Let me tell you, it's a very filmy setup.
When I was getting down from the stage, the applause was so addictive.
I said, boss, this is what it's going to be now. So, at the time of my birth, the astrologer told my father, 'Mr. Bajpai, it's very sad news.'
When we hear about Family Man, Gangs of Wasseypur, or Piku, Masaan, we think it's the story of an incredible actor, an incredible star.
But behind all this is the story of a small child from Betia, Bihar, who is starting many exciting experiences in his life. Welcome to Hindustan Times Presents The Impossible Show: The Stories of India's Superheroes, presented by Audi, BSC, and Airtel Payments Bank. How are you? We meet again after a long time. Today my guest is Manoj Bajpayee.
How are you? You're getting younger by the day.
Bonus, it doesn't show. Let's start. Very nice. Let's go. Very nice. Thank you. Should I call you Manoj ji or Manoj Bhai?
Manoj Bhai is more intimate. Manoj ji and all that feels a bit strange.
Anyway, Manoj Bhai, you come from a village whose name perhaps not many people in the country have heard.
Yes, I also come from a village whose name not many people in the country have heard. It's in Odisha, a small village named Rayagada.
Where is that exactly? South Odisha, Andhra-Odisha border?
Andhra-Odisha border. So we both grew up near the border. That's why I can speak both languages, Odia and Telugu.
You must know Telugu then. Since we're talking, there was a painter from that border area, Telugu-Odisha border.
I met him in Baroda. We had some email conversations. When I went to Baroda, I went to his room. He was studying at the famous painting institute there.
Of course, he was very fond of painting. I went to his room, saw his work. He told me he comes from a family of goat herders.
Yes, this is what I was telling you. A boy from a goat-herding family became such an amazing painter. Today he has become quite a well-known guy among the circle. So yes, please.
No, no. My belief is that for the first time, people from small villages in India are doing great work. Because as you said, they have a dream to achieve. On the other hand, I feel that if anyone listening to this show, whether in South Odisha, a small village in Bihar, or Maharashtra, feels they have a dream and has the courage to pursue it, if we have done it, then I feel our work will be successful.
So let's start from the beginning, from childhood. What memories do you have of the village you grew up in?
I have many memories. Now when I go to the village, I feel sad about one thing: the land has been divided. You see construction has started, and where there used to be fields as far as the eye could see, now houses are being built in between. That sadness is very much there because I go every year.
Yes, yes, every year. Because my father's land is there, though very little now. But there's an emotional attachment. We were born in that house, so it's very important to keep visiting.
But about the village memories you were talking about, let me tell you, it's a very filmy setup.
On one side of my village is a river, and on the other is a canal. So when there was too much water in the river, we'd go swimming there. And when they released water into the canal, we'd go there. Then there were mango orchards everywhere. Wow! Everywhere you go, it's a specialty of Bihar—so many mango orchards. And if it's winter, you can feel the sugarcane fields. You could break off sugarcane from anyone's field, peel it, and eat it while walking for 4 kilometers. Then you'd find out that the big canal has water, so we'd walk at least 7 kilometers to get there, eating sugarcane, walking on footpaths.
So my life was like that. My early education was in a hut. All my cousins started from there because when you're young, your parents want you to stay nearby. So there was a school near our house, and another school 2 kilometers away where you had to cross a river. That was also just a hut, a government school, and these were all primary schools.
In that hut school, there was a teacher named Chhedi Mahto. He came from a tribe settled on the Nepal border. It's said his background was like Maharana Pratap's lineage. He was Chhedi Mahto sir, very brilliant. He taught children wonderfully and was very strict about the value system and math concepts. Since he was transferred to our village's hut school, he needed a place to stay. Our family offered him to stay with us.
So this became a panchayat?
A children's panchayat, which was formed years ago. So he stayed with us. The advantage was that all children got extra classes at home. Because Mahto sir, Chhedi Master sir, would sit and our evening studies would happen for an hour. Other children would go home, but we never got rid of our master.
So you had a personal incentive to get out of the house.
Yes, to get some free time. I studied there until third grade. There was a friend in that school. We'd go and sit on sacks—they call them 'goni' in Maharashtra, we call them 'bori'. Each of us had a sack to sit on, with a wooden desk in front, and studied there. We got beaten a lot. In our area, canes were very common. The master's cane would hit our hands a lot. The master would sit on a wooden cot, and even slept there after lunch. That was the atmosphere, Ritesh.
There was Ramchandra in my class who would top. He would cut grass, take his cows and goats to graze in the morning, finish all that work, and then come. But he was the topper.
Yes, I was number two. When I studied with focus, I did well, but I couldn't focus. But as long as I was in the hut school, no dreams were formed. When you grow up in such a place with such beautiful surroundings and haven't seen the outside world, you feel this is the best place.
I also lived in Rayagada and felt it was the best place in the world. But I'll say one thing: the village in my mind from childhood is that in summer, you couldn't go out because you live in the foothills. The heat would go up to 40, 42, 43 degrees in an open field. The hot wind would blow so strongly. We loved swimming in the canal, so we'd run, jump in, and come back with burning feet.
My mother was like Hitler. She would beat us so much with a stick. We thought she was beating us for swimming, but later I realized she wasn't beating us for that. She was beating us because if we fell sick, it would be a different problem—there were no doctors. But I feel if she hadn't beaten us, perhaps we wouldn't be doing what we're doing today. Without her support, without that initial discipline, our foundation wouldn't have been there. Because the building you construct, the foundation is created by parents and early teachers.
