Sanjay Gupta was one hell of a filmmaker. Flamboyant, fearless, opinionated and unapologetically himself. There was nothing subtle about Gupta, neither in the films he made nor in the way he lived his life. He loved cinema passionately, loved his friends fiercely and never believed in saying something merely because it was the politically correct thing to say.
I knew Gupta for many years, and when I think of him today, it is not just his films that come to mind. I remember the long conversations, the gossip sessions, the arguments, his refusal to give me a quote when he disagreed with the premise of my story, and his absolute inability to pretend to like something he didn’t.
That was Sanjay Gupta. You always knew where you stood with him.
I first got to know him through Sanjay Dutt. The two were not just friends but also business partners, and their friendship was one of those relationships that had its share of drama, disagreements, separation and reconciliation. I had seen their friendship, their fallout and eventually their patch-up. They had worked together on several films, and despite everything that happened between them, there was a bond that survived. Cinema, of course, was always at the centre of it.
Gupta had even been planning Kaante 2 and was working on the subject. It is sad to think of the conversations and plans that will now remain unfinished.
Kaante was perhaps the perfect example of the filmmaker Gupta was. He loved international cinema and was never embarrassed to admit that he drew inspiration from it. If he watched a film and loved it, he wanted to recreate that experience in his own style. People could call it a copy, criticise him or question his originality. Gupta didn’t particularly care. He knew the kind of cinema he wanted to make.
And he made it with swagger.
That swagger extended beyond his films. Gupta was never diplomatic, particularly when it came to cinema. His social media posts often made news because he had no hesitation in calling out filmmakers, including those he believed were copying films. He could enthusiastically praise a trailer one day and tear into something he disliked the next. He was as blunt about other people’s films as he was about his own choices.
Sometimes I wondered how he managed to remain friends with people after saying such things publicly. But that was Gupta. He didn’t believe friendship meant you had to agree with everything someone did.
I remember how firmly he stood his ground when his film Kaabil clashed with Shah Rukh Khan’s Raees at the box office. He wasn’t one to back down from a confrontation, especially when he believed he had a point. Whether people agreed with him or not was another matter. Gupta was never afraid of a fight.
I experienced that stubbornness myself on several occasions.
There were times when I would call him for a reaction to a story I was working on, and he would flatly refuse to comment. Not because he didn’t have an opinion. Gupta always had an opinion. But sometimes he disagreed with the very premise of my story and would tell me so. He wouldn’t give me a quote just because I needed one.
I could argue with him, try to convince him, even get irritated with him. It made no difference. If Gupta didn’t want to say something, he wouldn’t.
And yet, on another day, I could go over to his place for an interview and end up spending hours gossiping about the film industry. What was supposed to be a professional interaction would turn into a freewheeling conversation about films, filmmakers, friendships, rivalries and everything happening in Bollywood.
Those were the conversations I enjoyed most.
Gupta knew so much about the industry, and he had stories and opinions about almost everyone. He could be wickedly funny, brutally frank and wonderfully entertaining. With him, there was rarely a dull moment. And because he didn’t feel the need to be diplomatic, you got to hear exactly what he thought.
But there was another side to Gupta, one that often got overshadowed by the flamboyant filmmaker and the outspoken man on social media.
He was a complete family man.
A friend once told me what a fantastic father Gupta was and how devoted he was to his children. His family meant the world to him. Behind all that swagger was a man who loved his home and cherished the people closest to him. Those who knew him well spoke of that side of him with great affection.
He was also a foodie who enjoyed life and its little pleasures. And he was absolutely crazy about technology, especially anything connected with watching films.
Gupta didn’t just love making movies. He loved watching them. He could spend endless hours watching cinema from across the world and then discussing what he had seen. He knew about the latest gadgets, the best home theatre systems and the technology that could make watching a film an even better experience.
A friend recalled how Gupta would happily help others set up their home theatres. He would guide them through the equipment and technology with the same enthusiasm that he brought to a conversation about a great film.
And when it came to recommending movies, nobody could beat him.
As one friend put it, “Cinema recommendation ka baap tha Gupta.”
I smiled when I heard that because it captured him so perfectly.
He was that person who would tell you what to watch, why you absolutely had to watch it and what made it special. Cinema was not just his profession. It was his obsession, his entertainment, his conversation starter and, in many ways, his entire world.
He could be stubborn. He could be difficult. He could say things that upset people, including his friends. But he was also someone who valued friendships deeply. He could have a disagreement with someone and still care about that person. His relationships were not always smooth, but they were rarely superficial.
And when he lost someone close to him, that outspoken man could be deeply emotional too.
Just about 22 days ago, Gupta had posted an emotional message on social media mourning Nana Patekar, whom he described as a friend, mentor and elder brother.
“The purest heart I’ve ever known in the film industry stopped most unexpectedly this morning. And my heart is broken into a million pieces. My friend, my mentor, my elder brother. The finest actor I ever worked with is gone. My Dearest Nana you will be forever missed. Om Shanti.”
There was something particularly poignant about those words. Gupta, who could be so blunt and unsparing in his criticism, was also capable of expressing his affection and grief so openly. And now, barely three weeks later, it is his friends who are struggling to come to terms with his absence.
Perhaps that is why so many of his friends came to accompany him on his last journey.
There is something terribly sad about saying goodbye to someone who was always so full of life, someone who had so much to say and who never seemed to run out of things to talk about.
When I think of Gupta, I don’t just remember the director of Kaante, Shootout at Wadala or Kaabil. I remember the man who could refuse to give me a quote one day and spend hours gossiping with me on another. The man who could get into an argument over a film, passionately defend his point of view and then excitedly recommend something he had watched the previous night.
I remember his flamboyance, his stubbornness, his sharp tongue and his affection for the people who mattered to him.
He was not perfect, and I don’t think he ever pretended to be. In fact, I suspect Gupta would have hated a tribute that made him sound like a saint. He was far too outspoken, far too colourful and far too human for that.
He lived on his own terms, made the films he wanted to make, said what he wanted to say and loved the people he wanted to love.
And above everything else, he loved cinema.
I will miss those conversations, the gossip, the disagreements and that unmistakable Gupta attitude.
For a man who always had something to say, his silence will be difficult to get used to.
