Jat Yamla Pagla Deewana

Dharmendra's tenderness revealed itself without any threats to his masculinity. He adapted himself throughout his 65-year-long career as both a product and creature of the times he lived through

- Debiparna Chakraborty

UNLIKE his contemporaries, Dharmendra was never a dancer in the classical filmy sense. He didn't thrust like Jeetendra or glide like Dev Anand nor did he woo with Dilip Kumar's tortured longing. Instead, songs on Dharmendra played out like scenes interrupted by music where the gaze did most of the work. Directors often framed him in closeups, letting the softening of his eyes do most of the heavy lifting. Even in the rare moments of exuberance, it was the looseness of his body, not precision, that seduced audiences. This subtlety made his song sequences feel intimate.

For an actor remembered primarily for his physicality, his songs can easily map the man Hindi cinema made of him—from the shy Bimal Roy find of the early '60s, to a romantic lead, to the action star who became a national obsession, to the ageing hero who endured stretches of irrelevance. In the recent decades, Dharmendra finally graduated into becoming the sentimental patriarch in the public consciousness.

News of his death, at 89, has reopened an archive of melodies and memories for old fans and young. When I asked my parents what their favourite Dharmendra songs were, both of them named “Woh Shaam Kuch Ajeeb Thi” before adding that it primarily belonged to Rajesh Khanna and Waheeda Rehman. Still, they insisted, Dharmendra's presence left an impression. Written by Gulzar and composed by Hemant Kumar, this one was sung by Kishore Kumar. Dharmendra's appearance in Khamoshi (1969) was striking. He was playing the part of a barely-visible emotional cipher. For an A-list male star to take such a quiet, almost ghostlike role was unusual in an era defined by showmanship and ego. His face appears and disappears like a memory, establishing early on that Dharmendra could evoke longing without dominating the frame.