Dharmendra: The First Action Hero

 In Guddi, Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s iconic 1971 film about the nature of fandom, Dharmendra, who is playing himself, says: “Jis din roshniyon ne mooh pher liya, main aise andhere main ghum ho jayoonga jahan koi nahin puchega. (The day the spotlight turns away from me, I will live in darkness where no one will care about me).”

But even death couldn’t rob Dharmendra of the light he carried within him, the boy from Punjab who retained his rustic simplicity over a career spanning 65 years. The first Hindi film star whose handsome face was matched by a stunning physique, he was a poet in a pugilist’s body, a pacifist dressed as a warrior, and a philosopher trapped in a He-Man’s image.

Known widely for his action roles in movies such as Mera Gaon Mera Desh (1971),  which ushered in a new era of action films, Dharmendra was a more versatile actor than he got credit for, going from drama in the early part of his career, with directors such as Bimal Roy and Hrishikesh Mukherjee, to action with movies such as Seeta Aur Geeta (1972) and Yaadon Ki Baarat (1973), and comedy with Chupke Chupke and Sholay, both in 1975. He made everything look effortless, which made his career as long running as it was resilient, surviving the stardom of Rajesh Khanna and Amitabh Bachchan.

If his eventual second wife, Hema Malini, was the Dream Girl, he was the Dream Man, a perfect combination of good looks and great acting skill, which could stretch from the feminist poet of Anupama (1966) who persuades a nearly-mute Sharmila Tagore to come out of her father’s loveless shadow, to the late blooming lover of Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani (2023) whose one week dalliance with a poetess is the only redeeming part of his lonely life. As he said so memorably in Sriram Raghavan’s Johnny Gaddaar (2007), one of the movies in his second act which used him with love, care and a whole lot of fandom, “It’s not the age, it’s the mileage”.

Dharmendra was one of the earliest outsiders in the film industry, entering through a Filmfare contest, which Rajesh Khanna was destined to win five years later. He eventu­ally created a dynasty, with his grandson even closing the circle by marrying Bimal Roy’s grand­daughter, but not before he made his way through trial, error and unplanned charisma.

There were many things he did that were unusual. One of them was his role as a CBI officer disguised as a thief in Krishna Shah’s Shalimar (1978), which his co star Zeenat Aman memorably described as a film where she, an English speaker, had to speak predominantly in Hindi, and he, a Hindi speaker, had to speak in English. In retaining his salt of the earthiness and his robust Punjabiyat, Dharmendra was a superstar who communicated directly to his audi­ence, as authentic and real. There was no artifice in his performance, no superficial gloss in his presence.

Whether he was infamously growling at tabloid jour­nalists in his youth, drinking himself silly on shoots (as did many in the days before super chefs and super managers) or romancing Hema Malini, the object of every co-star’s at­tention, he was always himself. Son of Punjab. Man of the people. Hero of the working class. As he said so famously in a television interview, “Agar sharab na hoti, ishq na hota.” (If there was no drinking, there would be no romance).”

If Dara Singh defined the pahalwan era, Dharmendra re­fined it, famously divesting himself of his shirt to cover a shiv­ering old woman in Phool Aur Patthar (1966), the movie which united him with Meena Kumari, who taught him a love of poetry and, it is said, of drinking. The scene where a shirtless Dharmendra stands over Meena Kumari, who is pretending to sleep, only to cover her with a blanket, his muscles gleaming in the dark, still sizzles nearly 50 years on. He continued with his machismo filled roles in Mera Gaon Mera Desh (1971), a precur­sor to Sholay, in which he plays a thief turned village protector. It was a film where he was the object of Laxmi Chhaya's atten­tion, strapped to a stake, like a human statue as Chhaya asked so memorably, “Maar diya jaye ya chood diya jay, bol tere saath kya salook kiya jay (Should we killl you or release you, tell us what we should do with you?).”

