By Kulbhushan Kain
I must admit at the outset: I don’t think Dharmendra was the finest actor I ever saw. If one were to speak of pure craft, of technique and depth, I would place Amitabh Bachchan, Sanjeev Kumar, Dilip Kumar, and Naseeruddin Shah above him. But cinema is not mathematics; it is alchemy. And in that magical space where charm, beauty, vulnerability, and star-power meet — Dharmendra stood in a league of his own.
In my lifetime, I have met three men whom I truly believe were among the most handsome to ever grace Indian screens: Shashi Kapoor, Vinod Khanna, and Dharmendra. All three dazzled me in ways that go beyond description. And if someone were to put a gun to my head and ask me to choose only one – I would choose Dharmendra.
My memories with these men are as vivid as yesterday. I once met Shashi Kapoor at the Maiden Hotel in Delhi. I was young, starry-eyed, and predictably autograph-hunting. He looked at me with those soft, amused eyes and gently scolded me, asking why I wasn’t studying instead of chasing film stars. It was a rebuke wrapped in affection — the kind only Shashi Kapoor could deliver.
Vinod Khanna, on the other hand, brought with him a quiet, magnetic warmth. I remember him telling me at a school annual function – half in jest, half in admiration — that he wished he could be a school Principal if only he had my looks. Coming from a man whose screen presence could stop conversations mid-sentence, the remark has stayed with me all my life.
But it is my meeting with Dharmendra that I remember the most — not because it was dramatic, but because it was so quintessentially him.
It was 1978. I was in Karnal, accompanying my brother-in-law who was in the IAS, to a meeting at the tourist resort near the Chakravarty Lake. As his official car rolled into the complex, we noticed a crowd gathered outside. I joked with him — a very influential man in those days — that perhaps he had developed a fan following of his own, seeing so many people waiting.
We laughed our way in, only to be told that all the people had gathered because Dharmendra had stopped over for refreshments
And then, as we entered, my brother-in-law was whisked away to a private room where his meeting was scheduled. I found a seat and scanned the hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dharmendra. But he was nowhere in sight.
Since I needed a wash break, I decided to head to the restroom. In those days, the entrance was marked by two wooden flaps — each half of a swinging saloon-style door. As I approached and was about to push it open, I sensed someone on the other side trying to do the same, this time to exit. I paused. The person on the other side paused too.
And then the door swung just enough for me to see him.
It was Dharmendra.
For a moment, I could not believe that a human being could look so impossibly handsome. The camera had loved him for decades, but in person, he was something else — taller, more radiant, and unfailingly gracious. He immediately stepped back, gesturing courteously that I should enter first. Embarrassed, I murmured, “After you, Sir.”
He smiled — that famous, devastating smile that had launched a thousand swoons — and replied, “After you, Sir.”
He was dressed in a deep green suit paired with a yellow tie, a combination I would never dare to wear. But on him, it looked regal. Effortless. He even smelled impossibly good, like someone who carried stardom lightly but impeccably.
A little later, my brother-in-law finished his meeting, and we were formally introduced to Dharmendra. To my astonishment, he instantly recognised me. With a twinkle in his eye and a booming laugh, he said, “Yes, we met — near the bathroom!”
It was such a simple moment, but that was Dharmendra: a superstar with the manners of a village nobleman!! And, by the way — once I returned to Chandigarh, I made a quiet decision: my next suit would be a green one. It didn’t matter that I could never carry it the way he did. Something about that encounter that effortless charm wrapped in green fabric and a yellow tie, lingered with me.
Dharmendra’s passing is not merely the loss of an actor; it is the fading of an era — a gentler, more innocent time in Indian cinema. He embodied a rare combination of rugged masculinity and tender vulnerability, a man who could fight a dozen villains in one frame and melt a million hearts in the next. He was a superstar who smiled easily, spoke softly, and treated strangers with affection. In a world where stardom often builds walls, Dharmendra remained beautifully, disarmingly human. And that, more than anything else, is why he will live on — not just in the films he leaves behind, but in the memories, hearts, and green suits of those who were lucky enough to cross his path.
(Kulbhushan Kain is an award winning educationist with more than 4 decades of working in schools in India and abroad. He is a prolific writer who loves cricket, travelling and cooking. He can be reached at kulbhushan.kain@gmail.com)
