Dharmendra file photo
Credit: PTI Photo
In the dazzling galaxy of Hindi cinema, Dharmendra stands out. Proof of his aura and appeal is perhaps that he’s the only Bollywood icon whose face often accompanied his name in the opening credits. A gifted performer with a handsome face, great physique and style, and irresistible charm and sex appeal, Dharmendra embodied the classic matinee idol: the kind women swooned over and men wanted to be — playfully acknowledged in his self-referential role in Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Guddi (1971). And yet, there was something incredibly warm and relatable about this affable small-town Punjabi boy, whose tinsel town dreams were inspired watching his icon Dilip Kumar’s Shaheed (1948), which connected him to generations of cinegoers.
Dharam was at the heart of some of Hindi cinema’s canon-defining films — Mera Gaon Mera Desh (1971), Seeta Aur Geeta (1972), Yaadon Ki Baaraat (1973), Chupke Chupke (1975), and Sholay (1975) — and among its top box office draws. No other mainstream Hindi superstar has a filmography as eclectic as his. Solo hits, massive multistarrers (Haqeeqat, 1964; The Burning Train, ’80); big budget debacles (Shalimar, ’78; Razia Sultan, ’83); stylish thrillers (Ankhen, ’68; Charas, ’76); massy entertainers (Patthar Aur Payal, ’74; Pratiggya, ’75); costume epics (Dharam Veer, ’77; Raaj Tilak, ’84); plenty of B-grade outings and guilty watches (Loha, ’87 and Aatank, ’96) dot his six-decade long career.
The actor shared screen space with the likes of Ashok Kumar, Amitabh Bachchan, Vinod Khanna, and Sanjeev Kumar, appeared in guest roles for friends, and acted opposite seasoned actresses (Nutan and Meena Kumari) to contemporaries (Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore) to newcomers like Rakhee. His pairing with co-star-turned-wife Hema Malini, with whom he did over 30 films, is stuff of celluloid legend. Three of his children — Sunny, Bobby, and Esha, and nephew Abhay Deol, each have chartered different paths in showbiz, with grandsons Karan and Rajveer following suit. Several extended family members are also associated with Hindi and Punjabi cinema. As a producer, he launched films like Betaab (1983), Ghayal (1990), and Socha Na Tha (2005), backing filmmakers Rajkumar Santoshi and Imtiaz Ali. He dabbled with politics briefly, though his stint as a BJP MP remained largely uneventful.
Dharmendra bounced between genres — romance, comedy, drama, and action — and worked with filmmakers of every stripe: Bimal Roy, Arjun Hingorani, O P Ralhan, Dulal Guha, Pramod Chakravorty and Anil Sharma, to name a few. With no formal training, he always maintained that acting was simply him reacting. His characters wrote poetry, fought injustice, tigers and lions, sang soulful songs, played pranks, got drunk and acted goofy, got angry and gave grave threats. While the dialogue may have been a steady Bollywood cliché, the affectionate songlike delivery of ‘Maa, mujhe naukri mil gayi’, with a disarming smile was a Dharmendra special. Image wise, he moved easily between the romantic aura of Rajesh Khanna, Amitabh’s intense Angry Young Man, and Shashi Kapoor’s pleasantness — all while becoming Hindi cinema’s He-Man.
But before he became the poster boy for hot-blooded masculinity and the unforgettable threat -- ‘Kutte… main tera khoon pi jaaunga’ became his onscreen signature, Dharmendra’s career began as a sensitive romantic lead. Appearing in so-called heroine-oriented films — the thoughtful prison doctor who falls for an inmate in Bandini (1963), the sensible writer who sparks the shy heroine’s self-discovery in Anupama (1966), and the empathetic barrister in Mamta (1966) — he earned a loyal female following. Even in lead roles like Jeevan Mrityu’s (1970) wronged bank manager; the hot-headed criminals redeemed by love in Mera Gaon... and Phool Aur Patthar (1966), and his 1969 pièce de résistance, Satyakam where he plays an idealistic engineer faced with moral compromises — there was a consistent gentleness and sincerity to his characters.
