The Atypical Protagonist: Adarsh Gourav has the edge

I remember Ramin going back to New York after a month-long audition process. There were four-five rounds, and many hopefuls for the role. And then Ramin called me and asked me if I’d like to play Balram. I couldn’t feel the ground underneath my feet. It was one of those white noise moments, where you suddenly stop hearing things after certain words. It was surreal.

Honestly, I didn’t know what would happen after The White Tiger. At that moment, I remember I was overwhelmed and grateful that a director had placed their faith in me to play the lead (of a bestselling novel). I knew I had to do everything within my power to understand the human being I was playing.

The process began much before shooting—I went and lived in a village for a few weeks, I worked at a tea stall for a few weeks, and I even sat for the auditions of the characters I had scenes with. Ramin was incredibly generous; he would ask me for suggestions about the props my character would have in his office, once he’d become a businessman. He involved me in production design, took me to this giant warehouse, and we found how my character would dress. I’d suggested to him if I could have a lizard tank because there’s a sense of power in that. As Balram, I might have been terrified of lizards, but how the tables had turned. The scene eventually got cut, but it was these little things that helped me find the inner life of Balram.

The appreciation for the film had begun to come much before the premiere. Ramin’s agent, George Freeman, had seen a rough-cut of the film and he spoke to me about representing me in America. It didn’t have a theatrical premiere—the local production house organised a screening on Veera Desai (road). I called 10-15 friends and some of the local crew members and we all watched it together and celebrated after that.

I didn’t have any sense of how the film would be received, because when you’re dubbing a film, you end up watching it so many times that you lose all objectivity. And then, upon release, if the audience says nice things, you’re just grateful. It feels like an escape.

There were lots of people I was talking to—actors, directors from India, directors from abroad. One of the more surreal ones was talking to Tarantino’s producer, Lawrence Bender. He spoke to me over Zoom, asking me what kind of work I was looking at stateside. Winning the Independent Spirit nomination, I didn’t even know what it was! I’m not a cinema nerd, I didn’t know what the BAFTAs were. I obviously knew about the Academy and Emmy, but when I was told that I was on the short list of the BAFTAs, I had to first look it up.

I don’t hang out with actors a lot, so I just take it as work. Like someone goes to office, even I do the same. If a director I love and respect reaches out to me or if I see them, the interaction is usually, “I’m a huge fan of your work.” I’d love to work in any capacity if they have something. There’s not much beyond that. I was never mesmerised by cinema in a way that probably put me in the fan culture. I was pursuing music in college, so I had my own life beyond the films. I’d obviously watched films, I chanced upon world cinema around 20-21, but I was never taken over by the magnanimity of cinema.

Maybe I’m a bit unaware about how I look; others didn’t focus on it as much during the early years. I never cared for how I looked, or how different I was from the rest of the crowd. I’d always been interested in playing a character. At some point, I remember someone giving me the advice to not do too many ads. “Ad face ban jaayega” was a popular concern when I started out. It’s not like many ads were coming my way either, but I also knew I didn’t want to do any kind of work. And I’ve always held the belief that I have to first be an interesting person to become an interesting actor. Being stimulated by myself, on an individual level, is more important than being an actor.

I think living life is as much a part of being an actor, interacting with different kinds of people, doing activities out of your comfort zone. Once you’re a working actor, you don’t have the luxury of time to prepare for each role. So that’s when you draw upon something you might have read or a song you might have heard, or a person you might have met—and what it made you feel. You need to borrow from inner experiences, and make it as personal to you as possible.

Yeah, there were a few films where I got close and then didn’t get picked. I remember a casting director telling me that the director didn’t think I was good looking enough for an audition which I thought had gone really well. So obviously, it hurt a little. But it’s not in my control. If I could be taller based on my hard work, then I’d surely be much taller.

I’m not immune to comments on looks, like everybody else. But I’ve also realised that confidence, sensitivity and a sense of humour matter—everything else can be superseded. I think people should work on attaining these three qualities. Confidence innately makes you a much more attractive person. In the early days, I would obviously have days when I would hear these things—and that’s when one needs to have these conversations with themselves.

I think that’s everywhere. That’s the whole point of fashion, right? Everyone wears what the others are wearing. When you hear a cool phrase, you want to incorporate it into your life as fast as possible. So, I don’t think it’s just Hindi cinema being homogeneous as much as the society at large. Which is why it’s important to remember where you’re coming from, otherwise you’ll be another person in the crowd. And then, why should anyone be interested in your story?

