Nana Patekar was a star on the film set. On the shooting range, he was just another shooter, and a student.
That was the striking thing about his relationship with rifle shooting. Away from cinema, Patekar became a serious competitor, training with a rifle and taking part in state and national-level competitions. He won a silver medal at the 2004 National Shooting Championships in the 300m Big Bore event and a team bronze with Maharashtra in 2007. He even earned the distinction of a “Renowned Shot”, a formal recognition for shooters meeting the national federation’s prescribed performance standards. He continued competing well into his 60s.
Nana Patekar died on Thursday at the age of 75, at his home in Goa. But beyond the films and the fame, there was a side of him that was less familiar to the public: his serious love for rifle shooting.
On the range, says Olympian Sanjeev Rajput, who trained him in Rifle Prone and 3P around 2009-11, Nana was not a star. He was a student.
“He was passionate about shooting,” Sanjeev tells IndiaToday.in, recalling the days when the actor wanted his help with Rifle Prone shooting.
“He used to come in the late evenings when almost everyone used to go back from the shooting range. The range used to be empty. He used to come at 7 pm and call me from there. He used to train for one, one-and-a-half hours and go back.”
There was no starry air about Nana when they met. Sanjeev had been practising at a range in Pune when Nana learnt that he was an Olympic shooter and Arjuna awardee. They were introduced through a common friend from the shooting fraternity.
“I found him so humble. He said, ‘Mujhe bhi seekhna hai (I want to learn as well)‘,” Sanjeev says.
Nana already owned a 300m rifle, but he was not getting the results he wanted. So he sought out someone who could help him improve. Sanjeev, who would eventually spend three or four months training him in Pune around 2009-11, remembers a student who was remarkably serious about the process.
“When I used to tell him to hold the rifle for half-an-hour, he used to brave pain in his elbow and do it,” he says. “He was very sincere as a student.”
Nana was already a celebrated actor, a National Award winner and one of the most recognisable faces in Indian cinema. But at the range, he was willing to listen and learn.
NANA’S GIFT, A WORLD NO. 1’S BEGINNING
Olympic rifle shooter Anjali Bhagwat, who first knew Nana in the 1990s, remembers exactly the same side of him.
At the 1995 National Games, Anjali won multiple gold medals. Nana attended the victory ceremony and, while handing out the medals, made an observation that would become the beginning of their friendship.
“He asked me, ‘Have you got a truck from your house to carry all the gold medals?'” Anjali recalls while speaking to IndiaToday.in.
Their introduction soon became something much more meaningful. Anjali and her mates, who were part of the National Cadet Corps (NCC) in Mumbai, had very little equipment. They wore locally made jackets and trousers and shared weapons.
Their then association president, BP Bam, explained their situation to Nana.
“He asked him, ‘I saw a few girls from NCC along with Anjali training. Do you have any requirements or problems?'” Anjali says.
Nana did not wait for a formal request.
“On the spot, that day, Nana sponsored us. He was my very first sponsor.”
He paid for Anjali’s shooting kit, including a jacket and trousers that she could import from Korea, and bought her first air rifle.
“Having my own rifle was when my actual professional journey started. That was a huge turning point for my shooting career. No matter how much I thank him, it isn’t enough,” Anjali says.
Anjali would go on to become world No. 1, win the ISSF World Cup Final and establish herself as one of India’s greatest shooters. But she remembers that first rifle as the beginning of it all.
Nana, meanwhile, kept returning to the range.
“Even though he was a big star then, on the range he was so normal,” she says. “He would mingle with us, train alongsideus, and sometimes ask how to execute certain techniques.”
Nana eventually competed at the national level himself and won honours. But the medals were never really the point.
Sanjeev saw that attitude up close.
“He supported many shooters when we were there,” he says.
Many were from Maharashtra and struggled to afford weapons, shooting kits or ammunition. Sanjeev himself was already performing at Olympic level and was supported by Olympic Gold Quest, so he did not need financial assistance. Even then, Nana made the offer.
“He told me that if I needed help, I could ask him.”
Sanjeev says there was no expectation attached to that generosity.
“Woh sirf pyaar ke liye kiya tha. Unka medal ka koi lena dena nahi tha (He shot for the love of it. He did not care about medals),” he says. “Unke bas yeh tha ki ‘woh goli marenge toh, goli lagni chahiye (if he is going to shoot, the bullet should hit the target)‘.”
He wanted the shooters to shoot well. That was enough.
OVER BIRYANI AND DRINKS
There was plenty that happened away from the range too. Sanjeev and Nana’s relationship grew during those months in Pune. Nana took him home to Khadakwasla, showed him around and spent time with him away from shooting. And then there was food.
“He loved cooking,” Sanjeev says. He still remembers Nana cooking mutton biryani for them.
The actor even had a theory for what constituted a proper biryani.
“If you ate biryani and didn’t sweat on your forehead, did you really eat biryani?”
There were evenings over drinks when the conversation moved from rifles to films. Nana told Sanjeev stories from his career, including one about jumping off a cliff during a shoot without a stunt double. After he landed safely, a guard apparently came over, slapped him and began crying.
“‘Aap ek hi hai. Agar aapko kuch hogaya toh, hum kya karenga (There’s only one of you. If something happens to you, what will we do?)'” the guard had told him.
Sanjeev also remembers another side of the actor’s personality. Nana was nearly 60 when they trained together, but he was proud of the work he was putting into his body.
“He used to very passionately tell me about the weights he lifted in the gym,” Sanjeev says. “‘Dekh mere dole kitne bane hue hain (Look at my muscles. See how big they’ve become).'”
It is a glimpse of the man away from the cameras: a celebrated actor who could be intense and intimidating on screen, but was also happy to show his coach how much he had been lifting at the gym.
Anjali remembers a similar familiarity. Nana always visited the range and checked in on the shooters to see if they needed anything or how they were doing.
“He was deeply concerned about all the shooters in Maharashtra and helped so many of them,” she says.
Years later, when Anjali won the World Cup Final for the first time, becoming the first Indian to win the title, Nana called her personally.
“He told me how happy he was and encouraged me to keep it up.”
That was the Nana Patekar that Rajput and Bhagwat knew. The actor was there, of course. But at the range, he was also a student, a friend and someone who kept asking how he could help.
And sometimes, as Rajput remembers, he was simply the man cooking mutton biryani and asking whether you had sweated enough to prove it was good.
– Ends
