When you think of an iconic Dharmendra scene from Sholay, what comes to your mind first? Probably the visual of a fuming Veeru as he beseeches Basanti not to give in to Gabbar's leery demands. Or maybe the iconic tanker scene. Or, of course, the iconic 'Kutte main tera khoon pee jaaunga' dialogue. These are what have made imprints on pop culture.
But what about the moment when Veeru embraces Jai and weeps inconsolably as the latter breathes his last. It's one of the most unadulterated crying performances in our movies, especially at a time when Dharmendra's action image ruled the box office and set trends for the industry. This display of an emotional man, not thinking twice to showcase his vulnerability, was rare.
Unfortunately, that's not what the world associates Dharmendra with. Much after Sholay, in the mid- and late-80s, even as the Hindi film industry struggled to bring audience to theatres, it was Dharmendra and his action-entertainers, year after year, that raked in the moolah. So if Dharmendra is remembered as the macho he-man, it was for a fair reason, but it was also unfortunate. The veteran had a specific image, and he had to cater to a specific audience, making him one of the greatest crowd-pleasers of Indian cinema.
However, it wasn't like Dharmendra didn't try to break the mould. Interestingly, he navigated the early years of his career in a completely different avatar.
In Bimal Roy's Bandini (1963), Dharmendra played the gentle catalyst to the visceral coming-of-age journey of Bandini (Nutan). Despite his towering appearance and effortless charisma, Dharmendra was a rare actor who wasn't fixated on hogging the limelight.
It was only poetic that Bimal Roy's assistant and legendary filmmaker Hrishikesh Mukherjee tapped into the same gentle side of Dharmendra like few others could imagine.
In Anupama (1966), Dharmendra played Ashok, a sensitive writer who is vulnerable to the melancholies of the world and sees the same melancholy in Anupama, and helps her as she discovers herself. We remember the protagonist of Satyakam (1969) for his unmistakable idealism that proves lethal for his survival in an increasingly corrupt world.
In the late 60s and early 70s, Dharmendra played many roles like this, where the hero was ideal and headstrong but also gentle in a way few other hero figures were.
In Yaadon ki Baraat, one of the most memorable visuals is that of an emotional Dharmendra finding his long-lost brothers at a club, and yet unable to embrace them because of the dangerous circumstances. Such moments managed to be elevated by the sheer presence and warmth of Dharmendra.
This was probably why lyricist-director Gulzar chose Dharmendra for a brief role of a dreamy, romantic writer who weaves poems about his beloved's little habits and quirks in Kinara (1977). The macho man could also turn into a pining poet with elan.
On the other side of this gentleness lies the ability not to take himself too seriously, which is why Dharmendra was the perfect casting for films like Chupke Chupke and Dillagi. Both of these films had him playing a professor. While Parimal Tripathi was a joyous one, Swarnakamal, the professor from Dillagi, was far more sombre in his demeanour.
Unfortunately, besides Hrishi Da and a few others, not many others could visualise Dharmendra in that space. And so the He-Man succumbed to his popular image of breaking bones and bashing goons because that's what the market wanted, and what Dharmendra was for the aam junta.
But things changed with the turn of the millennium, and newer voices came into the picture. Be it in Life In a Metro, Apne, or Johnny Gaddaar, we saw a Dharmendra that was back at his vulnerable best. Can the Man's man also be an emotionally affected senior citizen living his twilight years with a certain yearning and melancholy? Even when playing an ageing crime boss, can he take a quick detour to yearn for the memory of his lost love and even die while listening to her voice on tape? Well, the man who made Satyakam and Chupke Chupke could definitely do it.
In what remains one of the most memorable cameos of recent times, Dharmendra played an ageing romantic caught between realities of the present and the shattered dreams of his past, in Karan Johar's Rocky aur Rani Ki Prem Kahani.
Here, he played Kanwal Randhawa, a poet who has succumbed to the family pressures but is quietly longing to meet Jamini (Shabana Azmi), his one true love. When he finally comes face to face with Jamini 47 years later, Kanwal finds the strength to get up from his wheelchair as he walks towards Jamini, singing, 'Abhi Na Jaao Chhod Kar', with a smile on his face that can only come from truly loving a woman. Just like it happened 50 years ago, when Hindi cinema wanted a sensitive man in love.
This is probably how we should remember Dharmendra. The man who could break bones effortlessly was also the man who broke hearts just as easily, and more importantly, breathed life into the idea of a man who was always open to the idea of loving and being loved.
