ELLE Digital Cover Star: Farhan Akhtar Isn’t Trying To Be Seen—He’s Here To Last

The rain had been falling hard since morning. By the time the ELLE crew reached the studio, the sound of it—steady and unrelenting—had taken over the walls. Inside, Farhan Akhtar stood quietly by the car, face unreadable, waiting for direction. It was a silent set. Not tense—just intentional. The kind of energy that doesn’t fill space unnecessarily. The kind that tells you he’s here to work.

But between takes, something loosened. A quiet joke. A sudden grin. A line delivered so dry it cracked up the room. That’s the thing about Akhtar—you assume he’s all sharp edges, and then the warmth shows up without warning.

A Long Road, Not A Performance

There are actors who perform. And then there are actors who arrive. That morning, the mood was subdued, the set slightly waterlogged, the light diffused just enough to feel like a film still. Akhtar entered quietly, shot with precision, and exited with the same understated grace. No fuss. No chatter. The kind of presence that holds without announcing itself.

Later, on the phone, he spoke with that same restraint. “I remember rushing through my change so the team could get home before the roads flooded.” It was a passing detail, not a point of pride. But it said everything. He is a man more drawn to momentum than noise. That’s been true of his career, too. For someone whose body of work helped define contemporary Hindi cinema—Dil Chahta Hai, Lakshya, Don, Rock On!!, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, Bhaag Milkha Bhaag—he reflects with minimalism, not in volume, but in ego.

When asked where he’d slow down if life were a long drive, he offers: “A dhaba. For parathas.” It’s not a metaphor. It’s a preference. That simplicity is the throughline—in his choices, performances, and conversations. His next release, 120 Bahadur, sees him portray Param Vir Chakra awardee Major Shaitan Singh. It's a real-life role, grounded in history and national memory. And while he's played men of action before, this one feels anchored by something else: reverence.

“You can't move forward unless you let go of your past,” he says. “But you also can’t forget it—it made you who you are.” Akhtar is no stranger to physical transformation, but this role demanded a different kind of weight. One that came not from muscle, but from legacy.

Elegance, As Defined By Restraint

When asked which roles felt closest to his own skin, he points to Imran from Zindagi… and Adi from Rock On!!. “The others are pretty far removed from who I am, day to day,” he says. “You can never truly become another person. The exteriors are easier. But stepping into someone’s spirit—that’s the challenge.”

Movement has always mattered in his characters. Running, fighting, holding ground. But today, he’s more interested in stillness—and what it costs. “I’ve lasted this long, and I think that’s something I’ve done well,” he reflects. “But longevity only lasts as long as your humility does. The day you say, ‘I know everything,’ is the day you stop growing. I’d rather stay a student.” That humility extends to how he works. “You can’t do anything alone. You leave ego at the door. Filmmaking is about many views coming together. It’s impossible otherwise.” This idea of restraint—emotional, artistic, even visual—shows up in every part of his life. He wears it like a signature. 

At some point during our conversation, I told him something I’d been thinking all day: that a reputation like his—one that doesn’t shout but still commands—is a sign of a life well lived. He chuckled, slightly embarrassed, and said, “I just hope people enjoy working with me.” The line stayed with me. Maybe because there’s a difference between being admired and being remembered fondly by the people you work with every day. In this industry, it’s easy to accumulate attention. What’s harder is to earn respect without demanding it. It reminded me that durability in cinema isn’t just about iconic roles. It’s about the silences you leave behind, the memories you don’t script, and the way people speak about you when you’re not in the room.

The Visible And The Unsaid

Akhtar is honest about discomfort with fame. “I’ve struggled with that over the years,” he admits. “I’m more comfortable when people talk about the work. I get uneasy when people want to talk about me as a person. The life I have isn’t common. I wake up with gratitude, but I’m still learning how to live with that visibility.”

His relationship with style mirrors that sentiment. “I don’t try to ape anyone,” he says. “I wear what makes me happy and comfortable. That’s really it.” He credits Shibani Dandekar for sharpening his filter—“Sometimes I’ll want to buy something, and she’ll just look at me and crinkle her nose. I know then to let it go.”

Elegance, for Akhtar, has nothing to do with wardrobe. “It’s dignity,” he says. “It’s treating people with grace. And it’s accepting who you are.” It’s also, perhaps, why he’s never tried to shape-shift for relevance. His choices aren’t made to trend. They’re made to last. It takes a certain kind of clarity to stay relevant without ever becoming desperate for it. In an industry addicted to reinvention, Farhan isn’t chasing reinvention—he’s refining. That’s what strikes you most when you speak to him. Not the cool, which is obvious, but the calm. A man who doesn’t need to prove the depth of his talent anymore. Someone who’s learning to live slower, look back more often, and measure success in memories, not headlines.

Nothing To Fix, Only To Archive

When asked if he’d rewrite any ending—on or off screen—he doesn’t hesitate. “Nothing. I wouldn’t rewrite anything.” The clarity is immediate, unflinching. But he does wish he’d documented more. “I don’t know where the first Dil Chahta Hai script is. I wish I’d saved things like that—capsules of memory. Not to show off, just to look back.”

It’s a rare admission, not of regret, but of sentiment. For someone who’s made his living from storytelling, there’s something beautifully human about forgetting to archive your own. The quote lands softly, but it carries. It’s that rare kind of self-awareness that doesn’t need drama or flair. Just a man who’s lived fully—and chosen to keep the best parts quiet.

Still waters. Long roads. A paratha stop somewhere in between.

ELLE India Editor: Ainee Nizami Ahmedi; Photographer: Abheet Gidwani; Fashion Director: Zoha Castelino; Asst. Art Director: Alekha Chugani; Makeup: Devika Kharwa; Hair: Saurabh Bhatkar; Jr. Bookings Editor: Anushka Patil; Words by: Kannagi Desai; 
Assisted by: Idris Nidham, Anshu Sheth (styling), Sneh Lad (bookings); Production: Cutloose Production; Artist Reputation Management: Spice PR