Oh dear lord! Cover me with eternal shame. Mea Culpa. I did something unspeakably awful—a nostalgic, sentimental Instagram post on He-Man of India, Dharmendra, which ended with a poignant #RIPVeeru. I was embroiled in the fake news controversy, which had swiftly created a tsunami across social media.
So many of us—seasoned mediawallas—jumped the gun and posted heartfelt condolences for a beloved actor who was ailing. But alive. Incredible how rapidly the rumour of his death spread, and more importantly, how many responsible people believed it—from Minister of Defence Rajnath Singh to Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath, misled by their tagda intelligence reports. Who are we in comparison? Tributes started pouring in.
This isn’t the first time fake news about a celebrity’s death dominated headlines. Lata Mangeshkar was killed off several times during the past few years, till she finally died in 2022, aged 92.
Such was the devotion and love for Mangeshkar, we wanted her to live forever. Ditto for Dharmendra. But with Dharmendra, the story is a little different. Given his advanced age (89), and the fact that he was in the ICU of Mumbai’s prestigious Breach Candy Hospital, the tragic “news” didn’t seem entirely implausible.
From superstar to superbeing
Here’s the thing – why did so many of us fall for it? Why did I ? For one, I got calls from senior editors of national publications requesting me to urgently write Dharmendra’s obituary. Why me? Well…I was the one who dubbed him “Garam Dharam” way back during the naughty Stardust magazine days. It was a tag that stuck, one that he more than lived up to.
“Is the news confirmed?” I asked the first editor who was breathing down my neck. “Our on-the-ground sources are reporting from the hospital and they have cross-checked it,” I was told. By then, every television channel was flashing the news of his death, and my phone was ringing nonstop. To add to the suspense, a few media friends were exchanging information over WhatsApp chats. “Arrey, my wife’s good friend is a junior doctor INSIDE the ICU. She’s saying the news is pakka.” I had a tight deadline ( 5 pm ), and was focusing on recalling a few old stories from the Stardust zamana, relying more on memory than archives (surprisingly and shockingly, Stardust has not maintained comprehensive archives).
Later the same night, I received more calls from film industry sources. Some of them had exchanged notes about the actor’s touch-and-go condition at Zarine Khan’s prayer meeting. Actor and film producer Sanjay Khan’s wife of 60 years had suddenly passed away in Srinagar, leaving her loved ones shattered. A despicable video from the ICU was also circulating, with disturbing footage of sobbing family members.
It was around then that Dharmendra’s daughter Esha Deol issued a heartbreaking appeal to the public, pleading with the media not to spread rumours about her father. Meanwhile, there was a heavy movement of Bentleys, Maybachs, and Range Rovers belonging to Bollywood’s top stars arriving at the hospital to meet the family. Speculation raged. “Must be condolence calls.” Obituaries were still being filed. “Come on, ya. The family must be waiting for Sunny to arrive from London before announcing the news.’’
None of this is a justification for killing off a dearly beloved hero—the original He-Man of the silver screen. But when objectively analysed, all the optics led to just one conclusion, a tragic one. But lo and behold! A miracle took place.
The nation heaved a sigh of relief, and fans across the world cheered. Dharmendra was very much with us. Not just that, he was discharged by his trusted physician, the very capable and much respected Dr. Pratit Samdani. Jubilation. Jai ho!
There were countless red faces (including mine), as we hastily deleted posts and apologised to family members. It was a genuine, unintentional goof-up sans malice. The reassuring sight of Dharmendra, propped up by his sturdy sons, Sunny Deol and Bobby Deol, smiling bravely for the cameras before stepping into the waiting ambulance for the journey home, brought tears to the driest of dry eyes. In that one seminal moment, Dharmendra moved seamlessly—from Superstar to Superbeing.
While Bollywood was busy mourning its own (a spate of untimely deaths during the past month), a blast in Delhi further shook the grieving metropolis, as Mumbai tightened security and went on high alert. Terrifying clips of the attack provided nasty reminders of what Mumbai had endured during the 2008 terror attacks, but with one major difference. Back then, Mumbai was attacked by outsiders. Pakistanis. The Delhi blasts were allegedly planned by our own people—doctors, at that.
Mumbai cops called the strictly imposed security checks a “precautionary alert”. At Cuffe Parade, where I live, people seemed unconcerned, despite the proximity to the dreaded Badhwar Park, where Ajmal Kasab and nine other terrorists had arrived in a hijacked dinghy, nonchalantly walking through the old fishing village, asking for directions to their targeted venues like the CST, Cama Hospital, Trident Hotel, and the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel.
Seventeen years later, Mumbai has moved on, deluding itself that it’s the “happiest city in India”, according to some bogus survey. Mumbai’s uncanny knack of supposedly “moving on” ( like a jilted lover ) from any and every calamity is often lauded by outsiders who rave about the mysterious “Spirit of Mumbai.” Much of this is an over-romanticised myth. The ugly truth is Mumbai just about stays afloat, managing to hang on precariously, survive, and thrive despite the odds.
Also read: SRK is more Johnny Depp than Depp
Nothing fazes Mumbaikars
While the Delhi blast temporarily halted the non-stop party that’s Mumbai, grand, super luxe events went ahead like nothing major had happened. Mumbai stops for no one and nothing. The city’s gorgeous people drifted from one fabulous evening to the next, like the Art Deco Soiree celebrating the architectural connections between Miami and Mumbai. Invitees agreed it was a superbly well-curated event, perfectly designed for the costumed cognoscenti.
A few days later, the boys, popular designers Abu Jani and Sandeep Khosla, celebrated “One Thousand and One Nights – A Fashion Fantasy” at the Race Course as a part of the third edition of the Art Mumbai celebrations. The spectacular show, featuring more than 50 alarmingly good-looking models, had invitees panting. The mix of a few OGs, several trans personalities, and a cross representation of ramp walkers from across India, with an emphasis on the North East, knocked the harem pants off every salivating fashionista on the lawn. The opulence, decadence, extravagance, seduction, and sheer drama that incorporated suggestive choreography ( think menage a trois and orgies) were generously applauded by the elite audience, with knowing giggles and winks.
Bihar elections? “Oh, those…haan. That Nitesh dude is back, right? But tell me—any more news about Paaji? I watched his new reel…he’s the coolest!”
Shobhaa De is an author, columnist, social commentator, and opinion-shaper. She has written 20 books. She tweets @DeShobhaa. Views are personal.
(Edited by Ratan Priya)