Much like the woeful state of the stock markets, the drubbing that Saas Bahu aur Sensex received at the critics’ corner and at the box office would have left debutante director Shona Urvashi morose. The one hosanna was reserved for the return of Farooq Shaikh to Hindi cinema after a hiatus of 10 years. As the warmhearted cantankerous Parsi stockbroker Feroz Sethna, Shaikh’s homecoming was a hit with both critics and viewers.

“Whatever the fate of the film, I enjoyed working with Shona and her team,” says Shaikh in his homely flat off the filmiana locality of Lokhandwala, west Mumbai, as a warm breeze blows in and a tan-and-white mutt barks distractedly from under the dining table.

It’s good to have Shaikh back. “For three years I did nothing. I don’t do more than one thing at a time. I prefer to do little work. Mainly because I am very lazy or too much of it makes it routine like office work,” he explains. Even so, what was he doing out of sight?

“I travelled a little. Like all city dwellers, especially in a mad city like Mumbai, one needs to get out periodically. I did a little reading, caught up with my friends,” he offers when pushed.

Shaikh’s now cherubic face is familiar to different generations through different media. In the 1970s and 1980s he was the hapless Sarju of Bazaar, the guy who gets the girl in Chashme Buddoor and Vasudev, the rake, in Katha — films that appealed to viewers who savoured the arrival of what was then called parallel cinema, a counterfoil to Bollywood’s ever-bubbling cauldron.

A couple of generations later, he became a household name for television addicts through the up, close and personal but never voyeuristic celebrity show Jeena Isi Ka Naam Hai and in several other TV series.

Another stint was before a live audience. Next February, Shaikh will celebrate 16 years of Tumhari Amrita, the hugely popular play in English about love in the time of snail mail. “But I have no hesitation in saying that Javed Siddiqui saab, the playwright, is the real hero of the play.”

Now that he is back, he has another film next year. In the meantime, he is reading several scripts that have sprouted in this fertile entertainment market. But at his own pace. “If you are not ambitious about how much money you make, you can do what you like to do. In my career of 35-odd years I have done just 32 films,” Shaikh says peaceably.

He belongs, he says, to the school where he was trained to do one thing at a time and to enjoy it. Films, amateur theatre and television never overlapped.

And this innings is no different. “At 62, I am too old, too far gone, to change now. Life is gone in a flash. Before you know it is time to vacate this space,” he shrugs.

The white of his intricately embroidered lucknavi kurta, the ebony dyed hair with a tinge of white and rosy cheeks present a stylish contrast to Sethna’s ill-fitting shirts. The kurta is from Sewa. Buying from this Lucknow-based non-governmental organisation (NGO) is “doubly satisfying.” It is home-delivered and he gets to contribute to a women’s self-help group. And what about buying from Muzaffar Ali, who directed him in Umrao Jaan as the fickle paramour Nawab Sultan and now makes designer chikan work? “I can’t afford his clothes,” he answers bluntly, just as the telephone rings.

Shaikh is unfailingly courteous. He returns calls from unknown callers, and even when he tells off a telemarketeer on the phone he is sharp without being rude.

Shaikh’s film odyssey began in his final year at the Siddharth Law College in Mumbai. But even as an undergraduate student at St Xavier’s he was involved with the Indian People’s Theatre Association, the incubation hub for many legendary actors and directors of stage and cinema.

M.S. Sathyu was his senior and a friend. Shaikh recalls that while casting for his first feature film, the director looked for actors who would “act for nothing and give his film all the time in the world.”

Sathyu’s Garam Hawa, about the dilemma of Muslims post Partition, is revered as a classic by many. Apart from Shaikh’s debut, it carried actor Balraj Sahni’s career best performance.

In a sweet turn of benevolent chance, Sathyu’s film was one of a trio of enviable firsts. He would also play a stellar role in Satyajit Ray’s first Hindi outing, Shatranj Ke Khilari, and essay a leading role in Muzaffar Ali’s stirring directorial debut, Gaman.

“That set the ball rolling. It was an opportunity to be in a paying profession, although the payments were ridiculously low,” he says. His father, Mustafa, a lawyer, and mother, Fareeda, were supportive of their eldest son, although at one point they did not think his commitment to films would last.

What he took away from the experience of working with directors such as Sathyu and Ray was the awareness that these film-makers were not businessmen. “That school of thought stays with us. It tells you money is not the only goal to be sought. You may not match up to their calibre but you can adopt their philosophy. They were socially aware and committed film-makers. Business considerations were secondary to them although film-making is the most expensive art form,” he says.

That’s one reason why he welcomes the multiplex phenomenon. “Sathyu saab paid his dues for Garam Hawa for 20 years. Multiplexes are an option for those directors who want to be different and yet be able to make a theatre release,” Shaikh contends.

The pooch trots to Shaikh, a cursory bark in my direction, and then goes off to sleep. His wife Rupa looks in and apologises for the canine’s moodiness. A college romance culminated in marriage years later. She does honorary work with an NGO. The couple have two daughters; one works with a voluntary organisation and the other is a computer analyst.

Although he has chosen to be selective, there are still some films that make him cringe. He can’t bear to watch himself in Noorie, a 1980s super hit.

When he was offered Jeena Isi Ka…’ to anchor, Shaikh had just one condition. “I said no written script.” He went on to do 50 episodes. “It was a very exciting journey in 45 minutes, more for my guests than for me. I’d sometimes bluff my way through it,” he laughs.

What is striking about Shaikh is that in the over 30 years that he has been in the industry, controversy has never been able to attach itself to him. “That’s just coincidental. Although I was in the thick of things, I am not a saleable item and in my time there were not so many channels. One has to be either sensational or very important, and I was neither.”

Not that Shaikh is by any yardstick a timid man. He has an opinion and if asked won’t tiptoe on eggshells. Remember the time when co-actor Naseeruddin Shah lambasted directors of parallel cinema for selling out and was instantly accused of being ungrateful to those who had given him an opportunity?

“Naseer was not speaking against the movement but questioned the sense of individual integrity. I think he was right,” Shaikh says, defending Shah. Similarly, Shaikh agrees to an extent with Shabana Azmi who recently spoke of Muslims being denied housing in Mumbai. “Things have been fairly pleasant with me. But yes, there have been incidents of well-to-do Muslims being denied property ownership. For instance, Amjad Khan could not get permission to build his bungalow. Sometimes, the reasons for denying accommodation may be genuine — such as vegetarian enclaves. But there are those who don’t want Muslims. It is an unpleasant aberration in society, a small aberration but real nonetheless. It’s sad to see it in Mumbai but it’s a churning that every society goes through.”

Shaikh is critical of the role that politicians play in fanning divisive passions. “Every religion teaches immense kindness but sometimes it’s the political parties that play dirty games. See the anti-Christian attacks in the South and Orissa. Come elections and all this starts to happen. But it is not just religion, these battles are happening vis-à-vis caste and language also. Ultimately, people will see sense,” says Shaikh optimistically.

The dog wakes up. Shaikh recounts how its mother, a stray, was run over. The orphan’s temporary shelter has turned into his home of four years. “We thought he would be with us for four months. Now the tenant has become the landlord,” Shaikh smiles. The mutt throws a sendoff woof my way, as his tenant sees me off to the elevator.