Bonding with Dharam over love for Urdu

ONE balmy morning in March 2011, I chanced upon Dharmendra Singh Deol at a guest house in Lonavala. Dharmendra had a sprawling farmhouse at Lonavala, which had a huge gymnasium. He often came out and chatted with the locals without any air of arrogance. It was one of those casual visits. I was carrying a copy of the Urdu broadsheet ‘ Inquilab,’ which I had picked up from the local railway station. After an exchange of ‘Aadaab ‘ and ‘ Sat Sri-Akaal’, he asked me: “Aap Urdu padhte hain?” (You read Urdu?). I told him that it was the only tongue I read and wrote fluently. Surprised, he took the paper from my hand and began reading it effortlessly. His childlike innocence floored me. He told me that he preferred to read and write Urdu. He had learnt it at Ramgarhia College, Phagwara, Punjab.

Dharmendra’s love for Urdu poetry is a part of Bollywood folklore. He said he had penned many ghazals and couplets in Urdu. "Saahab-e-deewan hain aap?" (Do you’ve a compilation of Urdu poetry to your credit?), I asked him. He said, "Sab muntashir aur betarteeb hai. Lekin ek kitaab ki shakl dene ki soch raha hoon." (Everything is scattered and not well organised, but I intend to get it published in the form of a book).

Dharmendra was a very emotional person and a man of gratitude. His words still echo in my consciousness: "Main aaj jahan kahin pahuncha hoon, sab ki duaon ke sahare." (If I’ve reached a certain position, it’s because of the goodwill and wishes of all). He narrated how he left his home in a village in Punjab and came to Bombay to become an actor. Inspired by Dilip Kumar and Suraiya, his sole objective was to appear on the silver screen. He was such a great fan of Suraiya that he had watched her film ‘Dillagi’ (1949) 40 times! With tears in his eyes, he said, "2004 mein jab Suraiya ji Allah ko pyari hueen, main unki mayyat mein shareek tha." (When she breathed her last in 2004, I was there to bid adieu to her). A fine gentleman that he was, he didn’t mention that just a few actors attended her last rites.

I asked him, "Log aap ko garam-Dharam kahte hain" (people call you angry Dharam). Laughing, he recited his own couplet, "Lamhe bhar ki berukhi tumhein yaad rahi / Zindagi bhar ka khuloos tum bhool gaye." (You remembered my momentary annoyance / But you forgot my lifetime of nicety). Dharmendra regretted having ill-treated journalists like Devyani Chaubal and Krishna. "Main unka gunhagaar hoon." (I’m morally answerable, having mistreated them).

When I told him that my favourite song, ‘Jaane kya dhoondhti rahti hain ye aankhein mujh mein...’, from ‘Shola aur Shabnam’ was picturised on him, he hugged me, saying, ‘Barkhurdaar, aap toh us waqt paida bhi nahin hue honge’ (my dear, you were not even born at that time).

Hours glided by. He shared innumerable anecdotes with me. We had dinner at his farmhouse. Such a disarmingly simple man! Adieu, Dharam ji. You were indeed a legend.