An Era Has Ended with Dharamji!

There are moments in life when the weight of a loss settles slowly, and Dharmendra’s passing feels exactly like that — a quiet ache that deepens each time his name is spoken. The film industry stands unsettled, almost as if a familiar heartbeat has paused, closing an era that will never return.

I often think back to the days when I first arrived in Bombay as a young clapper boy, barely twenty or twenty-one. I was a nobody, and when you are a nobody, very few people treat you well. Dharmendra was already at the peak of his career, yet he was warm, polite, and treated me with respect even though I had done nothing to earn it.

That kindness stayed with me and shaped the way I saw him-both as an actor and as a human being. I have always called him a very unusual actor and a very unusual human being. He carried within him a rare spectrum: a gentle innocence wrapped in strong masculinity. Though he looked powerfully masculine, he possessed tremendous softness, sincerity, and purity of heart.

People found him irresistible partly because of that complexity. Despite his striking looks, there was an innate innocence in him. In his personal life he remained strong, dignified, and full of self-respect, yet remarkably humble, almost unaware of his own stardom. He spoke like any ordinary person and had a modesty that was disarming. I have seen him get embarrassed by his own success.

I remember how naturally he fit into the world of Sholay. We had worked earlier in Seeta Aur Geeta, and when Sholay was written, it was almost taken for granted that Veeru would be his role. He poured his spirit into every scene and every dialogue. The exuberance and energy he brought were entirely his own.

I often wonder how different Veeru would have been if anyone else had played him. He owned that space completely. He was equally convincing as a sober, honest man. He could touch both ends of the emotional spectrum and remain believable – that kind of flexibility is rare. In some roles, he was simply extending his own nature.

In Anupama, you see his gentle, polite side. In Chupke Chupke, you see his humour. In his action films, you see his strength. Every role carried some part of him. When people ask which of his characters I loved the most, I often say Anupama. It may seem unusual because he is known for so many iconic roles, but in Anupama he seemed farthest from the image people had of him-and perhaps that is why the performance stands out.

Dharmendra witnessed the evolution of Indian cinema, and so did I. We were part of a golden era-the sixties, seventies, and eighties-a package filled with good, bad, ordinary, and extraordinary moments. The new era is its own package with its own strengths. If that was the feudal time, this is the industrial time.Life gives us these packages, and his passing marks the end of one such chapter. For future generations of actors and filmmakers, he leaves behind a legacy of dignity and humility.  

He will remain an example, a reference point. Young actors will watch his scenes and wonder how he managed to be so gentle in some roles and so powerful in others. He delivered hit after hit and was one of the most bankable stars of his time. Audiences adored him. They related to him even though he was unbelievably handsome-especially in the seventies and eighties.

Each time I saw him, I would think, How can a man look this good? He had an edge over everyone, and his following among women was extraordinary. I witnessed it myself: when he was shooting, crowds of women would gather, and one had to be blind not to notice the admiration in their eyes.

Another memory has stayed with me always. Once, early in my career, he shouted at me on set. Later, he called to apologise. He had no reason to, yet he did. I felt embarrassed but deeply moved. That gesture captured who he was-polite, dignified, and full of heart. Few in this industry were loved the way he was.

From simple fondness to deep affection, people felt everything for him. He was a lovable person, adored by almost everyone. In a cutthroat industry where genuine affection is rare, he was loved by all.

Today, as I remember him, I feel grateful that I knew him, worked with him, and shared time with him. His warmth, humility, humour, and extraordinary presence will stay with us. His work will remain, his memory will remain, and the love people had for him will remain.