Remembering Irrfan Khan And His Most Enduring Roles

Once, a long time ago, Tom Hanks said that he used to think he’s the coolest guy in the room, until Irrfan Khan walks in.

I think that line says more about Khan than any obituary ever could.

He wasn’t a naturalistic actor in the casual sense, nor was he a transformative one. What he possessed, rarely, and almost accidentally, was dramatic intelligence. He understood structure. He understood tension.

Across Indian and international cinema, Irrfan consistently resisted the emotional cues written into scenes. He played against expectation, often against the script itself. In The Lunchbox, Saajan Fernandes could have easily tipped into gentle melancholy. Irrfan refuses that softness. He plays Saajan as emotionally barricaded, almost resistant to connection, letting loneliness surface not through vulnerability but through habit—the way he eats, waits, reads, delays.

Would we still fall in love with Rana from Piku (2015) if it weren’t for Khan’s demeanour?

In The Namesake, would anyone else except Khan’s Ashoke Ganguli be able to play the immigrant experience not as a struggle or a triumph but as a quiet endurance?

In Maqbool, his Macbeth figure is not seduced by ambition so much as worn down by it. In Life of Pi, Ang Lee makes a smart, counterintuitive decision: he gives the film’s emotional authority not to the boy, but to the adult narrator. Faith, in Irrfan’s hands, becomes provisional.

Today, on his birthday, we look back at some of his greatest roles.

Salaam Bombay (1988) 

Irrfan Khan’s debut is almost blink-and-miss, but it’s significant. Cast among real street children, he never performs around them, instead he blends in. The film went on to become India’s second entry to be nominated for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, yet his presence remains quietly grounded, as if he already understood that authenticity would outlast visibility. It felt like an early indication of the kind of actor he would become, comfortable inhabiting reality rather than performing for effect.

Lunchbox (2013) 

As Saajan Fernandes, Irrfan inhabits his loneliness. His body language is closed, his voice measured, his emotions carefully rationed. What made the role enduring is how little he insisted on sympathy. Everything is internal: the pauses before he speaks, the way he reads a letter twice, the quiet dignity with which he accepts disappointment. It’s a role that earned global recognition for the film, but his calming performance is what gave it lasting weight. 

Puzzle (2018) 

This is one of Irrfan’s most fascinating under-the-radar performances. In Puzzle, he portrayed a man caught between logic and unease, never fully revealing what he knows or believes. He makes ambiguity feel intentional, turning the short film into a psychological exercise rather than a narrative one. It’s a reminder of how effective he was in short formats, where every gesture mattered.

Qissa (2013)

As Umber Singh, Irrfan delivers one of the most morally unaccommodating performances in Indian cinema. The role, shaped by post-Partition trauma, is not softened by justification or sentiment. Irrfan plays obsession without apology and masculinity without romance. What’s unsettling isn’t the extremity of the character—it’s the calm conviction with which he inhabits it.

Life in a… Metro (2007)

Monty could have been written off as comic relief. Irrfan turns him into something far riskier: a romantic lead without vanity. His humour is awkward, his vulnerability unpolished, his longing unheroic. He played male desire without aspiration, stripping it of performance and ego. In doing so, Irrfan quietly reset what a mainstream Hindi film could allow its men to be: emotionally available.

Songs of the Scorpions (2017)

This is Irrfan at his most elemental. He plays obsession here not as volatility, but as inevitability. The restraint is almost austere. He allows the film’s silences and rhythms to do the work, trusting the viewer to stay with the discomfort. It’s a performance uninterested in momentum, and therefore deeply unsettling.

Paan Singh Tomar (2012) 

As Paan Singh, Irrfan Khan delivers one of his most controlled performances. The transformation unfolds gradually: athlete, soldier, rebel, all shaped by circumstance. As the real-life athlete-turned-dacoit, his anger feels worn, not explosive, and the physicality stays grounded throughout. The role earned him the National Film Award for Best Actor, but its strength lies in restraint, even at its most intense scenes.

The Namesake (2006)

As Ashoke Ganguli, Irrfan Khan does something deceptively difficult: he makes a life feel complete without ever spelling it out. This isn’t an immigrant story driven by conflict or triumph. It’s about showing up, year after year, and learning how to live with what doesn’t change. Irrfan plays Ashoke as a man who rarely explains himself, even to his family. Love shows up in small ways—in how he listens, in how he holds back, in the things he chooses not to say. Long after the film ends, it’s his calm, steady presence that stays with you.

Maqbool (2003)

Irrfan’s Maqbool is inward, hesitant, and quietly corroded by ambition. He plays Shakespeare’s tragic arc not as desire, but as exhaustion. The now-iconic seaside scene with Tabu distils his method perfectly: fear, longing, and moral collapse flicker across his face without a word being spoken. This is an actor comfortable letting thought register before emotion. Long before moral ambiguity became his signature, Irrfan was already fluent in it.

Life of Pi (2012)

The masterstroke of Life of Pi is placing its emotional authority in Irrfan’s hands. As the adult Pi, he narrates without wonder, urgency, or persuasion. Faith is offered tentatively, doubt is never dismissed. His calm undercuts the film’s visual excess, grounding it in something quieter and more unsettling: belief as choice, not revelation.