A moving image on a screen has its own irresistible charm — a distinct kind of glamour. In our country, whether it is cinema or cricket, there is always a mysterious kind of obsession. Ideally, a film should be about its story and the art of telling it. But over the decades, “cinema” slowly became synonymous with “the hero.” Today, most people go to theatres simply to watch a star.

And yet, if we look at Indian cinema as a whole, most of its stars began as actors first and evolved into icons later. In the early years, it was the characters we saw on screen. Over time, the actors overshadowed the roles. Dharmendra was no exception.

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The moment I heard of Dharmendra’s passing, the walls of my childhood village flashed before my eyes — the old paper posters hanging from ropes, the images of Sholay, Yaadon Ki Baaraat, Chupke Chupke pasted on plastered walls. In those posters, his eyes always carried the unshakeable confidence of a young man who had stepped out of a small Punjabi village with nothing but a dream.

He was born in 1935 in Nasrali, a small village in Punjab — the son of a schoolteacher. One day, after watching Shaheed, he fell completely under its spell. It was as if the cinematic images had entered his dreams. Imagining himself within those scenes, he set out for Mumbai, chasing the very world that had captured him.

His first attempt ended in failure, and he returned home. But a modest newspaper advertisement — the Filmfare Talent Hunt — pulled him back to Mumbai with renewed hope. The distance between his village and the city of dreams was vast, but before Dharmendra’s persistence, that distance steadily shrank.

His first role came in 1960 with Dil Bhi Tera Hum Bhi Tere. Hindi cinema then preferred heroes with fair skin and polished suits. In that era, the arrival of this rugged Punjabi young man felt like a breath of fresh air.

Look across his films — the quiet, tender love he portrayed as Nutan’s doctor in Bimal Roy’s Bandini; the soldier in Haqeeqat; the rough, hardened man in Phool Aur Paththar who still removed his shirt to shield an old woman — Dharmendra was never a one-tone actor. Behind his eyes there was always a subtle, deeply human gentleness.

In our childhood, many young men secretly envied him. “He has looks, personality — and a great deal of luck,” they would say. People even called him the Greek God.

But for me, the night I watched Satyakam, I could not sleep. I lay awake quietly, thinking, “This is what a man should be,” brushing my hair back as if to steady myself. That may have been the first time I thought so profoundly about a hero.

Later, I grew especially fond of Pyarelal, the role he played in Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Chupke Chupke. The playful mischief in his words still lingers. Lines like “Saheb, aa ke aa ke… khada hoon” return to me with a smile. A botany professor turning into a Hindi-purist chauffeur and producing unforgettable comedy — that was magic possible only through Dharmendra, and through Mukherjee’s gentle filmmaking.

And then came Sholay, a film that transported us into a different era altogether. I watched it in stereophonic sound at Ramakrishna 75 in Hyderabad. Dharmendra’s Chaplinesque charm, his teasing glances at Basanti, the lightness he brought to Veeru — all remain unforgettable. Jai’s death gave Amitabh sympathy and stardom, but Sholay stands on the shoulders of Veeru, Thakur, and Gabbar — its true pillars.

With Hema Malini, films like Raja Jani, Jugnu, and Seeta Aur Geeta bloomed with the fragrance of pure romance. Their onscreen chemistry gracefully spilled into real life.

More than an actor, Dharmendra was known for his generosity. He kept his doors open for anyone from his village who came to Mumbai. I do not remember many of his films from the 1980s and ’90s, but in Ghulami and Batwara, the hardness in his eyes was not age — it was the imprint of life itself.

In his later years, his humility and humanity in films like Life in a… Metro and Johnny Gaddaar lit him once again like the tender-hearted Dharmendra of the 1960s. Even that gentle kiss with Shabana Azmi in Rocky Aur Rani… felt like a reminder that love remains within us until our last breath.

Looking back, Dharmendra was far more a hero than merely an actor. He belonged to a generation, to an era. He was a true Hi-Man poster. In mainstream Hindi cinema, if one wishes to define the word “legend,” Dharmendra stands as the perfect example.