MANOJ BAJPAYEE IS THE FAMILY MAN. NO, REALLY. ASK ANYONE

WHETHER IT’S HIS CANDID ADULATION FOR HIS WIFE AND DAUGHTER, OR HIS LEANING TOWARDS SPIRITUALISM AND HEALTHY LIFE CHOICES, HERE’S THE MANOJ BAJPAYEE YOU NEVER KNEW

Manoj Bajpayee is almost an hour late for our meeting. He calls me thrice with traffic updates. I answer in monosyllables. He knows I’m sulking. “I’m sorry, Apu, please don’t be mad at me,” he says, alighting from an unassuming car. How can I be mad at him? He’s as real as they get! But I don’t tell him that. I say, “You’re buying drinks tonight, and I’m getting the most expensive cocktails.” “Done,” he says relieved. “I’m buying dinner too.”

This is a hip, young, members-only club, populated with millennials. In his tight tee and white sneakers, Manoj seems to fit in just fine. Heads turn as he walks by. “Loved you in The Family Man,” says almost everybody, and Manoj skips gleefully to the elevator. “Most of these kids didn’t see Satya,

[Gangs Of] Wasseypur or even Aligarh,” he tells me, “But they know me now thanks to The Family Man.”

Manoj is proud of himself. He has conquered a new medium and a new audience. This is fuel for the neanimorphic Mumbaikar who turned 50 last April. A month before that he had won the prestigious Padmashri award

KING OF MUMBAI

I remember meeting Manoj for the first time in 1997. It was in the home of director Ramgopal Varma and we were about to start the film Satya. Every day a new team member joined the vodka-assisted creative sessions. Manoj was one of the early recruits. He had a thick mop of curly hair, a coltish frame and eyes that could brighten up any conversation. He had shifted to Mumbai after a stint with NSD, and though he had a significant film like Bandit Queen (1994) to his credit, he was yet to make his mark.

I sip my saccharine cocktail, already planning to switch my drink for the next round. Manoj samples

“MOST OF THE KIDS TODAY DIDN’T SEE SATYA, [GANGS

OF] WASSEYPUR, OR EVEN ALIGARH. BUT THEY KNOW ME NOW THANKS

TO THE FAMILY MAN”

“I don’t have a problem with star kids. I have a problem with the so-called ‘owners’ of the film industry, who look at us as ‘outsiders’ and

don’t respect us.”

three kinds of wine and finally settles for a sparkling one. “I don’t drink much these days and I never eat dinner at night,” he says as we order sliders. I look at Manoj’s face and see features that weren’t visible in 1997. He has prominent cheekbones, his hair is straight and his pout more pronounced. His eyes still sparkle the same way.

“Tell me,” I say, nostalgic about our Satya days. “If you had been given a choice, which part would you have wanted to play? Bhiku or Satya?”

“You knew there was no bound script,” he says. “So while I was preparing for the film, I had thought mine was the titular role. But as the story took shape I learned I was to play Bhikhu Mhatre and that Satya was going to someone else.” He was disappointed, but as the character shaped up, he realised that he had the part that would bring out his best.

I recall an early preview of Satya at Mumbai’s Famous studio for Amitabh Bachchan.

The superstar put his arm around Manoj’s shoulder and walked him

“IF YOU ARE A PERSON WHO BELIEVES IN ABILITY AND HARD WORK AND NOT SURRENDERING TO PEOPLES’ WHIMS AND FANCIES, THEN IT [BOLLYWOOD] IS QUITE AN

IMPOSSIBLE INDUSTRY!”

all the way downstairs, singing his praises. Manoj had giggled like a school boy and turned a shade of vermillion. We also recall the mass hysteria in Mumbai’s single screens when Bajpayee (Bajpayi then) stands on a cliff and shouts, “Who is the King of Mumbai?” The front benchers had leapt up in unison and shouted, “Bhiku Mhatre.”

He orders his second glass of sparkling wine and continues, “After Satya I was flooded with offers. Producers lined my house – but they wanted me to play the villain or the heroine’s brother. Films like Satya just weren’t being made. Though I managed some good projects, I entered a lean period, where I felt a sense of frustration.”

REBEL WITH

A CAUSE

Didn’t he also become known for anger issues? There were stories of run-in’s with filmmakers and co actors; anecdotes of drunken rage even. Manoj doesn’t deny it all. “I used to get angry very easily. But I wasn’t a rebel without a cause. I couldn’t stand the hypocrisy that is so rampant. I was enraged by the double speak and I called it out. And the drunkenness – see, I couldn’t stand those filmi parties where people pretended to like everything about everyone and later say shit behind their backs. The only way I could tolerate them was if I had a few drinks.”

“What’s changed now?” I ask. “I’m more spiritual now. I don’t hold grudges,” he says. “I’ve accepted that you can’t change people, but you can control your reactions. Besides, I don’t go to parties anymore, so I don’t drink much at all.” I glance at Manoj’s drink on the table. It’s barely half finished, a testimonial to his words.

I dig out a quote from an old interview of his: “If you are a person who believes in ability and hard work and not surrendering to peoples’ whims and fancies, then it is quite an impossible industry,” he had said. What’s his take on the nepotism debate?

“I don’t have a problem with star children making it. They will get their launch, but stand only on merit. I have a problem with these so-called ‘owners’ of the industry, the self-proclaimed ‘insiders’ who look at us as ‘outsiders’ and don’t respect us,” he says.

“But that’s mainstream filmmaking,” I explain. “It’s driven by

“My drunkenness?

See, I couldn’t stand those filmi parties where people pretended to like everything about everyone and later

say shit behind their backs. The only way I could tolerate them was if I had a

few drinks.”