BUT DHARMENDRA’S MACHISMO was a kind­er, gentler masculinity than what one sees now. One has to only listen to Hema Malini blushing as she tells Simi Garewal in Rendezvous with Simi Garewal that Dharmendra was always "loving, affectionate and soft spoken" and even when he had to hold her hand on­screen, he would do so with gentlemanly care. That, how­ever, was not the image of Garam Dharam—the monicker given to him by Stardust editor Shobha Kilachand, now Shobhaa De—one grew up with. The notorious incident of Dharmendra chasing Eve’s Weekly and Star & Style col­umnist Devyani Chaubal across the Turf Club in Mum­bai at a fundraiser was etched in public memory after the Queen of Mean, as she was called, wrote about it in detail. She had make the mistake of writing about Dharmendra and Hema Malini going to great lengths to spend time to­gether. It was in 1977 and Dharmendra was on the rampage that day, first assaulting director Basu Bhattacharya and then Blitz/Cine Blitz reporter MS Krishna. It was only after three days that Dharmendra surrendered himself to the police and was set free on a bail of `950. Among the half-ad­miring voices of support for him, there was actor Randhir Kapoor who asked what else could one expect of an “uneducated peasant”.

The actor was proud to be a villager. “Main dehaat ka ladka hoon,” (I am a boy from the village)', as he said in Guddi, who carried with him the smell of the earth, and assumed that everyone would be fed equally. It was only when he came to the city, that he realised that it was not so, he adds. Not surprisingly, in later years, he was happiest when he was at his farm in Lonavala.

Dharmendra’s pursuit of Hema Malini was legendary.

 She was a top star, and both Sanjeev Kumar and Jeetendra wanted to marry her. But it was Dharmendra, whom she met in 1970 on the sets of Tum Haseen Main Jawaan, that she eventually married in 1980, much against the wishes of her iron-fisted mother Jaya Chakravarthy. Dharmendra was married to the reclusive Prakash Kaur, and the father of four children, and not the most eligible of spouses.

He was a romantic, in every way, led by his heart, which is what the Bengali directors early in his career tapped into, most notably Bimal Roy and Hrishikesh Mukherjee. He acted in a Bengali film as well in 1966, Paari, directed by Jagannath Chatterjee and co starring his idol Dilip Kumar. One of his most successful directors, Pramod Chakravarthy, was not so famous but definitely box office friendly, giving him hits such as Naya Zamana (1971), Jugnu (1973), Dream Girl (1977), Azaad (1978), and Jagir (1984).

He often felt like a Bengali, Dharmendra said. He was going to play Devdas in Gulzar’s film with Hema and Sharmila as Paro and Chandramukhi. But that was shelved. That is an actor's life. Hrishikesh Mukherjee discussed Anand with him, in great detail, but then before he knew Rajesh Khanna was cast in it.

Dharmendra spawned an acting dynasty, with sons Sunny and Bobby Deol doing very well in their careers, and Esha Deol, one of his two daughters with Hema Malini, becoming an actor too. But he believed that neither he nor his family got enough appreciation from the industry. This persecution complex, real or imagined, was a constant refrain in the lives of the Deols, even though both Dharmendra and Sunny had stints as MPs as well.

IN THE END, what Dharmendra did off screen didn’t matter. He has left a definitive movie legacy and to watch him onscreen is to instantly fall in love with him. The filmmakers were clever, ensuring women in the audience got more than an eyeful whether it was him playing badminton in teasingly tiny shorts in Guddi or prancing around as a pauper/prince dressed in a minuscule leather skirt in the faux period piece Dharam Veer (1977).

But there was enough for the men too, who could en­joy his happy go lucky physicality in movies such as Seeta Aur Geeta, for instance, where as street performer Raka, he falls in love with the docile Seeta in a case of mistaken iden­tity, or in the first of the typical masala movies, Yaadon Ki Baarat, where he played the thief Shankar who is haunted by the murder of his parents. It is here that he first uttered the iconic dialogue: “Kuttey, kaminey, main tera khoon pee jayunga.” (Dog, rascal, I will drink your blood.)

Even in lesser movies in the 1990s, he still stood out with his undeniable presence in low budget action films before switching to father roles in Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kyaa (1998) with Salman Khan who adores him, and eventually, as in Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani, grandfather roles.

Most actors are remembered for a handful of films, from one genre. In the case of Dharmendra, it is an embarrassment of riches. One of my favourite roles is Dharmendra as Profes­sor Swarna Kamal in Basu Chatterjee’s Dillagi (1978) teaching Kalidas to a group of giggling girls and earning the ire of the chemistry professor Phoolrenu, played by Hema Malini. While she teaches the properties of sulphur dioxide, he is explaining how Parvati melted before Lord Shiva.

In a world dominated by logic, Dharmendra was pure love. Everyone else was all brain, he was all heart. The stars came and went, this supernova lasted forever.