The Star Who Made Us Feel

Indian cinema has lost one of its most enduring presences. Dharmendra, who passed away today, leaves behind a body of work that shaped the emotional memory of several generations. His death marks the end of a cinematic era—an era defined by tenderness, humility, and a kind of effortless charm that modern stardom rarely allows. His legacy lives not only in iconic films but in songs that became part of India’s collective soundscape. From the romantic yearning of Aap Ke Paas Jo Aayega in Kaajal to the evergreen exuberance of Main Jat Yamla Pagla Deewana, his screen presence breathed life into melodies that still echo in households across the country. Dharmendra didn’t just act in songs; he inhabited them, lending each moment a sincerity that made even the simplest gesture memorable.

The gentle comedy of Chupke Chupke remains one of his defining triumphs. Here, Dharmendra’s Professor Parimal Tripathi was all mischief and grace, playing with language while anchoring the chaos with a warm, disarming charm. The humour never turned loud; it flowed with the same lightness he brought to songs like Jaaneman Jaaneman from Chupke Chupke itself, where the playfulness of his performance elevated the film’s rhythm. And then there is Sholay, a film that sits at the summit of Indian cinema. As Veeru, Dharmendra made heroism accessible. His flirtation in Koi Haseena Jab Rooth Jaati Hai captured a carefree romantic energy that only he could deliver with such ease. The song endures because Dharmendra infuses it with a kind of vulnerable joy, an admission that this tough, swaggering man could be undone by love. His romance with Basanti, his friendship with Jai, and his tender moments in Yeh Dosti Hum Nahi Todenge helped establish the emotional landscape of Sholay. These songs are now cultural artefacts, not just because of their melodies, but because Dharmendra made them feel lived in.

Long before superstardom, Dharmendra was simply Dharam Singh Deol from Punjab, arriving in Bombay with little more than persistence and a dream. That background shaped the man he became, unpretentious, soft-spoken, and deeply grounded. Even during the heights of his stardom, when magazines proclaimed him the “He-Man” of Hindi cinema, he remained a figure of quiet sincerity. His gentleness off-screen seeped into his performances.

Dharmendra’s acting range was immense. He could be tender in Anupama and Satyakam, fierce in Phool Aur Patthar, and irresistibly funny in Seeta Aur Geeta. His musical moments were equally diverse. His filmography is scattered with songs that are now part of India’s nostalgia. Each one carries a memory of Dharmendra’s natural, unforced charisma. Colleagues often described him as generous with co-stars, with junior artists, with the many technicians who built the industry from behind the scenes. Stories abound of his courtesy: arriving early, offering help, defusing tensions with humour. In film industries where ego often overshadows empathy, Dharmendra remained an exception. This humanity shaped the characters he played. Audiences trusted him because he seemed trustworthy.

Even as his appearances grew fewer, his cultural presence never dimmed. Younger viewers rediscovered him through streaming platforms and iconic songs. His interviews, filled with nostalgia and candour, revealed a man who carried fame without letting it corrode his simplicity. Dharmendra represented a rare combination—an action hero with emotional intelligence, a romantic lead with restraint, a superstar who remained accessible. The grief following his passing stretches across generations. For many households, his films and songs are part of family rituals, Sunday afternoons with Sholay, festive laughter with Chupke Chupke, old recordings of Pal Pal Dil Ke Paas playing softly in the background. These associations make his loss feel deeply personal. Dharmendra wasn’t merely a star; he was part of the fabric of everyday Indian life.

His passing marks the fading of a certain cinematic temperament. Dharmendra’s heroes were strong without cruelty, romantic without manipulation, and humorous without mockery. His songs carried innocence rather than spectacle. He made masculinity gentle, and gentleness heroic. What he leaves behind is luminous: a legacy of films, melodies, and memories that have outlived every trend. Dharmendra’s gift was deceptively simple; he made audiences feel something real. And in his songs, as in his films, that truth will continue to resonate.