Irrfan Khan Death Anniversary | Paving The Way For Underrated Masculinities

In an industry that has historically rewarded masculinity that comes with chest-thumping bravado, loud anger and sometimes big dollops of misogyny masquerading as a default biological imperative of being a man, Irrfan Khan carved out a space for the vulnerable, the awkward and the confidently cool.

It did not seem like Khan ever intentionally set out to redefine masculinity in Bollywood, but it did unfurl that way. In many ways, Khan can be counted as a pioneer of the non-traditional leading man in Hindi cinema. Khan channelled everything from emotional vulnerability to male fragility beautifully in his performances, just as well as he brought in a wicked sense of humour, teasing and bantering with his on-screen partners with an ease that felt realistic, natural and had a charm all of its own.

In Life in a… Metro (2007), Khan’s portrayal of Monty is an absolute masterclass in playing the inappropriate, frustrating, oddball yet deeply endearing lover. Monty was a bit of a mess, not afraid of crying clumsy tears in front of the woman he loved, but never for a second did it feel like he was not being utterly genuine in his duality. A decade later, Khan gave us Yogi in Qarib Qarib Singlle (2017), a character that was a spiritual successor of Monty in many ways. Yogi, like many of Khan’s characters, was quintessentially chaotic. He masked his vulnerability with humour and poetic one-liners, but respected boundaries implicitly. He toed the line between playing men like Yogi and Monty as a little clueless versus entirely creepy—a task that lesser actors have failed spectacularly in Bollywood, saved only by the grace of their good looks, if at all.

But Khan was not one to get typecast. He played the quieter, more grounded roles with equal ease. In The Namesake (2006), Khan’s Ashoke Ganguli is a striking portrayal of immigrant endurance. As a patriarch, Ashoke was unflinchingly kind. As a partner, Ashoke was soft, sensitive and observant, even in his moments of exasperation. He did not need aggression to command respect. Even in The Lunchbox (2013), as Saajan Fernandes, he gave us a depiction of male loneliness without demanding our pity or relying on the toxic masculinity that comes so typically with it. He inhabited the space of a man, whose emotions are heavily rationed, but who never teeters into the territory of incel elements.

There was a mix of this quietude and signature jocosity in Piku (2015). Khan’s Rana handled a highly demanding older man and his independent daughter with a perfect mix of respect and firmness, that should have become the playbook for other heroes; but alas it remains an anomaly till today.

And still, there was more to Khan’s range. He could wear darkness as an ubercool mensch that was impossible to look away from. His brief but unforgettable turn as Roohdar in Vishal Bhardwaj's Haider (2014) is where this aura hit its peak. He exuded a bone-chilling swag, completely commanding the screen without ever raising his voice. In Maqbool (2003), his take on the Macbeth figure was not about loud, theatrical ambition. Instead, it was a study of a man slowly wearing down under the weight of his own actions and desires. Even in international crossover hits like Slumdog Millionaire (2008), he carried an authoritative presence as the Police Inspector that grounded the fantastical chaos around him.

What truly set Khan apart from the rest was his absolute lack of pretension. Unlike his more serious counterparts like Nawazuddin Siddiqui or Kay Kay Menon, he clearly loved hamming it up in the bad films (cough, cough: the 2005 film Chocolate for instance) he did possibly purely for the paycheck. He was visibly having a blast playing to the gallery and letting loose. Even in an absolute cinematic trainwreck film like Dil Kabaddi (2008), the way he essays his role is peculiar, funny, and utterly one of a kind. He never really phoned it in, but he knew exactly what kind of movie he was in, leaning into the absurdity of the fragile male ego with a knowing wink to the audience.

If you look at the entire spectrum of his career, from his fleeting moments as a letter writer in Salaam Bombay! (1988) to the devoted, albeit completely confused father in Hindi Medium (2017) and its 2020 sequel Angrezi Medium, his characters spanned every possible permutation of manhood. He played male desire without the toxic ego. He played fatherhood without fitting into the traditional Bollywood portrait of a patriarch. Even when he played a negative character or the “strong man”, he managed to challenge how we understand portrayals of power, ambition and silence.

Khan was merely 53 when he passed away, from complications of neuroendocrine cancer, on April 29, 2020. Today, on his sixth death anniversary, all we can do is reminisce about the man who embodied what it could be like performing masculinity on screen—just as complex, kind, funny and beautifully flawed as being a human is in real life.