As we mourn the passing of Dharmendra at 89, just days before what would have been his 90th birthday on December 8, we remember not just Bollywood’s original He-Man, but something far more precious ‒ the heart of Hindi cinema itself.
In an industry often characterised by carefully crafted personas and strategic career moves, Dharmendra stood apart. While his contemporaries navigated their paths with calculated precision, this legend represented something fundamentally different. Authenticity. There was nothing Machiavellian about his journey, nothing contrived about his relationships, nothing manufactured about his appeal. He was, in the truest sense, real.
From the moment he won that Filmfare talent contest in the late 1950s and arrived in Mumbai from Punjab, Dharmendra brought with him an honesty that would define his entire career. His debut in 1960 with Dil Bhi Tera Hum Bhi Tere may have gone unnoticed initially, but it was the beginning of a journey that would make him one of Indian cinema’s most beloved figures. Not because he played the game better than others, but because he refused to play games at all.
Consider his versatility. He wasn’t just an action hero who stumbled into comedy or a romantic lead who grudgingly accepted character roles. He was an actor who genuinely loved every facet of his craft. In Satyakam (1969), he delivered what many consider his finest performance. A portrayal of an idealistic man struggling with moral complexities, showcasing emotional depth few action heroes would dare attempt. In Chupke Chupke (1975), he revealed impeccable comic timing that had audiences in stitches. As Veeru in Sholay, he created an icon that balanced vulnerability with heroism, playfulness with courage.
This wasn’t strategic career management. This was pure passion for the craft, an artist refusing to be boxed in by labels or genres. Where others might have protected their ‘image’, Dharmendra simply acted and in that simplicity lay his genius.
A man who loved wholeheartedly
Perhaps nowhere is Dharmendra’s innate sincerity more evident than in his personal life. Be it in his closeness with the legendary actress Meena Kumari or his brother-like ties with his idol, Dilip Kumar. When he fell in love with Hema Malini during the filming of Tum Haseen Main Jawan in 1970, he didn’t hide that either. He simply loved ‒ openly, honestly and with the same earnestness he brought to every role on screen.
Yes, the circumstances were complicated. He was already married to Prakash Kaur, his wife of sixteen years and mother of his four children. A more calculating person might have had a discrete affair. A more image-conscious star might have hidden the relationship. But that wasn’t Dharmendra. He was a man in love, yet he didn’t abandon his first family. Instead, he found a way, however unconventional, to honour both his existing commitments and his new love and wife.
And remarkably, all parties involved responded to his honesty with grace. Prakash Kaur, in that extraordinary 1981 interview with Stardust, defended him and said that he was still a good father, who fulfilled his responsibilities to both families.
Hero of the masses
On screen, Dharmendra never pretended to be anything other than one of us. Unlike stars who seemed to exist on a different plane of reality, Dharmendra was always accessible, always relatable. Whether playing a villager in Mera Gaon Mera Desh (1971), a circus owner in Mera Naam Joker (1970), a professor in Chupke Chupke, or a prison doctor in Bandini (1963), there was an earthiness to him that audiences immediately recognised and loved.
This wasn’t method acting or carefully constructed characterisation. This was who he was ‒ a boy from Sahnewal who never forgot his roots even as he became the most handsome man in Indian cinema. Jaya Bachchan called him a ‘Greek God’. Madhuri Dixit said he was ‘one of the most handsome persons I have ever seen on screen’. Salman Khan declared him ‘the most beautiful looking man’ because of the innocence and vulnerability in his face combined with a strong physique.
But Dharmendra never let this go to his head. He remained, always, the Punjabi boy who loved his land, his farmhouse in Khandala and the simple pleasures of life. In his later years, he chose to spend time at that farmhouse with Prakash Kaur. That quiet life was a full circle journey back to the values with which he started.
The generosity that kept giving
In an industry where egos are currency, Dharmendra was known for his generosity. He spoke warmly of his contemporaries, including Rajesh Khanna, whom many assumed was a rival. He kissed Rajesh’s forehead during success celebrations and worked with him even after their supposed ‘competition’. He called Amitabh Bachchan ‘the star of the century’ without jealousy or reservation. This wasn’t political correctness, this was genuine warmth.
His collaborations tell the story of a man who valued relationships over billing. He worked with Hrishikesh Mukherjee on intimate character studies, with Ramesh Sippy on grand epics, with Pramod Chakravorty across different genres ‒ each collaboration born not of contractual obligation but of genuine artistic camaraderie. His longest association was with director Arjun Hingorani, spanning three decades. It was a testament to loyalty that’s rare in any industry, let alone one as transient as cinema.
The legacy of authenticity
As we look at Dharmendra’s career spanning 300 films and 65 years, what strikes us isn’t just the box office records (and there were many. For instance, he was the only actor to deliver seven successful films in a single year, twice) or the awards, including the well-deserved Padma Bhushan and Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award were well-deserved. What strikes us is the consistency of character.
He never played games with his directors or co-stars. He never manufactured controversies for publicity. He never pretended to be something he wasn’t. In an industry built on illusion, he offered truth. In a profession that often demands people wear masks, he showed his face.
This is why, unlike some of his contemporaries whose stars have dimmed as their eras passed, Dharmendra remained beloved across generations. The same charm that made him a sensation in the 1960s still worked in Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani in 2023. The same honesty that audiences recognised in Phool Aur Patthar (1966) still resonated in Teri Baaton Mein Aisa Uljha Jiya in 2024. The man never changed because there was never any pretence to maintain.
A ‘He-Man’ with a difference
In remembering Dharmendra, we’re not just remembering an actor or a star. He was the He-Man with a rare warmth. A spirit that loved fearlessly, worked tirelessly and remained true to itself through six decades of stardom. The heart that never hardened, never calculated, never betrayed its essential nature.
His story tells us something important in an age of carefully curated personas and strategic career management. The lesson that authenticity endures. Love without guile leaves no bitterness. Talent without artifice creates timeless art. A life lived openly, with all its complications and contradictions, resonates more deeply than any carefully constructed image ever could.
With Dharmendra’s final bow, just days before his 90th birthday, we don’t just mourn a great actor. We mourn the passing of an era when Bollywood had room for people who were simply, beautifully, unapologetically themselves. We mourn the loss of cinema’s most honest heart.
Rest in peace, Dharam paaji. You showed us that being real was the greatest performance of all.