'I’m building my own cop universe': Gulshan Devaiah on his Tamil debut Legacy

If I had to give a not-so-serious answer, I’d say I’m building my own cop universe. Just like Rohit Shetty has his, I’m creating mine—Legacy has one kind of cop, then there’s Devi Lal from Dahaad, and Karan (Naik) from Bad Cop. So that’s the fun version of the story (laughs).

On a serious note, Legacy simply felt right. I wasn’t trying to diversify linguistically or anything like that. Sometimes something comes your way, and it just makes sense in that moment. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent nearly 15 years in Hindi cinema; I feel settled now, both artistically and professionally. I have a foundation. Looking back, that sense of stability made me more open to trying something new, though that wasn’t on my mind when I said yes.

The cast made it even more appealing. Maddy was part of it, and most of my scenes were with Nimisha; she’s a wonderful actor, and working with her was a great experience.

I grew up in the ’80s and ’90s, when there was literally just one channel to watch. I loved cinema, so I would watch anything and everything that came on TV. I didn’t care about the language, and most of the time I probably didn’t even understand it. But cinema was always captivating for me. Maybe because I was an only child, I spent a lot of time in my imagination, and films fed that beautifully. They make your mind take off and wander. So yes, I remember watching all sorts of movies.

In my teenage years, many of my friends were Tamil, so they’d take me along to the theatres. I remember watching Padayappa in Chennai; the crowd was so loud you couldn’t even hear the dialogues. And I watched Sivaji: The Boss in Bangalore. Both were absolutely wild experiences.

And of course, there’s that classic South Indian question, “Are you a Kamal fan or a Rajini fan?” I honestly didn’t care, and I watched both. They were completely unique, and I enjoyed them in different ways. When I was younger, though, I struggled with Kamal Haasan’s films because they always made you cry. Nearly every film, be it Mahanadi, Guna, or Moondram Pirai, would leave you in tears. For a while, I actually banned myself from watching his movies because I felt he was making me cry too much.

It was great. And I think that comfort didn’t come from speaking the language but from having worked for nearly 15 years in the film industry. I understand the technicalities and the entire process of making a film, so I felt at ease. I also got along really well with everyone, especially Rishab (Shetty). We’ve known each other for a while, and he had tried to cast me in films earlier too. I had agreed, but for various reasons, one of them being the lockdown, it never worked out. I was genuinely interested in what he was creating and in exploring the role he offered me. Rishab has so much passion, and he manages an unbelievable amount of stress and pressure every single day. It’s incredible. I also loved working with Jayaram Sir, who is an absolute riot.

As for doing more projects in the South, I’m already working on another one. I’m about to start filming Maa Inti Bangaram, a Telugu film with Samantha. I may not speak the language very well, but with practice, I’ll manage.

Malayalam, for me, is a bit weak, though I can understand and speak it to some extent. And of course, they make some really wonderful films in Malayalam. But I’m not in any hurry to say, “Okay, now that I’ve done these languages, let me cover the rest.” That feels more like a gimmick. I’d rather let it happen naturally. If something comes along that truly makes sense, then yes. At one point, DQ (Dulquer Salmaan) was producing a project that came my way, but it didn’t work out. I just felt it wasn’t the right fit for me at the time. I’m sure something will come eventually, something that gives me that internal calling of, “Yes, I should do this.” And when that happens, I’ll probably take it up.

Not at all! I was simply enjoying myself. Growing up in Bangalore, especially in a public-sector-undertaking township (BEL), you naturally pick up multiple languages. Everyone around you speaks a mix, so you get used to understanding and speaking different tongues. Back in the ’80s and ’90s, ‘pan-India’ basically meant everyone watched Hindi films.

At home, I watched Kannada, Tamil, and a lot of Malayalam films because my parents, especially my father, loved Malayalam cinema. He’s quite fluent in the language too. Many Kodavas actually speak decent Malayalam, so there’s a natural affinity toward Malayalam films. When we used to rent VHS tapes, my dad would bring home a lot of Malayalam movies. I remember watching No. 20 Madras Mail and many others. And a lot of Malayalam films played on Doordarshan as well, so we knew all the big stars. Of course, I also knew Jayaram sir as a leading man in the ’80s and early ’90s.

But my first true love, cinematically, was Hindi cinema. I think it started with the music, because I grew up listening to a lot of Hindi songs. When I was very young, I really liked Shashi Kapoor and Dharmendra. Much later, in my 30s, I came to admire someone like Prithviraj Kapoor for his incredible articulation of the language. I didn’t understand any of that when I was 10 or 12. But as an adult, I could see how raw and real his performances were, especially in the late ’40s and ’50s. He really stood out in that era. So Hindi films were always my first love. When I finally decided to become a professional actor, it wasn’t even a question; I knew I had to go to Mumbai.

