In a reflective conversation with Vinta Nanda, veteran actor Kanwaljit Singh revisits his journey from Saharanpur to FTII, cinema, television and OTT, revealing a life shaped by curiosity, humility, philosophy and an enduring search for truth.

There are actors whose careers can be measured through awards, box-office successes and memorable performances. Then there are actors whose journeys are measured through the lives they have touched, the respect they command among their peers, and the integrity with which they have navigated an industry known as much for its uncertainties as its glamour. Kanwaljit Singh belongs firmly to the latter category.

When I sat down with him after many years, I expected nostalgia. What I encountered instead was reflection. The man sitting across from me was not interested in recounting achievements or revisiting moments of fame. He was interested in understanding life. Even after decades of work, he remains a student of people, of behaviour, of cinema, and perhaps most importantly, of himself.

There is something remarkably refreshing about speaking to an actor who does not view his career as a destination reached but as a journey still unfolding. Kanwaljit speaks with the curiosity of someone who continues to discover things about the world and about his craft. The humility is genuine, not cultivated. It emerges repeatedly during our conversation, often in unexpected ways.

When I ask him where he finds himself at this stage of his life, he responds with characteristic honesty. The life of an actor, he says, is fundamentally uncertain. One never knows what tomorrow will bring. There may be months with no work, followed suddenly by multiple projects arriving simultaneously. It is a cycle he has experienced repeatedly throughout his career.

What surprised me was his admission that he has never truly become accustomed to this unpredictability. After so many decades, after so many successes, one might assume uncertainty loses its power. Yet Kanwaljit confesses that it continues to affect him. The waiting remains difficult. The silence remains unsettling. The actor's life, he says, has never become easier to understand.

Perhaps that is because he never intended to become an actor at all.

The Boy Who Wanted To Fly

Long before cinema entered his life, Kanwaljit Singh imagined an entirely different future.

Growing up in Saharanpur and studying in a boarding school in Mussoorie, he belonged to a generation for whom the armed forces represented honour, purpose and aspiration. Many of his classmates would go on to become senior officers in the military. Naturally, he expected to follow the same path.

He cleared examinations, passed interviews and moved confidently towards a military career. More specifically, he dreamed of becoming a pilot.

Then came the medical examination that changed everything. A hearing issue ended his chances before they had truly begun. For a young man who had built his future around that ambition, the disappointment was profound. Even today, there is a lingering sadness when he recalls the moment. He had wanted to fly. Fate had other plans.

Looking back, it is difficult not to wonder how different Indian cinema and television might have been had that medical report turned out differently. At the time, however, there was little reason to believe acting would become part of his future. Cinema was not a career plan. He had no contacts in Bombay. There was no family connection to the industry. The idea of becoming an actor existed only at the edges of possibility.

What altered the course of his life was his father's belief in education and institutions. Whatever profession one chose, his father believed, one should study it properly. Doctors attended medical colleges. Engineers attended engineering colleges. Why should actors be any different?

That conviction led Kanwaljit towards the Film and Television Institute of India in Pune. The irony, of course, was that he knew almost nothing about acting.

Removing Dev Anand

Like many young men of his generation, Kanwaljit was a devoted admirer of Dev Anand. When he appeared for his acting audition, he did what countless aspiring actors have done before him and after him. He imitated his hero. He adopted Dev Anand's style. He borrowed his mannerisms. He delivered dialogue in the familiar cadence that had charmed audiences across India. To the young Kanwaljit, this seemed entirely natural. He genuinely believed he was demonstrating his acting ability.

Then came a pivotal encounter with Habib Tanvir. Through an uncle involved in theatre, Kanwaljit had the opportunity to meet the legendary playwright and director. Habib Tanvir watched him carefully and then offered advice that would remain with him for the rest of his life.

Before becoming an actor, he told him, remove Dev Anand from your personality. The advice was devastating and liberating in equal measure.

For most young performers, imitation is the first step. We begin by copying those we admire. We borrow voices, gestures and attitudes. What Habib Tanvir understood was that true acting begins only when imitation ends. Before an actor can portray others, he must first discover himself. 

FTII: Discovering The World

For Kanwaljit, FTII was far more than an acting school. It was a cultural awakening. Arriving in Pune from Saharanpur, he found himself surrounded by students from Bombay, Madras and other metropolitan centres. They seemed more worldly, more exposed, more confident. Their experiences were vastly different from his own.

There were moments when he felt like an outsider. There were moments of loneliness. There were moments when he wondered whether he belonged at all. Yet those very experiences proved transformative.