And for those who don't get that, I've seen many cases, Ritesh, where people's family conditions weren't good. They created that base themselves by watching their friends, searching and searching. And today they're all at such heights that as their friend, I feel very proud of them.
You are the average of five people around you. You become like the people around you.
Yes, you become like them. So when I wanted to learn English after coming to Delhi University, I said if I stay with my friends from Bihar, I'll never learn because we always spoke in Hindi or Bhojpuri. I had no one to speak English with, so I distanced myself from them. I met them very rarely. Who did I meet? Nigerians, because they wouldn't judge my English.
Yes, whatever I said, he would listen very seriously without any judgment, try to understand, and even reply. So we became best of friends.
What was your first Nigerian friend's name?
I've forgotten, I'm so sorry. But your first English-speaking friend was Nigerian.
Where did you live in Delhi in the early days?
In Mukherjee Nagar. First I was in Kamla Nagar, then moved to Mukherjee Nagar. I lived in a 'barsati'—a rooftop room.
Have you ever lived in a barsati?
The name 'barsati' gives me shivers because I lived in one in Mukherjee Nagar. The advantage is it's cheap. The disadvantage is if it's 40 degrees outside, it's 45 inside. And in winter, if it's 4 degrees outside, it's 1 degree inside with the iron roof. It was hell.
When I first went to Delhi, the cheapest accommodation was a barsati. At that time, I used to think how to get out of there.
Yes, absolutely right. But now when you don't need to live there, you can think back and feel it was nice. I've always learned in life that when you're in pain, you don't like living in it at all.
But when you get out, those memories become nostalgia. Then it's fun to talk about it on a podcast.
Absolutely. Actually, let me tell you, one day I was sitting outside the barsati thinking my life is over. My friends come to the barsati and are buying houses. Then I thought either we'll fail and have no option, or something good will happen and we'll tell people our story. So I feel this is good, getting the opportunity today.
Manoj Bhai, tell me, when you went to Delhi from a small place in Bihar, you tried to change your circle of friends. Most children from Bihar want to become chartered accountants or company secretaries. I have two colleagues from Gaya, small villages, who are chartered accountants. How did you take this different direction towards arts?
My father wanted me to study biology and become a doctor because that was his dream for himself—he couldn't become one. And he believed in astrology. At my birth, the astrologer told him, 'Mr. Bajpai, it's very sad news.'
Because your son will become a star?
Not that he'll become a star. He said, 'Mr. Bajpai, it's very sad news.' My father thought because two children before me hadn't survived—the mortality rate was very high then—so he thought I wouldn't survive either. His heart sank, thinking this one won't survive either.
But the matter was something else. He said, 'This child will become an actor.'
Actor? He said, 'Look carefully. We were thinking doctor—does doctor have any scope? What about the planets?'
The planets are as they are. So Manoj Bhai, let's talk about Delhi. When you came to Delhi and started going to different places, had you already decided to become an actor? I read it started in Betia. You started performing in school somehow. How did that begin?
Ritesh, in fifth or sixth grade—I don't remember clearly—I started watching films. I lived in Betia city, and there was a middle school called St. Stanislaus, a Catholic school, very old. Before going to the biggest high school, I had to study there. In the middle school, my father's friend was a teacher, Ignesh Master. He had a lodge where 20-22 children stayed, and his house was right next to it.
In middle school, I started watching films occasionally. Whenever my parents came from the village, they loved watching films, so they'd take us to see two-three films. They'd take us out of the hostel to where they stayed, and we'd watch films. When I started watching films, my world changed.
The first film you saw was in Betia itself?
In Betia. Before that, I don't remember the first film, but the one I remember most is 'Haathi Mere Saathi'.
'Haathi Mere Saathi', of course.
Yes, and from that film, I remember one scene the most—when the elephant dies at the end. And Rajesh Khanna ji had a song: 'Nafarat ki duniya ko chhod ke, pyaar ki duniya mein khush rehna mere yaar.' I remember this song to this day.
You sing it very well too.
Yes, I sang it from the heart. I used to act in my room, lock the door, and act while singing this song.
You'd lock the room and act by yourself?
Yes, I started doing that. My mother used to tell me I did all these things. I'd lock the room and keep acting. So the seed was sown there because of this film.
And in fifth or sixth grade, you had to represent your class in an elocution contest. How many prayers Rajesh Khanna ji must have received—Manoj Bhai became an actor because of him.
In an elocution contest, I was chosen to represent my fifth or sixth standard class. I was given Harivansh Rai Bachchan's poetry to memorize and practice. That's where my journey began. I won the first prize. When I was getting down from the stage, the applause was so addictive. I said, boss, this is what it's going to be now. Nothing else for me.
That was the joy of audience appreciation. The reason was I was a very shy and reserved child. For the first time, I felt freedom on stage. I felt the stage had given me a chance to be myself, to express myself, rather than constantly worrying about what others would say.
That's why you became addicted to it.
Other children bullied me a lot. And I was, let's say, a reasonably good-looking child in childhood.
You're still good-looking.
Like a chocolate boy, though people might not think so now. But yes, I was a chocolate boy, and I have photos. After that, those friends couldn't understand that this same child... they bullied me a lot. I would stay quiet, so they thought I had an attitude. Bullies need a reason, an opportunity.
After that elocution contest, I never looked back. I participated in every elocution contest—state level, inter-school, everything.
From what I've heard, I feel for young children with ambitions: first, don't be bothered by bullying. Use it as an opportunity. No one should bully, but if someone is in that situation, always turn adversity into opportunity.
Second, believe whatever the astrologer says.
I feel that's very good. Do you believe in astrology?