I think it happened very early on. I must have made that choice when I was six or seven, and it was a pretty silly choice at that age. But over time, with experience and exposure, I was lucky to be surrounded by so much art, cinema, music, theatre — all of it. Not so much literature, because I’m a terrible reader, but the people around me, especially on my mother’s side, were into poetry and books. My uncle had a huge collection of novels. That was the culture I grew up in.

All of that definitely influenced me. It helped me understand and appreciate art better. At some point, I also realised that acting is a craft. It’s not something you’re magically good at; you have to work at it. There are techniques, methods, and skills you can learn. So, I began to pay attention to that. Gradually, I improved, because in the beginning, I was pretty bad.

Even when I started doing theatre, school didn’t count, because in school, if you can say your lines without stumbling, you’re considered good, but real theatre is different. When you’re part of a play with nuance, subtext, and layers, you need a proper understanding of your craft to communicate that to an audience. Over time, I got better. That improvement built confidence in me, and I think I had the right attitude.

So yes, I’ll admit I made the decision very early in life. And then, when I finally felt I had some grasp of the craft, I made another decision: to actually follow my dream and become a professional actor.

I haven’t really asked them, but I think they’re happy. My immediate family is just my mom and dad, and my extended family includes my aunts, uncles, and cousins, though some of them are no longer with us. They’ve seen a lot of my work. My grandparents on my mother’s side, unfortunately, didn’t live long enough to see any of it. My grandmother, especially, was extremely fond of me; I was the darling of her eyes. I would have loved to hear what she had to say and see how happy she would have been. No one in the family explicitly says they’re proud of me, but I can tell they’re happy for me. And that’s what family does, right? They cheer for you when you do well.

No, my dad sometimes used to go to the movies on his own with friends and neighbours. I live in Mumbai, and my parents are in Bangalore. My mother, though, isn’t very mobile; so going to a movie theatre isn’t really practical for her. In the beginning, I used to arrange screeners for her to watch at home. Maybe in the future, I can organise private screenings for her. It’s a bit tricky because she needs the right kind of seating and setup.

Thanks to OTT platforms, I don’t have to worry about arranging digital screeners anymore; she can just watch the films at home. I’m sure she enjoys them. Someday, I’d love to figure out a way to take her to a theatre so she can watch some of my future films on the big screen. That would be wonderful.

Primarily, I think it comes down to the use of imagination. I accept the imaginary circumstances that the script presents; it’s all fiction, all an illusion. How well I draw on my experience, my understanding of the craft, and how I develop a scene adds layers and subtext, making it more believable. The illusion becomes richer and more compelling when you’re in command of your craft.

Of course, there are times when you need to learn something specific. For instance, working in Tamil requires preparation. I can speak basic Tamil, but delivering dialogues properly needs practice. I had a wonderful trainer, Smriti, a dubbing artiste provided by the production. I did many online sessions with her, and she was also on set, helping me with lines and pronunciations.

Sometimes, preparation is very physical as well. For Kantara, I had to learn to ride a horse; all the riding you see is me, not a stunt double or a manipulated shot. Certain characters require learning very specific skills.

But mostly, it’s about this construct of imagination. Directors can also be very particular about how they want a scene. Then it becomes a matter of figuring out how to deliver exactly what’s needed while staying true to the character. 

No! I don’t have those kinds of fantasies, like wanting to reprise a popular character or thinking, “I loved playing this; I want to do it again.” I’m always looking for something new; once one project is done, I immediately think, “Okay, what’s next? What can I do?”

That said, there are moments when I feel like I haven’t fully said goodbye to a character, when I wish I had a little more time with them. One instance was Devi Lal. Towards the end, I felt a bit sad. On my last shot, Sonakshi (Sinha) kind of embarrassed me; she took a video without realising I was getting a little choked up.

I wasn’t expecting to feel that way. I remember the last day of Shaitan; I went to my dressing room and cried. I wept alone, but it wasn’t sadness in the usual sense. I was just so happy to have been acting, exploring myself, being creative, giving my all, and keeping that energy alive throughout. On the final day, realising that it was over, that I wouldn’t get to do this from tomorrow, made me really emotional.

I’m not sure if it’s really something new. There have always been examples of that, right? If you look at ’80s Kamal Haasan, nobody was playing characters quite like he did; it was just off the charts.

