Hansal Mehta talks with Subhash K Jha about his dear departed dost Mukul Dev.
Hansal, you’ve just lost a very dear friend.
I will miss Mukul Dev deeply. His booming laughter at our inside jokes, his unmatched gift for storytelling, that unmistakable voice. He acted in two of my unreleased films and a TV show—somehow in the shadows of it all, we became very close. We bonded over booze, broken hearts, and the foolish hope that things would one day make sense. For years, we were gym buddies, pushing each other through reps and regrets.
I believe Mukul was a terrific raconteur?
Mukul was devastatingly handsome. His presence could light up a stadium, his charm could hold a room in thrall. He had what most people only dream of: a dream launch, big directors, prominent co-stars. He had the look, the talent, the pedigree.
Strangely despite his looks and talent success bypassed Mukul?
His career became a collection of missed opportunities and near breakthroughs. A story of what could’ve been. A string of ‘what ifs’.And I think those what ifs chipped away at his spirit. Slowly, quietly, they filled him with a sense of defeat and resignation—an ache that often found its only solace in booze.
He concealed a lot of pain under his affable exterior?
Behind the laughter and bravado was a man struggling to reconcile with the dreams that eluded him.He was also a gifted writer. He gave me the story of Omertà back in 2003. I remember the joy in his voice when the film was finally made, the pride when he saw it with festival audiences, and that infectious excitement when his name came up in the writing credits.
Omerta was quite a triumph of writing?
Every time Mukul and I spoke, he’d chuckle and say, “Hansie, kya film banayi yaar. International. Soch bhi nahi sakta tha ki aisi film mein I’d have a writing credit. This is so good for me.” That credit made him feel seen. Respected. Validated. I just wish we had done more together.
When was the past time you spoke to Mukul?
The last time we spoke was a few months ago. The same gregarious laugh, the same fake Feroz Khan accent we always used with each other. But behind the laughter, I sensed something heavier—a quiet sadness, an air of disappointment, a kind of loneliness he never really shared. Go well, my beautiful, broken, brilliant friend. Phir milenge.
