Today is the birthday of Dev Anand, the ‘evergreen’, charismatic legend of Indian cinema. Thinking about him takes me back to an unforgettable evening in December 2005 when I met him. Of course I remember his words. But more than that, I remember his heart. A small gesture that leaves a rare impression

Here’s what happened that evening:

At that time, I was a TV producer working with a news network in Delhi. I was in Mumbai with my show host and crew. We had just endured a rough day dealing with the inflated egos and entitled anger of the two “star sons” we interviewed.

Exhausted from those two episodes, we were ready to go back to Delhi that night when we got a sudden phone call. Dev Anand’s PR team was offering us an interview for his upcoming film, Mr. Prime Minister.

Frankly speaking, Dev Anand was no longer that kind of ‘TRP property’ news network.

But really who could say no to Dev Saab?

The youngest is 82 years old

We reached his Pali Hill residence and were guided by his son, Sunil Anand, to the top floor penthouse of a 4-storey building at 42, Pali Hill. There was a private lift inside, and our entire staff used it to reach his office. It was a beautiful place full of old world charm, soft lights and walls decorated with timeless pictures of Dev Anand’s great life.

As we were setting up our cameras we heard someone walking up the stairs. Yes, the stairs. It was 82-year-old Dev Anand himself, who left the lift and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor like a young man.

They entered the room smiling warmly, hugging and complimenting my show host. Then, he proceeded to shake hands with each of our crew members, personally thanking us for coming on such short notice. He politely asked if we wanted tea and snacks before or after the shoot. We chose the latter. Then, he went down the stairs, saying he’d be back in a few minutes. Fifteen minutes later, he rode in right behind them, now wearing a brown jacket with a large collar. “I’m ready to go!” Evergreen Star announced. Our fatigue disappeared, swept away by his boundless energy.

What a stark contrast to the entitled star sons from that early day!

“Dev Anand Lives in the Future Tense”

When we told him that the show was a biographical look at his past and philosophy of life, he was shocked.

“I don’t live in the past! Memory is not for me. Dev Anand lives in the tense of the future,” he declared, though he kindly added that he would answer whatever he asked. She then flashed that classic smile, flirting with the host of my show by telling her she was in his next movie. She laughed dejectedly.

After a walk down memory lane, recounting the classics Guide, jewel thief And Hmm bothHis romantic image, and the fond rumor that he was not allowed to wear a black suit in public, took a gentle turn to the conversation. The host of the show asked him about Suraiya, the legendary singer-actress and the love of his life, who passed away a year ago, in January 2004.

“I loved Suraiya so much, and I was heartbroken when we couldn’t get married!”

It felt like an unexpected question. He stopped. But unlike many Bollywood stars who shrug it off or dismiss it with a practiced “we were just co-stars,” there was a sudden softness in her eyes.

“I loved Suraiya! And she loved me,” he said. That single, heartfelt sentence would eventually become the promo for our show.

His rule that “Dev Ananda lives in the future tense” was slowly dissolved as he turned the page back to where it all began. During the shooting of Vidya (1948), when she was still a freshman and Suriya was already a huge star, a romantic boat scene went awry. The boat capsized, Suraiya slipped into the water, and the young Dev immediately dove in to pull her to safety. That cinematic rescue led to a four-year romance, ultimately broken by her conservative grandmother’s religious opposition.

Dev Anand recalled giving her a diamond ring as a token of his heart. He remembers buying it from Zaveri Bazaar in Mumbai. But when her grandmother cruelly threatened to take her own life if she went ahead, Suraiya was heartbroken and, according to the story, threw the precious ring into the sea.

“I loved her so much, and I was heartbroken when we couldn’t get married,” she reflected quietly in our interview. “Had we married, who knows where my life would have taken me? Would I have been the same Dev? Would I have made films like this? Who knows?” With that, he gently closed the chapter.

He later married his co-star Kalpana Karthik in 1954 in the middle of a film shoot, with whom he had two children: son Sunil (who recently passed away in London) and daughter Devina.

