Ranveer Brar On The Lessons He Learned From His Hero, Bishan Singh Bedi

LIKE MOST OF US, I’VE HAD DIFFERENT ROLE MODELS AT different points in my life. But the earliest person I remember truly looking up to, someone who inspired me not just for what he did, but how he thought, was Bishan Singh Bedi.

Growing up in a Sikh household, I naturally latched on to stories about people who defy the norm, who carve a path that doesn’t already exist. For me, Bedi Sahab was that person. My father would speak of him in this almost reverent tone—about how he was courageous, how he made bold decisions on the field, and how he led with a sharp, unconventional mind.

I think that’s when the seed was planted: that it’s okay, necessary even, to think differently.

Bishan Singh Bedi, photographed during a tour of England in 1974Getty Images

I still remember flipping through old Illustrated Weekly interviews and Sportstar articles my father had preserved like treasures. Those were the days before Google, when these physical pages carried real weight. I was fascinated, not just by his famous left-arm spin, but by his sheer aura. He was a spinner leading a spin-heavy attack in an era obsessed with fast bowling. Imagine the conviction it must have taken!

But what stayed with me most wasn’t just what he achieved, but how he allowed himself to evolve. He didn’t hold on to some rigid definition of himself. He allowed himself to grow, to make mistakes, to reflect. He was never performative about it. It was just who he was.

That’s rare, especially in high-achieving personalities. That quality became a kind of life mantra for me. I call it my shower moment—the idea that when the day ends and you step into the shower, you should be able to hit reset. You should be able to look at yourself, forgive yourself, and move on. That’s something I’ve held close throughout my journey.

There are three big lessons I’ve taken from Bedi sahab—lessons that continue to guide me, not just in the kitchen or on camera, but in life.

First: say what’s on your mind. It saves an unbelievable amount of time. He had this knack for cutting through the noise and getting straight to the point. That might sound small, but it’s not. He wasn’t concerned about being diplomatic for the sake of it and, honestly, I think trying too hard to be nice can sometimes do more harm than good. He would say what he needed to say, get it off his chest, and that was that. No lingering, no aftertaste. There’s a lot of clarity in that kind of honesty.

Second: dare to be unconventional. In a world obsessed with what’s popular and what’s proven—he picked three spinners,

made them work, and led by example as one himself. Remember the 1978 One Day International against Pakistan when he conceded the match because the umpire didn’t call any wides even when Sarfaraz Nawaz bowled four bouncers? He walked away in protest. Can you believe it?

Ranveer Brar

And lastly—allow yourself to fail and the grace to forgive. I think a lot of us, especially when we’re young, are told we must be excellent at everything all the time. That pressure is paralysing. But watching someone like him take missteps in stride, own up to them, and still walk tall—it liberated me from the fear of failure. And once that fear goes, creativity flows.

And here’s the best part. Years later, life gave me something I never imagined— one evening, out of nowhere, my phone rang. It was 2021, I think. He was quite unwell at that time. His wife got in touch and then handed him the phone.

It was him. “Puttar, I’m proud of you,” he said, in that deep, steady voice. “You’re doing your own thing, and I see a lot of myself in you. Keep at it.”

That call... I can’t explain what it did to me. I’ve had compliments before. But this was something else. My universe felt complete. This was the voice of my childhood hero telling me that I’d done justice to my journey. That I was seen. That I was enough.

What followed were occasional conversations—sometimes long, sometimes brief, but always meaningful. He had this effortless way of guiding you without making it feel like advice. We talked about food, cricket, the world. And every time, I walked away with something—some nugget of wisdom that stayed long after the call ended.

Of course, there are other idols in my life, too. There’s been Charlie Trotter and Wolfgang Puck when it comes to cooking; I also look up to Robert de Niro when it comes to acting. But the only constant for me has been Bedi sir.

Today, I may not be on a cricket pitch, but I like to believe I carry that same spirit. Whether I’m plating a dish or filming a show, I try to lead with honesty, think beyond the obvious, and be kind—to others, but also to myself. That legacy, for me, began with Bishan Singh Bedi.

I’ll carry his lessons with me for the rest of my life—and I think that’s what makes someone a hero.

As told to Abhya Adlakha

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