soldiers to join the armyIJ” and later seeking punishment for questioning them), criticising the beef ban, slamming politicians and classifying Naxals as fighters instead of terrorists. Possibly triggered by his uneasy personal life, he would self-flagellate and cool down in afterthought. He even predicted his legacy would be reviewed as an afterthought too. In one of his last interviews to a news agency last month, he had said, “My contribution as an actor will be visible once I leave this world and the young generation, especially students, will watch my films.”
He loved working with younger people, sharing his insights and having candid conversations. He was loyal to his first love theatre and encouraged workshops across the country. At one such session in Bhopal a year ago, he had said, “As Sanskrit is the mother of all languages, similarly theatre is the mother of all art forms. Dealing with the atmosphere, presentation and above all concentration is much important.”
Moreover, he had also advised young theatre artists to take up a paying job while pursing their passion. “Theatre is still not a paying profession,” he had said. He had emphasised how more and more NSD graduates were getting a break in the film industry, which was now offering categories and a bouquet of films.
The veteran actor, an FTII and NSD alumni and a recipient of Padma Shri, started his journey with a Marathi film Ghashiram Kotwal in 1972. If he featured in some intense dramas, he also balanced out his filmography with films like Mirch Masala, Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro, Chachi 420, Hera Pheri, Malamaal Weekly and more. His Hollywood outings include City of Joy (1992) with Patrick Swayze, Wolf (1994) with Jack Nicholson and The Ghost and the Darkness (1996) with Val Kilmer. He played General Zia-ul-Haq in Charlie Wilson’s War, which stars Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts.
As chairman of the National Film Development Corporation, Puri was focussed on encouraging meaningful films. He was also president of the Cine and TV Artistes Association. In 2004, he was made an honorary officer of the Order of the British Empire for services to the British film industry.
Age did not slow him down. He was busy dabbling in multiple projects like Viceroy’s House, Tubelight and Manto before he succumbed to heart attack. But he was a happy soul in his passing. In a tweet last year, Puri reflected on his four-decade career, writing: “I have no regrets at all. I have done quite well for myself. I didn’t have a conventional face, but I have done well, and I am proud of it.”