It also reminded me of something Suraiya later shared in an interview (1972 Stardust) – how they used to talk about their dream of having a daughter during their marriage. Suraiya had said that they will name her Devina. Dev Anand finally named his daughter Kalpana Karthik Devina. There was something wonderfully nostalgic and romantic about the way their stories secretly lived together.

Suraiya decided not to marry after her separation from Dev Anand. She remained single, living a quiet life with her memories until her death in 2004.

“You just have to keep working. Success and failure are not in your hands.”

As soon as he talked about Suraiya, he moved on to his upcoming film, Mr. Prime Minister. He pauses thoughtfully when we ask if he hasn’t been disheartened by a string of box-office flops over the past two decades.

“Failure hurts,” he admitted. “But you can’t dwell on it. You move on.”

When it was suggested to him that he had many famous films he could remake, he quickly replied, “I don’t want to repeat myself. Why go back to old ideas? You’re not the same person you were in 1950. Go ahead! My mind is always full of new ideas and new stories. I write and work on several scripts at once. I’m not working yet and you don’t have time to fail.” is. In your hands I want to make “I will die if I stop working.”

In an industry where a few box-office failures usually spell the end for a producer-director, Dev Anand commanded endless goodwill for decades, regardless of how his films fared. Stars like Jackie Shroff, Rekha, Hema Malini and Naseeruddin Shah continued to appear for him. A film reporter friend once asked Naseeruddin Shah, known for being so selective with his scripts, why he did Dev Anand’s films. His direct reply was: “No one says no to Dev Saab. He asks you to do a role, you arrive on set, you have fun, and the bonus is that you work with a great actor.”

When Dev Anand called my father

That evening at Pali Hill, when we called for pack-up, the ever-charming made sure our host was happy with the interview. As the crew headed for tea and snacks, he caught me looking at him with a quiet smile. “I saw you laughing behind the camera,” he said softly. I confessed, “Sir, I was only thinking of my father. He is your biggest fan. He will be very happy when he hears that I have met you today.”

Dev Anand smiled warmly and asked my father’s name. He started asking her what she did, where she studied, and what she liked to do. I smiled, assuming it was just a typical old-school charm meant to comfort a young crew member.

What he did next was far beyond common decency. It was something he didn’t need at all.

“Call Usman Sahib,” said Dev Anand.

I was wondering. Smiling, he added,What is your number??” (You have his number, right?)

I quickly dialed my father. Although they knew I was in Mumbai for work, interviewing Dev Anand was not on our agenda.

“papaI am in Mumbai. Dev Sahib wants to talk to you.”

“WHO?”

“Goodbye, papa… Dev Anand We are fine in his place.”

I handed over my phone. With boundless energy, Dev Sahib said: “Usman saab, disrespect! I am speaking Dev Anand. how are you?”

I honestly don’t know how my father managed to form a coherent sentence. No more unexpected phone calls from their silver-screen idol when people are sitting at home in their pajamas!

Dev Anand continued, “I met your son, and he is sitting right in front of me…” He told my father how honestly hardworking I am.

In turn, my father excitedly told him about his films in the 1960s, his college days, and buying tickets in Black to see him on the big screen.

“Usman sir, As you are appreciated, so are we!”(Usman SirWe exist only because of true fans like you!) said Dev Sahab warmly.

He closed the conversation with a line I’ll never forget: “You are here, remember, your home is here.(Whenever you visit Mumbai, remember, this is your home!)

I thanked you silently, standing in complete awe as I stared at him for the remaining minutes before we left.

Over the next two decades, my career as a journalist and writer covering the film industry gave me the opportunity to meet countless celebrities. I saw rare moments of kindness and encountered a lot of arrogance, none of which is uncommon in showbiz. It’s hard to stay grounded when millions of people worship the ground you walk on.

But that one evening at Pally Hill remained for me the absolute standard of what a true star and a great man looked like.

My father still remembers that phone call, word for word.

Dev Ananda was eternal, and will always be.