For the first time, he encountered a world larger than the one he had known. More importantly, he encountered cinema that challenged everything he thought he understood about storytelling. Until then, cinema had largely meant mainstream Hindi films. Suddenly he found himself watching Ingmar Bergman, Federico Fellini, Satyajit Ray and Mrinal Sen. These filmmakers expanded his understanding of what cinema could achieve.

Film was no longer merely entertainment. It became philosophy. It became psychology. It became a way of exploring the deepest questions of human existence. For a young man already inclined towards introspection, the impact was enormous. The experience shaped not only his artistic sensibility but also his worldview.

Many actors speak about learning technique in film school. Kanwaljit speaks about learning how to think.

The Influence Of Roshan Taneja

If FTII introduced him to cinema, Roshan Taneja introduced him to craft. Even decades later, Kanwaljit speaks about his teacher with extraordinary affection. Mentioning Roshan Taneja still evokes visible emotion.

The legendary acting teacher was instrumental in shaping generations of Indian performers. Under his guidance, Kanwaljit encountered the ideas of Stanislavski and the foundations of method acting.

Yet what remained with him was not a rigid adherence to technique. Instead, he learned something far more valuable. Methods, he says, are like walking sticks. They help you learn how to walk. But eventually, if you are to become truly free as an actor, you must let them go. Technique exists to serve truth. It is not an end in itself. That understanding continues to inform his work to this day.  

Bombay: Learning To Survive

If FTII gave Kanwaljit Singh an education, Bombay gave him an education of a very different kind.

Like many graduates of the institute in the 1970s, he arrived in the city armed with training, ambition and idealism, only to discover that none of those things guaranteed employment. Unlike some of today's actors, there was no family wealth cushioning the struggle. His father had supported his education because he believed in institutions, but he was not an industrialist capable of financing an indefinitely unemployed son in Bombay. Once Kanwaljit arrived in the city, survival became his responsibility.

Those early years demanded ingenuity. Along with many of his FTII contemporaries, he took whatever work came his way. One of the most reliable sources of income was voice work for Doordarshan. The state broadcaster regularly commissioned documentaries, educational films and public information programmes, and young actors would lend their voices to these productions for modest fees. It was hardly glamorous work, but it paid rent and kept food on the table.

The struggle was shared by an entire generation of actors who would later become familiar faces across cinema and television. They were not waiting for stardom; they were trying to make it through another month in Bombay. The city tested them relentlessly, but it also prepared them for the careers that followed.

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Kamaal Amrohi, H.S. Rawail And The Business Of Waiting

Kanwaljit's entry into the film industry was accompanied by the kind of irony that only Bollywood can produce.

One of the earliest major filmmakers to place his faith in him was the legendary Kamaal Amrohi. For a young actor trying to establish himself, being signed by the maker of Pakeezah seemed like a dream beginning. Yet the experience also introduced him to one of the industry's most enduring realities: nothing moves according to plan.

Amrohi signed him for what was supposed to be a quick film. Kanwaljit recounts the experience with characteristic humour, noting that he had been signed by a filmmaker famous for taking fifteen years to complete Pakeezah. The irony, he laughs, was that the supposedly quick project also seemed determined to take forever. It was his first lesson in the unpredictable timelines of filmmaking, where projects could remain suspended indefinitely while actors waited helplessly for developments.

Around the same period, another giant of Hindi cinema, H.S. Rawail, signed him for three films. For a young actor struggling to establish himself, it appeared to be the breakthrough he had been waiting for. Three films with a major filmmaker suggested security, continuity and a clear path forward.

Reality proved more complicated.

Despite signing him for three projects, Rawail began work on Laila Majnu with Rishi Kapoor. Meanwhile, Kanwaljit found himself waiting. Another producer approached him with a similar role and he accepted it. The decision upset Rawail, who felt the young actor should have remained available for his productions. Kanwaljit's response revealed a practical wisdom that would define much of his career.

"You signed me for three films," he reminded the veteran filmmaker, "but you've started one with another star. Where am I supposed to go? I cannot sit at home and go hungry waiting for you." 

Truth As A Way Of Life

One word appears repeatedly throughout our conversation. Truth. For Kanwaljit, truth is the destination towards which all meaningful pursuits ultimately move. Whether one studies Stanislavski or Meisner, whether one reads philosophy or practices spirituality, whether one creates art or simply attempts to understand life, the objective remains the same.

Truth. This belief extends beyond acting. It shapes his understanding of religion as well.

Kanwaljit does not define himself through organised faith. He visits temples, mosques, churches and gurdwaras without feeling compelled to belong exclusively to any one tradition. What interests him is not ritual but inquiry. When I suggest that his understanding of religion resembles his understanding of acting—that different paths can lead towards the same truth—he immediately agrees. The observation seems to resonate deeply with him. Perhaps because it reflects a philosophy he has quietly practised throughout his life.

