Writer-director Tigmanshu Dhulia’s Paan Singh Tomar has the quiet, single-minded determination of Joey from War Horse, even Nagesh Kukunoor’s Iqbal to some degree, and he has Phoolan Devi’s writhing anger. But Dhulia’s biopic of the fauji-turned-baagi doesn’t scream out for attention as Shekhar Kapur’s Bandit Queen did. Paan Singh Tomar is not desperate for attention. It’s quite confident that it’s the bee’s knees. It is.

One, because it is directed by Dhulia, and two, because it has the full attention and brilliance of Irrfan Khan.
Biopics are tough. The scrutiny is often minute and harsh. People disagree with this scene or that fact. There’s often accusation of deliberate omissions, of glossing over stuff and romanticising. I don’t know how true to fact Dhulia’s Paan Singh Tomar is, but that’s not my concern here.
Dearly beloved, I am here to admire the work of a director and an actor who have delivered a film whose each frame is carefully crafted, details are thought through, dialogue are delightfully pungent with rustic flavour and the tiniest of characters have been created and cast with the skill of an auteur.
Paan Singh Tomar’s story is like that of several other dacoits we’ve met in newspapers or on screen. But his life’s story is made even more compelling because of who he was and why he became what he did. How easily preventable it was is shocking, yet it doesn’t ring false for a second.

It’s 1980, and we accompany a local Madhya Pradesh journalist (played intensely by Brijendra Kala), to meet Paan Singh Tomar on the terrace of a house in a small town. He has agreed to an interview after his men have kept the journalist’s little bemused daughter as security. The fear we see on the journalist’s face doesn’t seem appropriate because the man we meet in khaki on the terrace may be temperamental, may not react well when called a dacoit (he prefers baagi, rebel), but he also has a weakness for food, especially ice cream.
Ice cream, in fact, holds a special place in Paan Singh’s life. It was part of his rite of passage, his first challenge in fauj when he wanted to switch to sports mainly because the food the footsoldiers were served was neither appetising nor enough.
Paan Singh begins his story in 1950 — fauji son of ageing parents in the village, husband of an attractive wife (Mahie Gill), and owner of pushtaini khet that his family lived off. Though he would always shoot on target, Paan Singh joined the athletics team for eggs and bananas. He trained for the steeplechase, jumping over 28 barriers and seven water pits, often alongside horses, the original champions of the race.
Paan Singh ran fast, faster when he had to prove a point. He brought gold and glory, broke the national record and got promoted to subedar. But, he still regrets, he didn’t get sent to the front during the 1965 war — because sportsmen are considered special.
But back in his village — which we visit with him occasionally, and watch him pamper his kids with money for “lemon juice” (husband-wife’s code word for making out in the daytime) — his chachera bhai is creating trouble. So Paan Singh takes early retirement, with a standing offer from his seniors to return as coach. He wants to settle the land dispute amicably. His medals, he believes, are his calling card. But when a cop throws his medals and his family is attacked, Paan Singh shifts base to the Chambal ghaati, to prepare for revenge.
The gentle sounds of village are replaced by the jangle of metal, as the simple straight shooter, who told his officer “desh ke liye jaan de bhi sakoon, le bhi sakoon”, kidnaps, extorts and runs his gang with a military man’s discipline and principles.
He is paranoid, often ruthless, but always ahead of the cops. Till October 1, 1981, his last steeplechase.

Paan Singh Tomar is set in a landscape that is God’s gift for angry, twitchy men. Only this expansive, gruff landscape seems capable of containing their violence and isolation. It’s thirsty and greedily drinks up every drop of blood that is spilled.
But Dhulia doesn’t make his fauji-turned-sportsman-turned-dacoit a messianic hero. Though Dhulia's loyalties are entirely with Paan Singh, and the film is dedicated to India’s unsung sports heroes, we get glimpses of Paan Singh’s brutality, loneliness, even his dinkiness, and the obstinate streak that finally got him killed.
Dhulia’s direction is marked by a quite certitude that’s rare. He doesn’t compromise and he is not gimmicky. There’s a quiet genius at work here, and it shows in every scene, every frame, every character. The film is full of lovely scenes and details — like the happy birthday mujra scene, Nargis Dutt’s death being announced on the radio — but Dhulia doesn’t dwell on them. That is part of his gift, knowing when to return to storytelling.
Paan Singh Tomar scores on several counts, including its unending line of gifted supporting actors — they keep coming, as if old residents of the villages, thanas and towns we visit. They are brought to life by delightful dialogue that belong to the world the film inhabits.
Mahie Gill, when she’s around, ups the temperature by at least five degrees. And if the doors are locked, by 10 degrees. But she’s not the centerpiece here. Paan Singh Tomar is.
Irrfan Khan can play anything, and the meatier the material, the better he gets. Here his character is filled out and embellished with details and quirks. He is a straight, firm and simple farmer. He is also a natural athlete who doesn’t take his accomplishments too seriously. He is also a clever, ruthless and superstitious dacoit. Irrfan has lots to play with here — there’s the track he has to run on and win, at home he has Mahie Gill to chase and smother, and in beehar he has a gang of volatile men to keep in line. Though there’s a lot happening around him throughout the film, it’s impossible to take your eyes off him. Add to that his quick, crusty dialogue delivery. Muah.