In his tribute to Nana Patekar on Thursday, Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) chief Raj Thackeray did more than mourn an actor. He placed Patekar within the story of the city and society that had produced him.
“Mumbai could never be separated from its theatre, its cinema, its chawls and slums, its middle and lower-middle classes struggling to find a place for themselves, the decline of the working class, the rise of the underworld, the unravelling of communal harmony and the new aspirations unleashed by liberalisation. Through all those changes, Nana had remained present, on stage and screen,” Thackeray posted on X.
While it is an unusually political way of remembering an actor, no other frame fits Nana Patekar quite as well.
Patekar, one of Indian cinema’s distinctive actors across nearly five decades, died on Thursday after suffering a severe cardiac arrest at his residence in Goa. The 75-year-old was rushed to hospital, but efforts to revive him failed and he was declared dead around 5.20am.
For nearly five decades, Patekar was the face of emotions that were difficult to articulate – anger, humiliation, powerlessness, frustration, disgust with corruption and despair at the system. He played men who had swallowed so much bitterness that it eventually broke them.
“That,” Thackeray suggested, “was Nana’s great gift. He became a kind of pressure valve for the ordinary Indian.”
The man who did not mince his words
That ordinary person’s friends and admirers came from across cinema, theatre, politics and public life. Superstar Rajinikanth, who shared the screen with him in Kaala, remembered the friend behind the formidable actor. “Since I speak Marathi in the Belagavi style, when Nana spoke in Marathi I would sometimes hesitate, but his immense respect came across in his demeanour and the way he spoke,” he said. “I will miss the friend who could laugh like a child.”
At Bengaluru’s Freedom Park, actor Prakash Raj offered another glimpse of that less-seen Nana. “I will miss his brutal forthrightness, the fun conversations and the absolute silly arguments we had,” he said.
That contradiction ran through Patekar’s relationship with power. He was close to people across Maharashtra’s political spectrum – from Bal Thackeray, whom he described as a father figure, to Sharad Pawar, whom he called a political “Chanakya”.
He counted Shiv Sena (UBT) chief Uddhav Thackeray and chief minister Devendra Fadnavis among his friends and acknowledged Union home minister Amit Shah’s help to Naam Foundation, the NGO he co-founded with Marathi actor Makarand Anaspure in 2015 in response to drought conditions in the state and rising farmer suicides.
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Yet, proximity never equated to allegiance. He openly challenged Shiv Sena chief Eknath Shinde and Fadnavis over corruption, while maintaining distinct boundaries in his personal ties.
When explaining his friendships with Sharad Pawar and Sonia Gandhi, his philosophy was simple: he never sought favours. “Otherwise,” he remarked, “friendship ends.”
He also attacked Bal Thackeray over the assault on humourist PL Deshpande and disagreed publicly with Lata Mangeshkar over a proposed flyover near her home.
Passion for craft
Born Vishwanath Patekar, he came to prominence through Marathi theatre. His work with the Avishkar theatre group, under Sulabha and Arvind Deshpande and later Vijaya Mehta, established him as a serious performer before Ankush (1986), Salaam Bombay! (1986), Parinda (1989) and Trishagni (1989) made him a formidable screen presence.
Filmmaker Sai Paranjpye, who directed him in Disha (1990), remembered the passion for his craft. “Sometimes that kind of intensity needs reining in to suit the temperament of the narrative,” she said. “Once he threw a tantrum and I had to reprimand him. We had quite the exchange of words. But he called me the very next morning sweetly to ask about the reporting time of the next dubbing session.”
Mahesh Manjrekar, who directed Patekar in Natsamrat (2016), remembers his overwhelming passion for living. “He had the ability to drag you out of the deepest of dumps and wrap you in immense warmth,” he said. For Manoj Bajpayee, Patekar represented what was possible for actors not backed by star pedigree.
“He made us believe that one could make a place for themselves through craft and individuality,” he said.
Patekar’s trajectory ran almost parallel to the changing city around him. From Marathi theatre to Parinda, Krantiveer (1994), Ab Tak Chhappan (2004) and Natsamrat, he kept returning to men carrying something unresolved inside them.
In Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s Parinda, as gangster Anna, Patekar fused menace and vulnerability in a performance that remains a landmark in Hindi cinema. A quarrel during the making of the film escalated into an actual fight, leaving his shirt torn. He later appeared in a vest for the scene, creating one of the film’s most memorable images.
In 1991, Patekar directed Prahaar, in which he played an army officer who turns vigilante after the murder of a soldier. His work in Krantiveer, Diksha, Angaar (1992) and Hu Tu (1999) continued his engagement with power, violence and injustice.
And yet, there was more to him than fury. Thodasa Roomani Ho Jaaye (1990), Raju Ban Gaya Gentleman (1992), Khamoshi (1996) and Taxi No 9211 (2006) revealed a performer capable of moving beyond his trademark explosiveness.
Then came Welcome (2007). As Uday Shetty, the perpetually furious gangster in love, Patekar turned rage into farce. His temper became the joke and his voice a comic weapon. He became a man who could make an entire room laugh simply by losing his temper, without smoothening his rough edges.
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Ironically, the man one strongly identified with anger was deeply drawn to quiet, ordinary pleasures. Patekar had a troubled childhood – he came from a broken home and extreme penury, and was helped by a benefactor who saw him through an art course at the Sir JJ School of Art. He eventually began doing artwork for film ads and then stepped into theatre, which led to films.
He loved the simple life of villages and was known to cook for entire film units.
He was fond of books, music and good films and loved farming. He cultivated rice, peanuts, garlic and onions in his farm near Sinhagad. His engagement with rural Maharashtra led to public work.
In May this year, Patekar made an emotional appeal to distressed farmers at a water conservation conference in Nagpur, urging those battling suicidal thoughts to reach out rather than take an extreme step.
He recalled his visits to Beed and the sight of young widows and children left behind by farmer suicides. “Visits to places like Beed changed me,” he said.
On Thursday, politicians across ideological and party lines joined actors, filmmakers and ordinary admirers in mourning him. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, Leader of Opposition Rahul Gandhi, Union ministers and Maharashtra leaders paid tributes. That breadth of mourning shows the space Patekar occupied – he did not belong to one party, one genre or one version of Maharashtra. He belonged to the uncomfortable space between them.