You often say there is no process, yet over the years, you continue to bring a freshness and nuance to every character you play. How does that work for you?
I am as comfortable playing a gay professor in Aligarh as I am with playing a mafioso or cop. For me, the challenge is always to play a great character. I don’t seek comfort at any point, since the idea with every character is to push the boundaries of your craft. In Inspector Zende, I went beyond the man in his professional space, and explored my own understanding of the character, as Chinmay didn’t want me to meet Mr Zende personally. He said it wasn’t required. I had to bring my version of the character on screen, taking the script as well as the writer’s vision. The idea is always to expose the facets of the person you are playing, and make him believable to the audience—that it’s not the actor, but the person on screen. If I ever feel any role or project is easy for me, I don’t do it. I need the freedom to improve, express, and experiment.
You have reinvented and recalibrated across genres, formats, and storytelling styles. Has anything changed in the last 31 years?
Nothing has changed. The passion for the craft, the focus on the work that I am doing, remains the same. The sphere of acting is endless. Every time you feel like you’ve seen it all, you look back and realise that after 30-odd years in the industry, something new and extraordinary still comes along. Something that’s going to push your limits as a performer and tell you, if you have anything left in you, come and play me. That’s the kind of challenge one seeks. I love and thrive in my work and the constant curveballs it throws my way. I consciously don’t let it corrupt me—neither the opportunities nor whatever title I may have achieved. I really feel that nostalgia is the worst enemy of humankind. It is something that I don’t get into. What is done is gone in the past; it stays in the past. That’s it.