I don’t give a shit about fame. I want my work to be appreciated, but I don’t care too much about being famous. I’ve not felt like my normalcy has been snatched. I mean, sure, there are times when I suddenly feel like I’ve not done something in a very long time. For example, there was a time I would commute by local train a lot, and just the other day I realised I hadn’t taken a train in three years. It’s not something I can’t do, or I’ve chosen not to, but you’re so busy with things one after the other, you have these sudden realisations. To be fair, now that I have a car and the option to go comfortably, it’s made me lazier. I also justify it to myself by saying that I did it for so many years, so maybe I deserve this? When I think about these things, I get a little scared. I have to remind myself—don’t get too comfortable, and don’t get lazy.

I assume, yes. I think I’ve been fortunate to have a partner who is sensitive and grounded, and who isn’t interested in any form of capitalism. She’s interested in experiences, and smaller things. We like to spend time around animals, we love trekking, camping, going for a swim in the pool or the ocean. I like spending time with my family. I think even if your personal ecosystem is small, it can play a big part in being a reality check.

I didn’t grow up around a lot of money. Both my parents are retired government employees. My mother was an accountant in New India Assurance, my father was the manager in the Central Bank of India. We grew up with enough, but there weren’t indulgences like a big car or branded clothes. To be honest, I didn’t even feel like we were missing out on anything. But the feeling of envy was planted within me when I moved to Mumbai as a 13-year-old. There was a casual day in school, and I remember going to school wearing Bata shoes, while most of my classmates were wearing Nikes. That was the first time I came face-to-face with my wants.

The older I got, these things only increased. In my early 20s, I also had those dreams of a big car, a massive house. But at this stage I think I’ve grown out of it. I obviously need enough money to take good care of my family; I can afford at least a couple of holidays a year. I don’t have enough personal ambition tied to money. The fact that I want a home in Bandra, or a Ferrari—I don’t look at those things now. I had a sneaker phase, but I’ve outgrown that too.

I think it’s a reflection of your own insecurities, where you’re judging someone else for their clothes, the watch they’re wearing or the car they’re driving—it means you’re insecure about how you’ve dressed up, what car you have or the watch that you’re wearing. I just don’t think like that. I don’t treat people differently based on what they’re wearing. And I think it makes my life that much simpler.

One thing I noticed was how the length of the role increased almost immediately. Before, I had done a couple of central characters like in Hostel Daze (2019), but the rest of the work was very limited in terms of screen time. Suddenly people had the confidence in me to play the central character. And I think it’s just inevitable that people need to see a performance first to get a glimpse of your ability. If not for The White Tiger, how would Zoya Akhtar have thought of me for Kho Gaye Hum Kahan (2023)? Same with Raj & DK and Richie Mehta.

The exploration that I get to do for every role I play is the number one reason why I do this at all. As human beings, our orbit is so small—we live this life surrounded by the same 50-100 people. As actors, your orbit can become as big as a football stadium, where through every project you undertake, you can meet hundreds or thousands of people from different subcultures. It’s a privilege to get to know so many people very intimately, especially their fears and motivations. It genuinely enriches my soul. I’m not trying to prove a point—every time I play a character I go on a journey with them. I did it with Mohit Chadha (in Mom) too—I went and lived in Delhi University for a month. Nobody ever asked me about it, so I never had the opportunity to bring it up. All Reema told me is not to mimic Nasir and that she was curious about my take on him.

When I went to Malegaon, I had no plan. From the hotel, I would go to his home and have breakfast there and then I would ask him “Aaj kya karna hai?” He would say, “Chalo, chai peeke aate hai!” I would ask him questions like, if he wanted solitude, where would he go and sit? And he took me to this tree in the middle of nowhere. He later told me that he’d almost forgotten about the place, because he’d not been there in years. He thanked me for reminding him about it.

We made a film called Nana Ki Kranti—it’s a mish-mash of Krantiveer and Hera Pheri. It cost Rs 20,000 and I told him to make whatever he felt like. I was his crew. My character of Nasir came from the real man, and all the directors I’d worked with till then, including Reema.

What’s the point of playing a whitewashed character? It’s not fun at all. All the credit to Varun for how he wrote it, and also to Nasir bhai for being so generous with his life story. He’s a director himself after all.