Poetry, Philosophy And Bergman

The roots of this worldview can be traced back to his childhood. His father introduced him to literature and poetry at an early age. The works of Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Mir and Khalil Gibran became lifelong companions. Poetry was not merely something to be admired. It became a lens through which he viewed the world.

Later came philosophy. Among the many thinkers he encountered, Friedrich Nietzsche left the strongest impression. Kanwaljit laughs as he admits that he almost considers himself a Nietzschean. In cinema, he says, his greatest influence remains Ingmar Bergman. The connection is unsurprising. Both Nietzsche and Bergman were preoccupied with the questions that continue to fascinate Kanwaljit: identity, loneliness, morality, faith, mortality and meaning.

These are not merely intellectual interests. They are concerns that have informed the way he approaches both life and performance.

Buniyaad And The Golden Age Of Television

Television arrived at a crucial moment in Kanwaljit's career. Unlike many actors who viewed television as a secondary medium, his generation witnessed it becoming a cultural phenomenon capable of reaching millions of households simultaneously. His association with Buniyaad placed him at the centre of one of the most important chapters in Indian television history.

The serial became more than a program. It became a collective national experience. Audiences saw their own histories reflected in its portrayal of Partition and displacement. Characters entered living rooms and became part of family conversations.

For actors, it was an extraordinary period.

Television had not yet become fragmented by hundreds of channels and endless programming. There was a shared cultural space. Entire communities watched the same stories and discussed them together. Kanwaljit remembers those years with affection, but without sentimentality. He recognises how fortunate his generation was to experience that moment in media history.   

How Satbir Found Kanwaljit Singh

Among the many roles that shaped Kanwaljit Singh's career, none occupies a more special place than Satbir in Buniyaad. Today, it is difficult to imagine anyone else playing the character. Yet securing the role was neither automatic nor inevitable.

The story begins with writer Manohar Shyam Joshi's narration of the series. As Kanwaljit listened, he found himself completely absorbed by the world being created. The story of Partition, displacement and family possessed an emotional depth that immediately distinguished it from anything else being made for television at the time.

What particularly fascinated him was Satbir. There was a rawness and complexity to the character that resonated deeply. However, recognising the potential of the role was only the beginning. Convincing the makers that he was right for it required considerably more effort.

At the time, Kanwaljit did not physically resemble the Satbir that existed in the creators' imagination. Determined to secure the role, he undertook a significant physical transformation. He altered his appearance, stayed hungry for weeks to achieve the lean frame of the character, worked on embodying the character's emotional and physical reality, and gradually began presenting himself not as Kanwaljit Singh the actor but as Satbir the man.

The effort paid off.

What ultimately convinced the Sippy saab (Ramesh Sippy) was not simply the transformation itself but the commitment behind it. He recognised an actor willing to reshape himself completely for a character he believed in. The role would go on to become one of the defining performances of his career. 

Standing Apart From Groupism

One reason Kanwaljit has endured across so many decades is his refusal to belong to camps.

The entertainment industry has always been susceptible to factions, alliances and group loyalties. Yet Kanwaljit remained largely outside those structures. When I ask him how he avoided being drawn into groupism, his answer is simple. He never believed in it.

Just as he never felt compelled to belong to a particular religious identity, he never felt compelled to belong to a professional camp.

His position was neither rebellious nor strategic. It was simply natural. He preferred relationships over factions. Individuals over groups. Work over politics. Perhaps that independence cost him certain opportunities. If so, it also preserved something far more valuable: his authenticity.

The Curious Mind Of An Actor

Throughout our conversation, one quality emerges again and again. Curiosity. Kanwaljit remains fascinated by human behaviour.

He speaks about playing psychologically complex characters and the desire to understand how people think. What drives them? What wounds them? What shapes their actions?

For him, acting has always been an investigation. Not a display. Not a performance. An investigation into human nature.

That curiosity extends beyond the screen. It explains his interest in philosophy, literature and poetry. It explains his continuing hunger to learn. It explains why, even after decades in the profession, he remains more interested in questions than answers.

An Unfinished Journey

As our conversation draws to a close, I ask him whether there was ever a moment when he finally felt he had arrived as an actor.

The answer is immediate. No. Even today, he says, that moment has never come. There has been no revelation. No certainty. No sense of completion. Instead there remains the same curiosity that brought him from Saharanpur to Pune all those years ago. The same desire to understand. The same willingness to learn. The same search for truth.

In an industry obsessed with success, perhaps that is Kanwaljit Singh's greatest achievement. He never stopped being a student. And because he never stopped searching, the journey remains alive.