So it’s not exactly a new phenomenon to have a lead protagonist who’s mentally ill or someone who kidnaps a woman because of what he’s seen, like in Guna, and still finds empathy among the audience. That’s pretty unconventional. And people like him tend to take on unconventional roles throughout their careers.

I don’t really plan my characters that way; I don’t sit down and say, “I want to do this.” It just happens organically. Sometimes I think my choices come from a kind of boredom; everyone seems to be doing the same thing, like horror comedies or building cinematic universes. I’m not criticising that, but I sometimes feel, “Do I really want to do that too?” I want to see what else is possible.

So maybe, by default, I end up choosing unconventional characters. But I’m not sure if the environment has changed so much or if there’s just more hope for unconventional storytelling now. With OTT platforms and long-format storytelling, more stories are being told, and suddenly we’re seeing characters and narratives that weren’t visible before.

I’ve gotten into cooking, especially when I’m at my own place, not at my parents’ house, where I don’t cook. Cooking at home has become really relaxing for me. It’s creative too—I like experimenting, trying to invent dishes every day. I think, “What happens if I combine this with that?” And most of the time, it works out pretty well.

I don’t follow strict recipes. I might jot down a few basic notes before bed, like, ‘Tomorrow I’ll try this, this, and this; maybe make a stew, a pan roast, or a pulao.’ But in the morning, I often completely throw that plan out and end up making something entirely different. It just happens naturally, and I enjoy the process.

I used to watch a lot of movies, but now YouTube is my main source of entertainment, relaxation, and information. I have a wide range of interests, so I watch all kinds of content, sometimes really strange stuff. Like, I watch videos about repairing horse hooves and cow hooves. I’m also into weapons, both modern firearms, like assault rifles and handguns, and traditional ones, like composite bows made from sinew.

I get very particular about details. For example, in films, I notice bows and arrows are almost always depicted wrong. The tension has to be built by bending against the curve, and the stringing has to be precise. Swords too—pommel weights, handle balance, stabbing versus slashing versus chopping; they often get it wrong. So, yeah, I guess you could say I’m a bit of a nerd or geek about these things.

Besides that, I follow sports, electoral politics, documentaries, talk shows, and podcasts. YouTube now gives me everything I used to get from television back in the ’80s and ’90s, but in a much broader and more personalised way.

There’s Therapy Sherapy; they’ve been hinting at releasing it soon. I had an amazing time working with Girija (Oak Godbole). I’m really fond of her; she’s become a dear friend. I’m so happy to see her getting the attention she deserves. Suddenly, everyone’s crushing on her, and it’s really cute. I’m cheering her on all the way.

Then there’s the Pahwa couple, Manoj and Seema, who play my parents in the show. I’m married to Girija’s character in it, and it’s been such a wonderful experience. I have to say, most people remember Manoj primarily for his comedy work, but he’s one of the finest dramatic actors currently working in the industry. He’s incredibly nuanced and versatile, though the kinds of roles he’s offered don’t always reflect that. In Therapy Sherapy, you get to see that side of him. The show has some comedy and is light-hearted, but there are also really deep, dramatic moments. Watching him perform was a master class in craft.

Then there’s a film called Little Thomas, though I’m not sure if it’s ready for release. I think it was part of the Brownsville Festival. It’s a really sweet, charming children’s film, and I believe they’re still figuring out how to release it here.

Oh, I think Riya’s father—he’s a monster. I’d really like him to meet Devi Lal Singh. And the third… probably Master Mani. That would be quite a dinner, I think.

Not really. I don’t quote films much. I used to re-watch some, like Forrest Gump, a lot. And in My Left Foot, Daniel Day-Lewis gives one of the greatest performances ever. I watched it repeatedly, but I don’t reference films in daily life. That’s just not my style.

I’ve worked in design for eight years before acting, so I think it’d be pretty chilled. Design studios aren’t strict cubicles; they’re more relaxed. My corporate persona would probably be just like me right now.

Oh, not putting ginger in my tea. People say it’s not good tea, but I just want to taste the tea—the milk, the sugar, the brewed flavours. And everyone insists it’s healthy. I get it, it’s good for you—but that doesn’t mean I want it in my tea!

I’ve done so many bull roles by now; I think I can handle a lift situation alone. I’d just take the time and say, “Okay, I’m stuck. What can I do now?”

He’d probably chop the guy’s head off. I think he would drink only Irish coffee, something with potent liquor. If it’s not fermented, forget it—he won’t touch it.