The Heartbeat of Generations
From my earliest memories, Dharmendraji has been a part of my life. Growing up in the Khar-Bandra area, I watched his films with wide-eyed admiration and found him to be the most handsome actor to ever grace the screen. Because I lived in that neighbourhood, I often wandered near shooting locations and saw film units at work. I can still picture him vividly-standing on set, surrounded by lights and cameras, and yet radiating the ease and warmth of someone who belonged to everyone. Even as a child, I admired him instinctively. Watching him shoot for films like Naukar Biwi Ka, Biwi O Biwi, Biwi Ki Jhooti, and Sachai shaped the way I saw him as an artist and as a person.
What struck me at a very young age was the way he treated people. He spoke to everyone-the phone boy, the lighting technicians, the spot boys, the assistants. He never differentiated between people based on their position or importance. Even before I fully understood the world, I realised one thing about him: he was a people’s person in the truest sense. He connected effortlessly, naturally, without barriers.
Years later, when I entered the film industry and met him properly for the first time, our bond felt instantly comfortable. Every time I met him-at events, functions, parties, airports, or even mid—air on flights—he encouraged me. He spoke fondly about the films I made, the themes I chose, and the kind of cinema I believed in. I had the privilege of visiting his home once or twice, memories I treasure deeply. Over the years, I always stayed in touch. I called him on his birthday, on Diwali, on anniversaries, and on other occasions-just to greet him with the respect and affection he so effortlessly inspired.
Meeting him was always a delight. He was the most lovable, zinda dil human being-gracious, down-to-earth, and incredibly warm. People often ask me why, despite knowing him so closely, I never worked with him. The truth is simple: I never had a script worthy of him. Dharmendraji wasn’t just a big star; he was a towering presence. Casting him meant justifying his persona, his aura, and the expectations that naturally came with his name. I remember watching Johnny Gaddar for the first time and being stunned by his performance — it was brilliant, effortless, flawless. But unless I had a script heavy enough, powerful enough, I could never offer him a role. Had I found such a script, I would have made a film with him without a second thought.
People sometimes ask whether there was something surprising about him that the audience never knew. My answer is always the same: there was nothing hidden about him. He was exactly the same in real life as he appeared in public-honest, open, warm, and wonderfully transparent. His reels in the past few days have reminded me again of just how outspoken he was. He never shied away from expressing whatever was in his heart.Even in today’s social-media-driven world, he remained remarkably open and relatable.
He connected with the Instagram generation with the same ease with which he once mingled with film crews. His Instagram page became a hit because he spoke simply and honestly-about his friends, his farmhouse, his memories, and everyday moments. Every day I looked forward to his reels, always wondering, “What has Dharamji said today?” He swam, he farmed, he spoke directly to his fans, and he remained connected at an age when many withdraw from the world. After he passed away, I found myself watching his old reels again and again, missing him deeply. That was his charm: he instinctively made people feel close to him.
Young people today, who may never have watched his films in a cinema hall, still connect with him because his legacy carries an ageless glow. Even if they did not grow up watching him as we did, they discover him now. OTT platforms, YouTube, television-these platforms have kept his classics alive. Films like Chupke Chupke, Sholay, and Seeta Aur Geeta continue to captivate new audiences. When he became active on Instagram, younger fans searched for him, Googled him, and rediscovered his filmography. I once travelled to Russia and was surprised-even there, Seeta Aur Geeta was still widely remembered and loved. His impact is global and enduring.
As a filmmaker, many of his films taught me invaluable lessons. Satyakam remains one of the most brilliant films ever made in Indian cinema. Chupke Chupke revealed an entirely different side of him. In Seeta Aur Geeta, he was superb. In Sholay, he was flawless. Then there were the commercial entertainers I watched in theatres with joy-Tahalka, Aag Hi Aag, Hukumat, and many others. He had hidden gems too: G.B. Dutt’s Patthar Aur Payal, where he delivered an unforgettable performance, and Qayamat, where he played a negative character with remarkable intensity. These roles remain underrated, but I have revisited them countless times simply to admire his craft.
Even in later years, he had a magnetic presence. When he appeared on screen, you felt instantly that this was a man who could save the world if the need arose. His presence was huge, his stardom undeniable. And it came not from calculation, but from conviction. That is something today’s actors must learn. Nowadays, actors overanalyse scripts, search for subtext, and get trapped in layers. Dharmendraji was different. He listened to the one core idea-the director’s vision-and would say, “I’ll do it.” That was his instinct. He never chased stardom. He trusted his gut, trusted filmmakers, trusted stories. Actors came and went, but he remained consistently beloved because he never let doubt overshadow intuition.
Going through his filmography recently, I realised that there were years-like 1973 and 1987-when he delivered seven or eight hits in a single year. That is the power of belief. No one knows what will click at the box office; he understood that better than anyone. He never trapped himself in a single image. He performed high-octane action in Phool Aur Patthar, thrillers like Yadon Ki Baaraat, comedies like Chupke Chupke, and emotional dramas like Dillagi. He never worried about whether a comic role would harm his image. He simply performed with sincerity.
Beyond cinema, what defined him most was his generosity. Throughout my childhood, I heard countless stories about his kindness. If a producer’s film stalled midway, he would tell him to finish it and pay later. If someone wanted to start a film but lacked funds, he made sure it began. He helped people with school admissions, marriages, medical emergencies-quietly, without expecting recognition.
This is why he was called the He-Man-not just for his muscular screen presence, but because he was a pillar of strength to so many. If I had to choose one defining truth about him, it would be the lasting impression he left as a human being. Dharmendraji will be remembered for generations. His films, his nature, his kindness, his straightforwardness-all of it continues to resurface even today. Social media overflows with clips, interviews, and memories of him. That is the measure of the love he inspired.
He will always be remembered-not just as a star, but as one of the finest human beings the industry has ever known. His warmth, simplicity, and humanity will continue to resonate long after us. For me, and for millions of others, he will forever remain unforgettable.
(The writer is an Indian film director, screenwriter and producer. In 2016, He was honoured with the Padma Shri)
