Anup Singh takes us into the magical world of Irrfan Khan

Nonika Singh

I picture you in your grave positioning yourself… Memory is but one measure of a life. No picture is you.

THUS reads Anup Singh’s poem. Yet, as the celebrated filmmaker goes down the memory lane recalling his friendship, relationship and above all his understanding of one of the finest actors India has seen, Irrfan Khan’s picture is all but complete.

We see the late actor breathing, talking, acting, learning (to speak Punjabi), singing, flying kites, talking to a bull, a scorpion, laughing and even hurting. Who knows an actor better than a director? Especially when the director is of the calibre of Anup, who gave us ‘Qissa’ and ‘The Song of Scorpions’, both films in which Irrfan played the lead. Words become visuals, dialogues conjure up images. Language is but a tool to imagine, re-imagine the man who Anup knew up, close, personal too, even though they kept addressing each other as Anup Saab and Janaab.

We walk down with Anup on the path where Irrfan and he walked together, listened to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s qawaalis, gorged on Irrfan’s wife Sutapa Sikdar’s kebabs, discussed Sufi Mansur Al-Hallaj’s ‘Anal Haq’ and how paradoxical emotions can be expressed. We are enchanted and wonder — is it a book, memory, tribute, an experience, a song, a poem or a screenplay where bit by bit we also learn what goes into creating a memorable performance and cinema that emanates from deep belief?

Privy to much that happens behind the scenes, as also how the scenes are finally canned, Irrfan comes alive as Umber Singh of ‘Qissa’, Aadam of ‘The Song of the Scorpions’, even as Gulal, a man who would transform into Radha in a film that never got made .We also see him in his banter with co-actors as much in his understanding of their craft, in his deep reflections with Anup, as also self-reflections and even on his hospital bed where they discuss possible future roles. In another interface lying on the grass, during his days of treatment in London, he quizzes, “Anup Saab, what will people remember of me?” You can’t help that lump in your throat.

‘Anand aur matam’ (joy and grief) is what Irrfan might have said in context of ‘Qissa’, but it could well be true for the tone of the book. It begins on a note of grief when Anup learns and tries to overcome the tragic news of Irrfan’s demise. Soon, we are drowned not in the well of tears, but Anup’s reliving, “What finally releases you from grief is that your other eye insists also on seeing.” Seeing both the man and the actor. While a foreword by Amitabh Bachchan reminds how Anup uses two words, ineffable and unfathomable, to describe Irrfan, the late actor clearly is much more than two words or what a book can sum up. Also, he is a sum of many parts. So, if sceptics marvel at how he can be summarised through the experience of just two films that Anup directed, for them it must be said that this is not Irrfan’s biography or filmography. But if you want to meet the real Irrfan and the actor in him forever in communion with his character, each page describes him in unknown ways, even when Anup is discussing other characters or actors.

Anup writes, “His interest was in the process, in the nitty-gritty, the unarticulated, the unknown, the arcane, the surreptitious.” We learn many secrets, not the clandestine kind, as to what and how he was able to nail difficult parts, humanise the demon in them. Anup lets us in, “He was always rehearsing even when he seemed to be doing nothing.”

The acclaimed filmmaker decodes Irrfan the actor, yet the enigma remains. As he puts finishing touches to the last chapter, the words — “It’s never ending Anup Saab, the end of any gesture is never the end” — echo for a long time. Clearly, the book may not be the last word on Irrfan, the actor of infinite possibilities and varying sensibilities. However, it does open boundless doorways into the mind of the actor, tangible and intangible, real and surreal. If in Anup’s words, “His attempt was to create openings that would allow him to wander ceaselessly”, his poetic flow of prose lets you wander in the same expanse, aesthetically and artistically. And a centripetal force draws us back into Irrfan’s fold. He lives and ‘continues to dance within’ Anup, and in many ways us.