That ‘heartquake’ of losing Irrfan
The song’s called Heartquake and it’s from an indie film called ‘Karwaan’.
The charming song is a light-hearted, guileless, romantic take on Irrfan’s character, Shaukat, vying for the attention of Tasneem, a burqa-clad young wife of a patient in the same hospital that Shaukat is recovering at.
Irrfan’s acting as always, was on point. On the long list of illustrious performances of his career however, Shaukat might barely make it to the top ten. It doesn’t carry the intensity of Maqbool or that innocence of Monty (Life in a Metro) or the breezy nonchalance of Rana (Piku).
Irrfan was indisputably the finest actor of our generation and now there is nothing else left for us admirers, but to relive that magic that he stirred in our hearts, by immersing ourselves in the incomparable canvas of his work.
It had been on our minds too at home ever since we heard the news of his passing. That we would do well to rewatch some of his films. But it was easier said than done. I specifically shied away from it because I knew I won’t be able to take it. Not so soon. Besides, Viggy and I wanted to avoid ‘intense’, a word that Irrfan owned throughout his career.
Hence I thought, rekindling this silly ‘Heartquake’ song in our living room was perhaps a better way to come to terms with his loss. Knowing that the lyrics were as colloquial as: ‘Ae husn pari, don’t worry, meri shayari zyaada deep nahin’, I surmised that this would be an escape from ‘intense’ and help ease the pain.
I was positive that turning on those blithe lyrics, coupled with this video of Shaukat (with a dislocated neck and an arm on a sling) jostling to win Tasneem’s affection, was the right thing to do to calm the nerves.
We had barely reached halfway through this two minute song that the tears started rolling in. Viggy and I silently sobbed in our respective corners as we went about pretending that we’d get over this biting sadness.
We couldn’t.
Once again, this is far from being the finest film he has ever been in and yet this is how the man impacted people who came in touch with his work. However commonplace a situation, if Irrfan was on screen, he was going to gently but irrevocably move you to bits.
The reason why Irrfan’s sudden demise affected me is because on a rather sunny afternoon in Dec 2016 in Bombay, I got a chance to work with him for the launch of a premium footwear brand called Johnston and Murphy (J&M). Thanks to two of my previous jobs, I was used to celebs arriving late and the brand team managing their special conditions and, in some cases tantrums.
Irrfan had none.
His only ask. One black coffee.
He showed up on time and delivered everything as per the brief. When it all ended much to our satisfaction, he stayed back for pictures with us. He said yes to selfies with every store person and customer care associates of the various stores nearby who had joined us in that small J&M store in Lower Parel that afternoon. This was a refreshing departure from stars who often turn up at sponsored events to mouth pre-scripted lines without any conviction or rhyme.
It’s worth mentioning as to why we chose Irrfan for that launch. The USP of the J&M brand was that they were known for being the quasi-official footwear for the Presidents of the United States. Every President since 1850 including Obama had worn a J&M pair in the Office.
So when J&M was to launch in India and I was asked to lead that launch, the only question we asked ourselves was: who is the most presidential celebrity we have in India who fits with a brand of this stature?
You know the answer by now. No one else came close.
It was also a difficult time for me as this job was a temporary consultancy gig. I had just wrapped up a year’s sabbatical during which I finished three screenplays and a manuscript. Only one among them, a mentor-protege script loosely titled The Experiment, was drawing a positive response from the studios. Other than that, this was a time when rejections were flying in thick and fast from talent managers, studio executives, literary agents & publishers alike.
Among the few who read The Experiment, and bothered to ask who my dream choice for the lead actor would be, I always said Irrfan Khan.
I was a bit torn at this event for this very reason. Should I ask him to read my script when I had such ready access? I was tempted but I didn’t want to mix a professional setting with my personal goal of getting him to read what I’d written. Eventually, I decided to not ask him.
Months later, after my consultancy gig got over, I reached out to his manager, a lady called Manpreet, quite a professional herself who told me that she will pass on the script to Irrfan soon. As it happens in life often, everyone got busy thereafter and a year rolled by.
When in early 2018, news broke that he was battling cancer, I sent Manpreet a text asking if things were okay. She replied, ‘Tough but okay’.
I forgot about it all. I was in the midst of moving city and job and that was that. Somewhere however, a feeling stayed that once he gets better, someday our paths would cross again.
In the meanwhile, my book got published and I enjoyed thinking that whenever the next meeting happens, the conversation will now be between a writer and an actor. It was amusing because in my head, I had already pieced every syllable of my pitch. After all, it costs nothing to dream. Like the famous couplet goes: ‘Humko maloom hain jannat ki haqeeqat lekin, dil behlaane ke liye Ghaalib yeh khayaal achcha hain’.
The news popped up as a notification of all things, this Wednesday. It was a terribly busy day that went well past midnight before it even registered in my head. The next day it sunk in.
It wasn’t about that speculative dreamy conversation with him anymore. That was the least of the tragedies. It was that the man who made Shaukat, Maqbool, Rana, Monty and so many other characters so memorable was no more. When I visited his IMDB profile page to look up the names of these characters he essayed, adjunct to his name on top were a pair of parentheses that read (1967–2020). On IMDB, this is earmarked only for profiles who are no more with us.
It pinched severely.
It pinched because others act, but Irrfan moved us.
It was gut-wrenching because there are actors, but Irrfan was an artist.
It hurts because even when critics use words like a ‘rare’ actor, it didn’t apply to him. He wasn’t rare. Irrfan was the only kind there was.
Personally, this will take a long time to get past and even then, the wound might heal, but the sting will stay.
But then today I saw another thumbnail on YouTube. It again carried the dreaded parentheses. This time it read: (1967 — Forever). It’s the first time I smiled in the past 48 hours.
When asked at the J&M event, in a rapid-fire round what superpower he’d like for himself, his instinctive reply (beginning at 10:40 in this video) was, ‘I want to have a power where I could die consciously, and see what lies beyond death and come back again…’
Even if this doesn’t turn out to be God’s way to grant that ‘magical’ wish of his, thank you for the memories, Irrfan.
We’ll keep finding you in forever.
