Govardhan Asrani’s face was the punctuation mark of Hindi cinema: the comma that gave rhythm to chaos, the ellipsis that made room for laughter. A fine actor and a finer human being, Asrani’s presence added layers to any narrative. There wasn’t a genre he couldn’t excel in or an actor he couldn’t complement. His death on Diwali, after greeting his fans and succumbing to age-related ailments, marks the end of a legend who stood as the bridge between eras.

Most people remember Asrani as a comic genius. The temptation is easy — to confine his brilliance to laughter. Actors like Walter Matthau or Jack Lemmon were granted leading-man respectability in Hollywood — Oscar nominations, top billing, critical reverence — while Asrani, occupying the same artistic territory, never received equivalent spotlight. Limiting Asrani’s brilliance to comedy and timing is a reductive view that misses something fundamental: doesn’t every actor need timing?

Imagine a dramatic performer delivering a reaction ten seconds early, deliberately throwing a co-star off — seasoned stars have done this to unsettle younger rivals. Or consider an action hero whose punches land three seconds late. Timing isn’t a comic virtue; it’s an acting fundamental. Asrani simply mastered it so thoroughly that he made difficulty look like ease.

My earliest memory of him is not in a comic role at all. It is Khoon Pasina, where he plays the upright, faintly henpecked husband of Aruna Irani’s fiery landlord’s........

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