Veteran Indian actor Nana Patekar, whose volcanic screen presence, clipped dialogue delivery and uncompromising performances made him one of the most distinctive figures in Hindi and Marathi cinema, has died aged 75 after suffering a severe cardiac arrest at his home in Goa.

Patekar was found unconscious at his residence in Dona Paula on Thursday morning and was rushed to hospital. Doctors attempted to revive him for about 45 minutes, but he was declared dead at 5.20 am. A medico-legal case has been registered, and a post-mortem examination is expected to be carried out.

His son Malhar Patekar confirmed his death, according to Maharashtra Times.

Born Vishwanath Patekar on 1 January 1951 in Murud-Janjira in Maharashtra, Patekar built a career spanning nearly five decades across theatre, Marathi cinema and Hindi films. He studied at Mumbai’s Sir J.J. Institute of Applied Art before moving into theatre and films.

He made his film debut in Gaman in 1978, but it was his work through the 1980s and 1990s that established him as an actor unlike almost anyone else in mainstream Indian cinema.

Patekar rarely relied on conventional star glamour. Instead, he brought an unpredictable intensity to the screen — sometimes restrained, sometimes explosive, often unsettling.

His breakthrough performances included Ankush, Pratighaat, Mira Nair’s Salaam Bombay! and, most memorably, Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s Parinda in 1989.

As the gangster Anna in Parinda, Patekar delivered a performance that remains one of the defining villainous turns of Hindi cinema. It earned him the National Film Award and Filmfare Award for Best Supporting Actor.

That success was followed by a series of roles that blurred the traditional Bollywood divide between hero, villain and character actor.

In Krantiveer in 1994, his portrayal of journalist-turned-crusader Pratap Narayan Tilak became one of the most remembered performances of his career. The film’s fiery climactic speeches entered popular culture and won Patekar the National Film Award for Best Actor.

He would eventually win three National Film Awards during his career and received the Padma Shri, India’s fourth-highest civilian honour, in 2013.

Films including Agni Sakshi, Wajood, Yeshwant, Khamoshi: The Musical, Ab Tak Chhappan, Apaharan and Raajneeti demonstrated the breadth of a performer capable of moving between brutality, vulnerability, humour and moral ambiguity.

For another generation of audiences, however, Nana Patekar was Majnu Bhai.

His comic partnership with Anil Kapoor in the 2007 blockbuster Welcome produced an entirely different cultural afterlife, with scenes and dialogue from the film becoming memes and social-media staples years later.

That ability to move from intimidating police officers and gangsters to absurdist comedy was central to Patekar’s longevity.

He continued working well into his seventies.

His later credits included The Vaccine War, Vanvaas, Housefull 5, O’Romeo and Subedaar.

Only days before his death, footage of the 75-year-old actor exercising and performing triceps dips had attracted attention online, underscoring how sudden his death appeared to many admirers.

Yet Patekar’s public life extended well beyond cinema.

In 2015, he and actor Makarand Anaspure established the NAAM Foundation after drought and farmer suicides devastated parts of Maharashtra.

The organisation began by helping families affected by farmer suicides and later expanded into water conservation, village development, education and disaster relief. Its work has included restoring water sources and supporting farming communities across drought-affected regions.

Patekar’s involvement was not merely symbolic.

Before the foundation was established, he had personally distributed financial assistance to farming families in Vidarbha, Latur and Osmanabad. He had also donated prize money and film earnings to charitable causes.

For many in rural Maharashtra, that work became as important a part of his public identity as his films.

Patekar was also known for an austere personal style that stood apart from Bollywood’s usual celebrity culture.

He frequently spoke about his modest upbringing and the financial hardship his family experienced when he was young. That background, he said in interviews over the years, shaped both his temperament and his understanding of struggle.

His association with India’s armed forces was another unusual aspect of his life.

Patekar underwent extensive military training for his 1991 film Prahaar, which he also directed, and later maintained a long association with the Territorial Army and the Maratha Light Infantry.

His career was not without controversy.

In 2018, actress Tanushree Dutta accused Patekar of sexually harassing her during the filming of Horn Ok Pleassss in 2008, allegations he denied.

Mumbai Police later filed a closure report saying there was insufficient evidence to prosecute the case.

The episode became one of the most widely discussed cases during India’s #MeToo movement and remained part of the public debate around his career.

But Patekar was never an actor who fitted comfortably into the polished image of a Bollywood star.

His voice cracked rather than purred.

His characters frequently appeared angry before they spoke.

His pauses could be as threatening as his dialogue.

And even when playing powerful men, there was often something visibly wounded beneath the surface.

That combination made him instantly recognisable.

In Marathi cinema, his portrayal of Ganpat Belwalkar in Natsamrat was particularly celebrated, introducing his work to another generation and reinforcing his stature as one of Maharashtra’s major dramatic actors.

The role of an ageing Shakespearean stage actor confronting family rejection and mortality seemed almost designed for Patekar’s theatrical intensity.

Outside films, stories about his loyalty to colleagues frequently emerged.

Just a day before his death, veteran Marathi actor Ashok Saraf recalled an incident from their theatre days in which Patekar reportedly helped him escape an angry crowd, drove him away in a rickshaw and later returned to help other members of the troupe.

Such stories helped create a public image that was simultaneously intimidating and deeply personal.

For generations of moviegoers, Nana Patekar was never merely performing a part.

When he entered a scene, it often felt as though the temperature of the film changed.

His eyes, voice and pauses could create menace without movement; moments later, the same actor could become comic, fragile or unexpectedly tender.

That quality is difficult to teach and even harder to imitate.

Indian cinema has produced bigger stars, but very few actors who sounded, moved or performed quite like Nana Patekar.

His death brings to an end a career that stretched from experimental theatre and parallel cinema to blockbuster Bollywood, Marathi classics, comedy franchises and social activism.

He leaves behind not only a formidable filmography, but also a body of humanitarian work through NAAM Foundation that continues across Maharashtra.

For audiences who grew up with Parinda, Krantiveer, Yeshwant, Ab Tak Chhappan, Natsamrat or Welcome, his voice will be difficult to forget.

Nana Patekar was 75.

Support our Journalism

No-nonsense journalism. No paywalls. Whether you’re in Australia, the UK, Canada, the USA, or India, you can support The Australia Today by taking a paid subscription via Patreon or donating via PayPal — and help keep honest, fearless journalism alive.