Then came Gangs of Wasseypur which, of course, he watched. Not only was his son not playing a wretch getting beaten up, he was a victor, a gangster with great power. Finally, he was happy.
The wave of Hindi cinema had changed. The kind of movies that were being made, the kind of directors who were making them—everything was a fresh wave. And it was because of this that a Gangs of Wasseypur and later a Masaan could even get made. Today, of course, the indie film industry is well established, so much so that quite a bit of poor acting in it gets passed off under the guise of being ‘realistic’. But back then, it was because of this change in mindset that someone like me could become a star actor. Or that an Anurag Kashyap could come into being.
After those twelve years of struggle, people thought I had arrived. But I never wanted success. I only ever cared about my craft. To the world I might be the most famous face from Budhana. But if you ask me, in my eyes I am the most useless person in my family. The richness of talent that the colourful characters of my childhood had surpasses the riches of Ali Baba’s cave. There were so many folk artists who died as nobodies but the richness of whose talent surpasses that of most of Bollywood. I won’t give names but the lyrics and music of several were even copied by people who are big names in our industry today. If anybody called anything bad, even if it was bad, they were cast out of the family. That is how serious we were about tehzeeb, about rawangi.
What is success in the face of all of that?
I have no desire for fancy clothes. I have no desire for fancy cars. I have no desire for fame or glory. It has been this way since childhood. My concern has been that whatever work I do, I do it with cent per cent honesty, integrity and diligence and that I become a master at my craft. And that is what I have done. I work for the joy of the work itself, never for success or glory. My only philosophy is of pure diligence, as much as a human being is capable of. That is how one should live one’s life. I was not even aware that this was my core belief. I realized it only when I noticed that so many people around me were actually crazy about fame and materialistic possessions.
I might sound monastic but I am not austere. I suppose I can trace the roots again to childhood. As a young boy, I could see how delighted people were when they got even a little bit of money—Eidi—during festivals. And how sad they were when the money was taken away from them. Very early on, I stumbled upon this nugget of wisdom that if I were like that, which is how most people are, it would mean that my happiness is dependent on factors external to me, like money. How could I be so cheap with myself? With my happiness? With my freedom? My happiness is not for sale.
During those mad years of struggle, I breathed depression instead of oxygen because the atmosphere around was such. Several actors around me left, either Mumbai or this world altogether. Others saw silver linings and their careers slowly picked up. I didn’t have good looks. I didn’t have an exceptional voice. I did not have money even for food. I did not have a place to live. I belonged to a minority community. (So, even a simple thing like getting a passport meant battling so many hurdles.) So for me, the greater feat is to have not sunk, but stayed afloat through all of that with my sanity intact.
Once, when I was still battling that nightmarish existence, Paritosh, one of my seniors from NSD, invited me over for drinks. He worked in TV and so had a stable income. ‘You know, Nawaz, one day my daughter said to me, “Papa, please buy me some ice cream. Please, please!” And I did not have the money to buy my little girl something as simple and inexpensive as a little scoop of ice cream. That day I decided that I will not see tears in my daughter’s eyes again. Howsoever, from wherever or whatever it takes me, I will get my little girl ice cream. No matter what I have to do, I will fulfil her wish,’ Paritosh said softly. ‘And today, Nawaz, I have a house, a car. My daughter, who is now all grown up and in college, is happy.’
I listened in silence, sipping the alcohol. Then softly I asked him, ‘Paritosh Bhai, at least ask me what I would have done if I were in your place.’ He raised his head and his eyebrows to ask what. ‘I’d have told my daughter, “Sorry, but the ice cream cannot happen right now. I will feed you ice cream, I promise. But first of all, I need to work hard, I need to do good work, I need to become successful. Then you will eat ice cream. In fact, you will eat ice cream every day of your life. But right now, you need to let your daddy work because I will not do every odd job and odd role I come across simply to buy you ice cream. For the sake of your