A big part of the Hindi film hero persona is how well he works with its music. And Dharam is right up there with the greats of the game like Dev Anand and Rajesh Khanna. ‘Pal pal dil ke paas’ and ‘Aapke haseen rukh’ light up with his quiet yearning, as do romps like ‘Main Jatt yamla’ and ‘Koi haseena’ with his goofiness. It’s a testament to the star’s magnetism that ‘Gaadi bula rahi ha’ — Anand Bakshi’s life-affirming train song from Dost (1974) — plays in the background, relying entirely on Dharam’s expressive face and screen presence through its four-minute run. Or consider the melancholic solemnity of his performance in Anupama’s ‘Ya dil ki suno’. Barely moving and yet incredibly affecting, he asks ‘main gham ko khushi kaisey keh doon jo kehte hain unko kehne do’, delivering a masterclass in the art of lip-syncing.
The actor also had a natural gift for comedy and it shows up even in scenes that aren’t written exclusively as a comic track. Add Hema to the equation and it’s a scream. Like their scene in Pratigyya where he, an illiterate man posing as a cop, tricks her to read an English letter — cheeky and cracking. The star also had no qualms about looking silly or goofing around on screen. His double role in Ghazab (1982) as the buck-toothed, slow-witted ‘ghost’ who gets his dashing twin brother to avenge his death remains among his most endearing performances. And of course, as the loveable rogue Veeru, he brings a breather to the brutal world of Sholay with his iconic gags.
No one tapped into this soft, humorous side of Dharmendra better than the champions of gentle, middle cinema: Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Basu Chatterjee. Both filmmakers reimagined the brawny star as a brainy academic with a flair for mischief. The jolly botany professor masquerading as a suddh Hindi-speaking chauffeur in Mukherjee’s Chupke Chupke became a most beloved character; the liberal, easygoing Sanskrit lecturer smitten with an uptight chemistry teacher in Chatterjee’s Dillagi (1978) — an underrated gem.
After the genre-hopping and fecund ’60s and ’70s, came nearly two decades of endlessly angry titles like Jeene Nahi Doonga (1984) and Main Intequam Loonga (1982) and a long spell of shoddy B-movies most of which he seemed to sleepwalk through. Every now and then, a fiery turn like Ghulami (1985) would remind of his old spark. Ironically, some of these cookie-cutter actioners are Dharmendra’s most profitable films, sealing his image as a massy star who still draws crowds in small centres. In 1987 alone, he featured in seven of the year’s top 10 grossers, including cult hits Hukumat and Aag Hi Aag.
Dharmendra’s gregariousness, goodwill, and his reputation as an unassuming, all-heart guy are well-known. The actor turning down Zanjeer (1973) out of loyalty to a relative feuding with director Prakash Mehra is a famous film lore. These aspects of him strike a chord with both the industry and the public so much so that his drinking problem that he admits to have impacted his career and scandalous romantic entanglements as a family man — including an alleged link with his early mentor Meena Kumari and second marriage to Hema — are overlooked as minor blemishes on an otherwise beloved persona.
A vivacious star who didn’t believe in hanging up his boots, Dharmendra in his later years stayed a favourite with contemporary filmmakers who fully understood his significance in the Hindi cinema culture and, being longtime fans themselves, wrote roles worthy of him. His cameo in Sriram Raghavan’s neo-noir thriller, Johnny Gaddaar (2007) unfolds with nostalgic hat-tips to his ‘70s glory era. The actor is also a part of Raghavan’s upcoming war drama Ikkis. Karan Johar cast him as a shaayari-loving elder with fading memory, reunited with a long-lost love in Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani (2023). Watching him serenade Shabana Azmi amid Delhi’s historic monuments — lip-syncing to Bollywood classics, including his very famous ‘Aaj mausam bada beimaan’ from Loafer (1973) — was among the film’s standout moments.
In recent years, Dharmendra’s social media presence had become a lovely window into the veteran star’s life and times. The warmth with which he interacts with fans, shares vignettes of his farm life, fitness routine, open affection for his children, and fond memories of colleagues and friends — many of whom are no longer around — paint a portrait of a sentimental, grateful man who aptly called himself ‘aapkadharam’ — a people’s star through and through.
(The author is a freelance journalist)