Mayank Shekhar: The inherent sauciness of Sanjay Mishra

Sanjay Mishra in a still from Aankhon Dekhi

Actor Sanjay Mishra is only two years older than Salman Khan. He looks much older, of course. What's common between him and Salman - something he's shared with the super-star as well - is the several times both have found love (in life); which is of course better than never.

Mishraji - born in Darbhanga (Bihar), raised in Varanasi (UP), educated at the National School of Drama (Delhi), who's worked professionally in Mumbai - says he's inevitably ended up attracting (or being attracted to) "English type" women. By which he refers not to the British, but to Indian, urbane, Anglicised women, basically.

One such date he gifted a Lucknawi kurta on their first night-out to a fancy restaurant. That 'chikan' kurta would be incomplete without some post-dinner paan they picked up on the way back. While in his fancy car, the woman didn't know what to do with the betel-juice bottling her mouth.

Simple, he explained. Adorably 'theth' (rustic) as Mishraji is, he spat out the 'peek' (red juice) from his mouth, right across the backseat to the window next to her. Except, the window wasn't rolled up. Her kurta got totally stained. He dropped her home; and I'm sure left for his own.

What does this anecdote that Mishraji tells me, in conversation, before a packed hall in Kanpur - that had come down to watch him, despite the World Cup and Wimbledon finals the same night - instantly reveal about this 54-year-old popular actor?

That fame, especially attained relatively late, might not so easily be able to diminish an inherent earthiness, and most importantly, supreme confidence over who one really is - in Mishraji's case, a "purbi" (Eastern) "rangmanchiya", as he describes himself, treating life as theatre, and absolutely everyone in it, at any point, an audience.

Mishraji has been around in Mumbai since 1991. This is when he joined the TV series Chanakya, screwing up his first day at work so badly that he had to give 28 takes for his first shot, at which point even the director left him alone to figure it out. Ever since, audiences have seen him gradually prove his mettle in bit, or relatively bigger roles, in films (Satya, Bunty Aur Babli), and television (as commentator 'Apple Singh' during '99 World Cup, or in popular shows like Sorry Meri Lorry, Office Office).

Public acceptance/validation can be as unpredictable as it's inexplicable sometimes. For, few may recall the Rohit Shetty comedy All The Best (2009). But absolutely everyone remembers his line, delivered like a cross between villains Pran and Jeevan: "Dhondu? Just chill!" What does that even mean? Nothing.

The film that will mean a lot more to audiences much after he's gone is in fact Rajat Kapoor's Aankhon Dekhi (2014) that happened to him only when he turned 50. It opened a gateway to lead roles for him, even rewardingly contrasting ones sometimes. He says, "In Aankhon Dekhi, I played a man who won't believe anything, until he sees it. In Kadvi Hawa (2017; on climate change), I couldn't see anything (was blind), but could feel enough to warn against an impending fate."

The actual turning point in Mishraji's life, as he puts it, happened when he had a health-scare in his late 40s, that inevitably got him to face mortality more closely, given his father passed away soon after. Frankly, Mishraji is the most 'woke' human I've ever met - always in character - who ironically also argues for everyone to simply, "jage raho (stay awake)," and nothing else.

It's a hard thing to do, especially in an inward-looking show-business, where talent is wholly subjective; achievement is constantly measured against someone else's (there's always the other doing better than you, perhaps undeservedly so); hierarchies change every few weeks; ambition's a bitch, and can drive one towards consistent self-destruction. At any rate, everybody's existence seems designed towards being a perennial 'struggler' - no matter what the intangible success-rate.

Until recently, after being around for over two decades, Mishraji himself would've been termed a struggler in an industry with a traditional class system, where anybody who's not a "star" is supposed to be a "character actor", as if lead actors don't play characters (they probably play themselves!). Sure, that's changing. But Mishraji looks, talks, chats the same way. Maybe this has something to do with the fact that he's always seen himself as living the "life of a kalakaar" (artiste), rather than an actor alone.

He plays the sitar, composes music, paints, cooks, writes poetry, has been a prolific photographer, assisted on cinematography, been an art-director, directed a feature film… The fact that he can't be himself (because of fame) scares him shitless.

It shouldn't. If acting doesn't quite work out, spiritual guru could still be an alternate profession among several to choose from. By the way, Shirdi's Sai Baba's is the one role he really wants to play on screen.

Mayank Shekhar attempts to make sense of mass culture. He tweets @mayankw14 Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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