The Nana Kolhapur knew
The loss of a true friend; the vanishing of a rare stream of humanity

Kolhapur: As the 1970s dawned, the romantic era of Rajesh Khanna was beginning to give way to a new cinematic mood. Then came Prakash Mehra’s Zanjeer in 1973, and Amitabh Bachchan emerged as the country’s quintessential “angry young man”. Young India was ready to wear Bachchan’s image around its neck like a talisman.
At about the same time, away from the glare of stardom, an earthy Marathi actor named Nana Patekar was making his own mark on the stage.
His journey—from experimental theatre to commercial productions—was one of extraordinary struggle and perseverance. With Jayant Dalvi’s Purush, Nana virtually took the Marathi stage by storm. From there, powered by an uncompromising acting style, he moved steadily into national cinema. Before one realised it, he had earned a place among the most formidable actors of his generation.
His intense, often angry screen persona struck a deep chord with Marathi youth. But Nana was never merely an actor. The same bluntness that marked his film dialogues was visible in his personal life. He spoke his mind. He was deeply connected to the pain and deprivation around him. In many ways, he was not merely acting out society on screen; he was carrying its wounds within him.
And among the many places that held a special place in his heart was Kolhapur—the traditional home of Marathi cinema.
Here, Nana formed friendships not with the powerful or famous, but with ordinary people. And he cherished those friendships with extraordinary warmth. That is why the news of his death on Thursday hit Kolhapur with a peculiar force. For many here, it was not simply the passing of a celebrated actor. It was the loss of a friend.
That was the Nana Kolhapur knew, a man who shared people’s joys, stood by friends without calculation. For Kolhapur, his loss is not merely that of a great actor, but of a true friend.






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