Om Puri: The man in front of the camera and behind it

It is difficult for me to grasp that Om Puri, one of India's greatest actors, died earlier this week. 

Flustered by the persona of the great man himself, I had left the interview consent form right on the table where he had signed it. 

I was going to have to go back for it. It was downright embarrassing - particularly after being seen not just upto the door of his flat but into the lift. 

The degree of humility in an actor who could so easily cast away his mantle of being one of the greatest actors of the cinemas of India, for that of a gracious host following the ancient etiquette of Indian hospitality i.e. 'Athithi Devo Bhava" (the Guest is as God is), struck me once again as I watched his feet as the lift went down.

He did not walk away as long as I watched. 

Growing up in a cinephilic family with roots wandering here and there - a big old cinema hall once owned in Jalpaiguri, a musician turned director in Mumbai, a film producer in Kolkata, a smattering of kinspeople into acting, Om Puri ji with a prolific filmography spanning over four decades has lived in my thoughts for as long as I can remember. 

To acknowledge that he is physically gone is to sign out of an account that I am unwilling to close.  

How do you just interview such a man? Where do you start? What do you ask? These were questions which were rushing through my mind as we were served hot tea at Om Puri ji's flat. He had just done too many films. 

There was a mountain of diversity in the range of characters he had played, in the film styles, within the characteristic tropes of each regional film industry of India that he had been a part of. 

He had worked effortlessly in India and overseas with several hundred Indian language productions and a number of British, American and other English language films such as the critically acclaimed and popular East is East (1999).

Interviewing Om Puri ji had not even been on my dream list. I was in India, city hopping. 

I was interviewing those working in the Hindi and other regional film industries as a part of my doctoral research. 

I had done some amazing interviews in Mumbai with directors, producers, music directors, editors, actors and was scheduled to fly to Kolkata. 

On the morning of my flight, I was thanking my friends for their support and cooperation, when I mentioned that I wish I had managed to interview one more male actor. 

My friend Anurag Anand, a film producer, asked me out of the blue whether I would like to interview Om Puri. I was speechless.

I had already conducted 18 interviews in Mumbai, where I had had to chase up and rearrange interviews with several newly successful persons and a couple of veterans.

But then again, there were a few stalwarts of the industry who had simply said 'yes' and given me some of their very precious time. 

I had gone into those interviews prepared. But could I possibly turn down the possibility of meeting face to face the Om Puri, even if I thoroughly bungled the interview? Less than an hour later, I was sitting in front of him. The moment was surreal.

Dragged along with my parents to see Paar (1984) during my school days, at an age where most Indian art films seemed incredibly slow, depressing and boring, I still remember reluctantly being drawn into the performance of Shabana Azmi, Naseeruddin Shah and Om Puri to such a degree that the film remains unsullied in my memory by the onslaught of miscellaneous readings and matters over the decades.

Mirch Masala (1987) awakened me to a new facets of the duo of Om Puri and Naseeruddin, with Smita Patil this time.

Puri, a contemporary of Shah at the National School of Drama, had earlier graduated from the Film and Television Institute of India in Pune. 

The list of searing performances kept growing as did the diverse nature of Puri's characters, but it was while watching a copy of Ardh Satya (1980) that Om Puri's face became etched in my mind. In Ardh Satya, though Om Puri's character undergoes a tumultuous inner journey that the cinema viewer is privy to, he consistently plays a person who has stepped out from real life and into the cinematic frame. 

Never is the character allowed to gain larger than life proportions, while always remaining distinct, individualistic and framed.

This, I would come to recognise as characteristic of Puri's acting across the range of Indian language films that he was a part of, across art cinema certainly but also in mainstream films.

I came to enjoy the nuances in his acting style, as his character interacted with others within the diegesis, as in the play off with Amrish Puri.

From the trepidations of the father-son relationship in Ardh Satya - their roles entwined and their performances both in tune and yet competitive like the jugalbandi (musical duet), which would play out differently in the subtle humour of the employer-employee relationship in the mainstream film Chachi 420. 

Puri was a versatile actor, sought after by art and mainstream directors alike in Hindi, Regional and English films; working with great directors such as Satyajit Ray in Sadgati (1981), Gulzar in Maachis (1996), Prakash Jha in Mrityudand (1997), Kamal Haasan in Chachi 420 (1997)  and Mani Ratnam in Yuva (2004). 

He was equally successful in his forays into television as with Mr. D'souza in the premier serial The Jewel in the Crown (1984).

Standing hesitantly there in the car park of the multi storeyed building in Mumbai on 30th July 2016, I remember my friend Anurag Anand, a film producer, asking if I wanted him to accompany me. 

I had said "No" and had quickly walked away towards the lift. A few minutes later, as I turned away from Om Puri ji's open door, the precious paper in my hand, I looked at his world famous autograph on my humble consent form. 

A small tremor in the hand of the sixty six year old actor made me retrace my steps. Om Puri ji looked up from the sheaf of papers he was going through. There was a cigarette in his hand, as there had been during the interview. 

He asked in a gruff but kind voice, "Have you forgotten something else?"

Blurting out my thoughts in a rush, I said, "Sir... you are a great person. The world needs people like you. Please don't smoke. Even if you don't feel like doing it for yourself, please do it for people like us." 

Shocked at my own uncontrolled impudence, I froze for a long minute before his face broke into the so-familiar smile. "You're a sweet girl.", he had said. I had thanked him and somehow made my escape.

On that day when I interviewed him, as I started to put my questions tentatively to Om Puri ji, he smiled and held out his hand.

He said, "I think I'll give you a little background to this cinema and then  we can arrive at this question..." 

With this started the master storyteller, weaving his story, holding out the magic of a hundred years of Indian cinema of which he was a big part, for me to see as it flashed past my eyes through his master's voice.

Tribute by  Shorna Pal, Department of Film Studies, University of St Andrews.