A heartfelt remembrance of Dharmendra’s final years, shared through this touching memorial by Khalid Mohamed, tracing his solitude, poetry, humility, friendships, unforgettable screen legacy, and the silent truths he chose never to reveal.

Dharmendra’s final years, spent between his serene Lonavala farmhouse and his iconic presence on film sets, reveal a legendary star whose humility, poetry, loyalty, and unforgettable performances defined generations of Indian cinema. This tribute by Khalid Mohamed captures Dharmendra’s enduring charm, his deep connection with fans, his extraordinary versatility across classic and contemporary films, and the intimate stories that shaped his private world, offering a moving memorial to one of Bollywood’s most beloved stars. 

For close to a decade, Dharmendra spent a major part of his end years at Daiviya Dwar (Heavenly Abode), a 100-acre farmhouse in Lonavala, where he would revel in organic farming, keep up with his fitness regime at the home’s gym and pool, or jog around the green stretches of the hill town.

For company, he would hang out at tea-stalls and dhabas, chatting with the crowds which would gather. At times, he would recite poems to them, written in Urdu, a creative pursuit he had taken covertly since years.

From his Shangri-La-like retreat, he would frequently return to his bungalow in a leafy lane of Juhu-Vile Parle scheme. Reason: his warrior-like insistence on acting before the eye of the film camera and appearances on nostalgia-inducing TV reality shows. And his trademark charm and natural-born instinct to live the character, without imposing his mannerisms (not that he had any) were more than palpable even while portraying roles commensurate with his advancing age -- to mention three examples, in Sridhar Raghavan’s Johnny Gaddar, Anurag Basu’s Life in a Metro and Karan Johar’s Rocky aur Rani ki Prem Kahaani.

On his Twitter account, he would frequently post images and videos from his farm house, to keep in touch with his loyal fan-base cutting across generations. On screen, he was famously known as the Tough Guy who would just have to snarl, “Kuttey, kamine, tumhe jalaakar raakh kar doonga…” to reduce the baddies to pulp with his legendary “do kilo ka haath.”

The Actor of Truth and Tenderness

That he could do equal justice to comparatively serious roles was evidenced in Bimal Roy’s Bandini, Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Satyakam and Anupama, and there was that scene stealing, grey-shaded role way back in 1964 in Mohan Kumar’s Aayee Milan ki Bela.

That there are innumerable stories about his life as a rustic teenager in Punjab and of the crests and troughs of his seven-decade-long career, can never be told is a given.

In fact, when Salman Khan was launching the book Asha Parekh: The Hit Girl, he had addressed Dharmendra sitting in the front row, saying, “There are two people here who will never be able to write their biographies. One of them is myself, and the other is (pointing towards him) Dharmendra saab. Because we can never tell the whole truth.” The audience had laughed uproariously, while Dharmendra had blushed scarlet-red and nodded a ‘Yes’.

“Look, if at all there are only two men in this film industry whom I hate for exploiting the kindness of a certain actress,” he had said in the course of an interview. When I asked their names, he did identify them but immediately pleaded that, “Please dear, keep that off the record. I don’t want to spoil this interview. Someone up there will surely give them the punishment they deserve some day.”

A year or two later, in the course of an airflight from Hyderabad to Mumbai, Hema Malini called me over to sit in the empty seat next to her and said with a tinge of amusement, “You know Dharamji is always writing ‘poetry’ which goes right over my head. He intends to publish them as his autobiography but how many readers will understand them? So, why don’t you approach Dharamji to help him with a proper, easy-to-read biography?”

That was one generous offer, I had to refuse. Yes, I knew Dharmendra’s filmography thoroughly but wouldn’t dare to intrude on the aspects of his life which he had preferred to keep strictly private.

A Poet, a Mystery, a Man of Loyalty

Perhaps several posthumous biographies on Dharmendra will now emerge from writers by cobbling together his published quotes and dubious statements derived from so-called “unimpeachable sources”. Be that as it may, I still hope his innumerable poems will be published by his family into a collection.

Incidentally, I’ve never seen Dharmendra as thrilled as he was on the success of Apne, an action-romance blend helmed by Anil Sharma, headlining him with his sons Sunny and Bobby Deol. He had ‘phoned from Vancouver to say, “The film is a big hit here and I believe, the collections are picking up with every show in Mumbai and Delhi. Now maybe we can revive our film production banner (Vijayta Films) because we don’t know what else to do besides acting in films from our hearts.”

Once Dharmendra was fond of anyone, it was forever. Proof: To celebrate the first anniversary of HT Café, an entertainment supplement I was editing for Hindustan Times, an event was organised at a new oceanfront restaurant-lounge in Juhu. By one of those errors by a courier agency, the invitation hadn’t reached him. Despite that he was among the first to arrive, immaculately dressed in a navy blue suit and maroon tie. Looking at me crossly, he laughed, “Bad boy, very bad, why wasn’t I invited? But here I am, I will always be a part of your family wherever you are whether you like it or not.”

The Last Dance, The Eternal Blessing

That incident humbles me to this day. And the last precious image I’ve stored in my heart is that of Dharamji, dear Dharamji taking the floor that evening to dance his mix of disco-bhangra. Exhausted as anyone would be after an hour or so, he said, “Bless you. Be happy wherever you are, but never forget me.”

Can anyone?