A Quiet Evening for a Giant: Delhi Remembers Dharmendra
PICS – SHAZID CHAUHAN
On December 11, 2025, the Dr. Ambedkar International Centre on Janpath seemed to hold its breath—a rare stillness settling over the hall, charged with reverence, love, and collective grief for the legendary Dharmendra.
The prayer meeting, hosted by Hema Malini along with Esha and Bharat Takhtani, and Ahana and Vaibhav Vohra, drew a crowd that spilled beyond the hall—a quiet testament to a city and a nation pausing to offer their final salute.
From 4 to 6 pm, the space became a convergence of worlds that seldom intersect: political leaders, film personalities, industry veterans, and admirers from every corner of India. Protocol and hierarchy softened, replaced by shared sorrow, admiration, and gratitude.
Union Home Minister Amit Shah, Lok Sabha Speaker Om Birla, BJP President J.P. Nadda, Ministers Nirmala Sitharaman and Kiren Rijiju, and several other senior MPs were among the dignitaries who arrived in silence to pay their respects. MPs and leaders from both ruling and opposition benches—rarely aligned in sentiment—stood side by side in tribute. From the film fraternity came Ranjit, director Anil Sharma, Kangana Ranaut, Senior BJP Leader Anurag Singh Thakur and several artists and technicians who had known Dharmendra not through headlines, but through years of lived experience on set.
Shah described the actor’s passing as a “great loss” not only to Indian cinema but to humanity itself. He shared a personal anecdote that revealed Dharmendra’s warmth: although he had never met the actor personally, Dharmendra had once called him during Hema Malini’s election campaign, expressing heartfelt concern that she win by a good margin—a small but telling glimpse of his kindness and loyalty.
Filmmaker Anil Sharma, who directed Dharmendra in films like Hukumat and Apne, also stepped forward to speak. His voice thickened as he recounted their final meeting. Even in his later years, Dharmendra’s love for cinema remained unshaken. “The camera is my lover and it is calling me,” he had told Sharma—a testament to the unending passion of a performer whose heart never left the screen.
The air shifted palpably when Hema Malini approached the podium, with her daughters. Her composure trembled. Her voice, when it finally emerged, carried both strength and heartbreak: For a family so accustomed to public life, grief is seldom private—yet on this evening, it felt profoundly intimate. Esha and Ahana’s eyes brimmed almost instantly.
“Aaj ki is prarthana sabha mein aap sab ka swagat karte hue, main bahut hi bhavuk ho rahi hoon. Maine kabhi nahi socha tha ki meri zindagi mein aisa pal aayega… jab mujhe mere Dharam ji ke liye shok sabha rakhni padegi.” (As I welcome you all to today’s prayer meeting, I am becoming very emotional. I never imagined that a moment would come in my life when I would have to host a condolence meeting, especially for my Dharam ji.)
She paused to steady herself, but the tears continued. She described his passing as an “inconsolable shock,” the breaking of a companionship that had endured for more than fifty years—through films, through marriage, through every triumph and every storm.
She remembered him as “always down-to-earth… humble… and full of warmth,” a man who, despite legendary stardom, remained deeply human. She spoke of the quiet, unwavering support he offered her, calling him the “strong pillar” behind her life and career. Her voice softened as she recalled their daughters—how tenderly he embraced fatherhood, how he ensured their weddings were held with dignity and blessing, and how their five grandchildren lit up his later years more brightly than any spotlight ever could.
In an emotional revelation, Hema Malini also shared a hidden facet of Dharmendra’s personality: his love for Urdu poetry. Over the years, he had discovered a talent for reciting love for poetry, reciting spontaneous couplets. Hema often encouraged him to compile these into a book, confident that fans would treasure this intimate glimpse of the man behind the screen. “He had even begun planning it,” she said softly, “but this wish remained unfulfilled”
Across the hall, dignitaries and industry veterans listened with moist eyes, each recalling his simplicity, humility, and generosity. Many described him as a “superstar who lived in people’s hearts,” a man whose charisma came not merely from the characters he played, but from the person he was.
Outside, a quiet sea of fans had gathered—some clutching flowers, others holding weathered posters carried since their youth. Many had travelled long distances simply to stand in his memory. The crowd was not noisy, not chaotic—just deeply respectful, aware that they were witnessing the final chapter of a legend’s journey.
As the evening drew to a close, Hema Malini offered one last line, her voice barely above a whisper:
“Unki yaadein zinda hain… aur rahengi. Kyunki woh sirf mere nahin, sabke the.”
“His memories live on… and will continue to live. Because he didn’t belong only to me—he belonged to everyone.”
And in that moment, Delhi’s winter air felt heavier yet gentler holding the memory of a man who shaped generations, who loved deeply, and whose legacy will continue to shine long after the lights of the city dim.
