When I woke up this morning and read the news about Nana Patekar, I could not believe it!

Born Vishwanath Dinkar Patekar, but fondly known to generations of us simply as Nana, he was never just another actor. He was an institution in himself.

I have been in shock, and genuinely grieved, for very few celebrities in my lifetime. Raj Kapoor. Sushant Singh Rajput. Irrfan Khan. Satish Shah. And now Nana Patekar. I am sure there are others I am forgetting, but these names immediately come to mind.

The personality was public, but somehow the grief feels personal.

Having grown up watching Nana’s movies, I have been an ardent admirer of his craft for as long as I can remember. His intensity, his voice, those eyes, the sheer unpredictability of his performances. He could make you uncomfortable, make you laugh, make you angry and break your heart, sometimes all within the same performance.

And that craziness! Who can forget the absolutely mad energy of his rap in Krantiveer? That was Nana. Completely his own. No filters. No pretence. Nobody else could have done it quite like him.

And then there was the Nana of the early years. Ankush. Prahaar. The rawness, the anger, the intensity. Amitabh Bachchan may have been given the title of the Angry Young Man, but I never really connected with his films from those early years. For me, Nana Patekar was the one who truly embodied that raw, angry, restless energy. There was something about his anger that felt visceral. You didn’t just watch it. You felt it.

From Parinda, Krantiveer, Agni Sakshi, Ab Tak Chhappan and Welcome in Hindi to Sinhasan, Aajcha Divas Majha, Pak Pak Pakaak, Deool and, of course, Natsamrat in Marathi, his body of work was extraordinary.

For me, Natsamrat will always stand apart.

As Appasaheb Belwalkar, Nana Patekar wasn’t just acting. He became the character. The pride, the pain, the loneliness, the rage, the vulnerability. Every emotion felt raw and real.

There are performances you watch and appreciate. And then there are performances that stay somewhere inside you.

Natsamrat was that for me.

I also remember reading about Nana in Sai Paranjpye’s A Patchwork Quilt. I am very fond of Sai’s films and her work, so her memories of working with Nana in Disha have stayed with me. It was lovely to get a glimpse of the man behind the actor, through someone who had actually worked with him.

But Nana Patekar was also so much more than the actor we saw on screen.

His work associated with farmers and people affected by drought, including through NAAM Foundation, is something I have always admired. His concern for people in distress and his willingness to contribute in his own way made him much more than just an actor in the public eye.

His association with the Indian Army, including his time around the Kargil period, is another part of his life that has always stayed with me. It spoke to a side of him that existed beyond the screen, beyond the fame and beyond the characters we knew.

And I have to confess something. I had a huge crush on Nana Patekar.

I don’t usually have any desire to meet celebrities. I can admire an actor’s work immensely and still be perfectly happy never meeting them. But Nana was one of the exceptions. I genuinely wish I could have met him in real life. To hear him speak, to experience that formidable personality up close, perhaps just sit across from him and listen.

Maybe that’s another reason this feels so personal.

The world doesn’t realise what it has lost today.

Indian cinema has lost an extraordinary actor. Marathi cinema has lost one of its towering talents. And those of us who grew up watching him have lost a familiar face from a very special part of our lives.

Thank you, Nana, for the characters, the madness, the laughter, the anger, the goosebumps and the countless moments of sheer brilliance.

You will be forever missed.

Time to watch Natsamrat again.

Om Shanti. 🙏