Om Puri was a generous, warm-hearted man and one of the most talented and versatile actors of his generation. His characters revealed how we are all made of the same metal—human, fragile and imperfect. He possessed a boundless sense of humour, cracking endless jokes that were infectious. When others wilted under pressure, he remained energised; no matter the hour, he was always willing to sit down for a drink with cast and crew at the end of a shooting day. On 6 October last year, he would have turned 75, having been born on that day in 1950. Sadly, he passed away on 6 January 2017.
Om Prakash Puri was born in 1950 into a very poor family in Ambala. His childhood bore some resemblance to the early lives of Maxim Gorky and Charlie Chaplin. Like Gorky’s father, Om Puri’s father was also rather irresponsible. Compelled by harsh circumstances, Om undertook menial jobs even as a child, including washing utensils at a roadside dhaba. These early experiences helped mould the actor he would become. Despite everything, he nurtured a deep desire for education and eventually gained admission to the National School of Drama in the 1970s—a turning point in his life. There he studied under teachers like Ebrahim Alkazi and alongside fellow students such as Bhanu Bharti, Bansi Kaul and Naseeruddin Shah. His association with Naseeruddin Shah was lifelong; the two learned enormously from each other and together formed one of the most compelling on-screen pairings of Indian cinema.
Unlike Naseeruddin Shah, Om Puri largely confined himself to acting rather than direction. Almost immediately after completing his theatre and film training, he began receiving important roles. In 1979, he appeared in the Marathi feature “Ghasiram Kotwal”, based on Vijay Tendulkar’s play and directed by K. Hariharan and Mani Kaul. The year 1980 proved especially significant, with the release of two landmark films: “Bhawani Bhavai”, directed by Ketan Mehta, and “Aakrosh”, Govind Nihalani’s debut feature scripted by Vijay Tendulkar. Both filmmakers would go on to cast Om Puri in several of their later works.
As a student, Om Puri was quiet, unassuming, industrious and humble. Over time, his shy persona dissolved; his voice acquired range and authority, his once-stiff body gained muscular flexibility and expressiveness, and his empathy for every character deepened. Even in earlier walk-on parts, he found layers of meaning, but now, as a leading actor, he radiated confidence. The intense performances in “Aakrosh” and “Ardh Satya”, born of long-repressed pain and anger, were counterbalanced by comic turns in “Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro” and “Hera Pheri”, which drew upon a mischievous streak and wicked sense of humour. Together, these contrasting performances revealed the full spectrum of his personality.
Beyond “Ghasiram Kotwal” and “Aakrosh”, Om Puri inhabited countless roles—large and small—in Hindi, English and several Indian languages over a career spanning 45 years. Following “Aakrosh”, his work in New Wave cinema—“Aarohan”, “Godhuli”, “Gandhi”, “Bhumika”, “Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyon Aata Hai”, “Sadgati”, “Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro”, “Ardh Satya” and “Mirch Masala”—earned widespread acclaim. At the same time, he left a strong mark in mainstream cinema with films such as “Chachi 420”, “Maqbool”, “Narsimha” and “Bajrangi Bhaijaan”.
“Aakrosh” and “Ardh Satya” remain the two most defining films of his career. Together, they helped shape New Wave cinema as a genre. Both were scripted by Vijay Tendulkar and directed by Govind Nihalani, and both concluded on ambiguous notes. Yet they meticulously articulated the voice of adivasis and the anger of the common man—subjects that mainstream Bombay cinema had previously reduced to melodrama or caricature.
Om Puri’s uniqueness as an actor lay in his ability to inhabit a vast range of characters and penetrate deep beneath their surfaces. He possessed an uncanny capacity to internalise roles drawn from ordinary lives, enabling audiences to recognise themselves in his portrayals. Few actors conveyed oppression with such intensity or etched suffering so convincingly on their faces. His acting resembled the work of a master sculptor, chiselling patiently until form and meaning emerged with precision. Rawness, realism, balance, stillness, vulnerability and a hint of mystery defined his performances. Often, his eyes and body movements alone told the story. Even in the most dramatic moments, he never overplayed; he lived the character completely, never straying into excess. Equally remarkable was his effortless transition from tragedy to comedy.
In numerous films, Om Puri portrayed policemen and IAS officers. He could project stern authority—the baton held parallel to the ground, the cap tucked under his arm—yet behind that rigid exterior lay gentle, expressive eyes. He was never an uncritical hero. In both life and cinema, he spoke out against jingoism, nuclear weapons and communalism. His personal struggles often mirrored the social crises depicted in his films. For actors, family conflicts rarely remain private; they spill into public view. In many ways, he lived like the characters he played—constrained by circumstances, shaped by forces beyond individual control.
Om Puri openly expressed sympathy for the Naxalite movement. He once told the media, “They are not terrorists because they don’t resort to irresponsible acts of terror by planting bombs on the streets. Naxals are fighters who fight for their rights.” Marxists and film critics alike viewed him as an actor who embodied the struggles of the working class and the oppressed, often portraying characters rooted deeply in poverty. In essence, Om Puri became a cinematic symbol of India’s exploited masses, his roles resonating with the Left’s concerns for social justice and class conflict.
One wonders what kind of old age awaited Om Puri. Would he have grown crotchety and cynical, or rediscovered the generosity, gentleness and zest for life that once defined him? It is impossible to know. Towards the end, his interest in work—and perhaps in life itself—seemed to wane. It was painful to see how the trappings of fame and affluence gradually encroached upon him in his later years.
Among his most memorable performances was “Arvind Desai Ki Ajeeb Dastaan” (1978), in which he played a Marxist activist torn between ideals and reality. In “Aakrosh” (1980), he portrayed a tribal man falsely accused of murder, delivering a searing indictment of systemic injustice through minimal dialogue and extraordinary control of expression. “Ardh Satya” (1983) saw him as Anant Velankar, an honest police officer crushed by corruption and moral compromise, a portrayal that redefined cinematic representations of policing. In “Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro” (1983), he revealed impeccable comic timing as the drunken builder Ahuja. “Mirch Masala” (1987) presented him as Abu Mian, the quiet yet resolute watchman who stands up to tyranny, while “Tamas” (1988) captured his spellbinding intensity amid the horrors of communal violence.
In “City of Joy” (1992), Om Puri played Hasari Pal, a Kolkata rickshaw puller whose dignity and resilience anchored the film’s emotional core, marking his successful transition to international cinema. During its shooting, he once sat at a roadside tea stall frequented by real rickshaw pullers; recognising his appearance but not his fame, they whispered sympathetically about how misfortune had forced the “poor man” to pull a rickshaw. “East Is East” (1999) brought him acclaim in Britain for his portrayal of George Khan, a rigid yet conflicted patriarch in a Pakistani immigrant family. In “The Warrior” (2001), he carried the film almost entirely through silence and presence, while “Chakravyuh” (2012) saw him as a revolutionary intellectual drawn into Maoist insurgency, a role he researched with intense commitment. His later work in “The Hundred-Foot Journey” (2014) added warmth and dignity to a global narrative of migration and identity.
Om Puri’s legacy endures not merely through awards or fame, but through the countless faces of ordinary people he brought to life on screen. Few actors have so truthfully embodied the anguish, anger and dignity of the oppressed—and fewer still have done so with such humanity.
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*Freelance journalist
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