Raju Korti
For a generation that is hooked on the likes of Salman Khan, Hrithik Roshan and Shah Rukh Khan as the ultimate emblems of masculinity, Dara Singh may probably just be the mythological character of Hanuman that he essayed in his later years in long-drawn sagas like Ramayan and Mahabharat. But ask those who were privileged to see this hunk in his prime and they will assert that the man who juggled the role of a wrestler and a celluloid action hero with so much aplomb, was a hunk in true sense of the word.
In the sixties, Dara Singh held out a constituency of his own. His six feet two frame had the kind of rippling muscles that would make look Salman's pale as fragile arteries in comparison. But there was much more to the born wrestler that he was. Under those steely shoulders, he had a heart softer than butter. The face may have looked like it was carved out of hard granite and the rolled up sleeves capable enough to make sobriquets like "Rustom-E-Hind" and "Hind Kesri" sit pretty on them. On the one side there were hoards of baby-faced chocolate heroes and at the other there was Dara Singh. He was truly a class and breed apart.
I had always thought of him as a B and C grade hero in the Wham-Bang-Thanks-Mam genre films where he would make short work of his on-screen rivals with the same ease that he did in the wrestling bouts. In the fleeting minutes between the action, he would turn a hopeless romantic and find time to fool around with Mumtaz and Nishi, his accredited heroines. Remember, those were the times when Mumtaz was just a glam doll used to fill up reels left over after Dara Singh's encounters with his villains. Mumtaz was persevering and lucky enough a decade later to fall into the arms of the country's first superstar Rajesh Khanna while Dara Singh had lapsed into friendly mythological roles of Hanuman in soaps and films. It seemed there was no one better than him in the country of billions to play the role.
But my two meetings with Dara Singh exposed me to a totally different persona of the man. I found him to be a complete anti-thesis of the rugged, raw, virile mass of flesh that I had seen fill the screen. Dressed in the conventional Punjabi attire and seated alongside his illustrious brother-actor-wrestler Randhawa, the first thing that struck me was his incandescent smile and warm disposition. His massive 130 kg body construct was every inch affectionate and affable. And though he hugged hard enough for me to feel that he had fractured some of my ribs, I couldn't mistake the warmth he exuded. It was a gesture that reminded me of a beautiful Rafi solo from his 1963 film (aptly titled) "Faulad".
"Dil hai hamara phool se naazuk, bazoo hai faulad
Toofano mein palnewaale, rehte hai Azaad"
It took a huge matka (pot) of Malai Lassi -- which he gulped down in one swig -- and some nostalgic memories that no one probably ever shared with him, to get him to rewind. His chest, already big enough to embrace two of my kind, swelled with further pride while narrating how he remained unconquered in all the 500-plus wrestling bouts that he fought. Some of them with traditional rival King Kong had become legendary and stuff folklore are made of. Yet, ironically, one of the films that he was the hero in was titled "King Kong".
Dara Singh never tired of reeling out how he maintained his physique, his grueling exercise schedules and his extraordinary and gluttonous intake. Without having to reel out those incredible details, I can tell you, most of us don't have the tummy for eating that kind of food for weeks. But then, he was Dara Singh, no less.
Dara Singh told me he was born to fight. "At an age when toddlers try to take baby steps, I was breaking things around me with my brute strength. So I was channelized into conventional pehlwaani where I could display my strength in all its rippling glory." That was the beginning of a distinguished and blemish-less career that spanned over five decades. He was born to conquer. Rather the word "defeat" didn't exist in his lexicon.
Dara Singh never had to act or emote with his eyes and stuff like that. He let his bulging biceps do all the talking. Who would want a macho to play a tear-jerker? In that long sitting, Dara Singh gave a spell-bonding account of most bouts -- both with his rivals in the real and the ones on the screen. It had all the trappings of an international bestseller.
When the time came for me to take his permission, he raised his genially giant frame from the chair to embrace me once again, But this time I was prepared. I just extended my hand to shake with his. For the next few weeks, I was applying pain balm to soothe my aching palm. On hindsight I should have folded hands with a "Namaste".
In the sixties, Dara Singh held out a constituency of his own. His six feet two frame had the kind of rippling muscles that would make look Salman's pale as fragile arteries in comparison. But there was much more to the born wrestler that he was. Under those steely shoulders, he had a heart softer than butter. The face may have looked like it was carved out of hard granite and the rolled up sleeves capable enough to make sobriquets like "Rustom-E-Hind" and "Hind Kesri" sit pretty on them. On the one side there were hoards of baby-faced chocolate heroes and at the other there was Dara Singh. He was truly a class and breed apart.
I had always thought of him as a B and C grade hero in the Wham-Bang-Thanks-Mam genre films where he would make short work of his on-screen rivals with the same ease that he did in the wrestling bouts. In the fleeting minutes between the action, he would turn a hopeless romantic and find time to fool around with Mumtaz and Nishi, his accredited heroines. Remember, those were the times when Mumtaz was just a glam doll used to fill up reels left over after Dara Singh's encounters with his villains. Mumtaz was persevering and lucky enough a decade later to fall into the arms of the country's first superstar Rajesh Khanna while Dara Singh had lapsed into friendly mythological roles of Hanuman in soaps and films. It seemed there was no one better than him in the country of billions to play the role.
But my two meetings with Dara Singh exposed me to a totally different persona of the man. I found him to be a complete anti-thesis of the rugged, raw, virile mass of flesh that I had seen fill the screen. Dressed in the conventional Punjabi attire and seated alongside his illustrious brother-actor-wrestler Randhawa, the first thing that struck me was his incandescent smile and warm disposition. His massive 130 kg body construct was every inch affectionate and affable. And though he hugged hard enough for me to feel that he had fractured some of my ribs, I couldn't mistake the warmth he exuded. It was a gesture that reminded me of a beautiful Rafi solo from his 1963 film (aptly titled) "Faulad".
"Dil hai hamara phool se naazuk, bazoo hai faulad
Toofano mein palnewaale, rehte hai Azaad"
It took a huge matka (pot) of Malai Lassi -- which he gulped down in one swig -- and some nostalgic memories that no one probably ever shared with him, to get him to rewind. His chest, already big enough to embrace two of my kind, swelled with further pride while narrating how he remained unconquered in all the 500-plus wrestling bouts that he fought. Some of them with traditional rival King Kong had become legendary and stuff folklore are made of. Yet, ironically, one of the films that he was the hero in was titled "King Kong".
Dara Singh never tired of reeling out how he maintained his physique, his grueling exercise schedules and his extraordinary and gluttonous intake. Without having to reel out those incredible details, I can tell you, most of us don't have the tummy for eating that kind of food for weeks. But then, he was Dara Singh, no less.
Dara Singh told me he was born to fight. "At an age when toddlers try to take baby steps, I was breaking things around me with my brute strength. So I was channelized into conventional pehlwaani where I could display my strength in all its rippling glory." That was the beginning of a distinguished and blemish-less career that spanned over five decades. He was born to conquer. Rather the word "defeat" didn't exist in his lexicon.
Dara Singh never had to act or emote with his eyes and stuff like that. He let his bulging biceps do all the talking. Who would want a macho to play a tear-jerker? In that long sitting, Dara Singh gave a spell-bonding account of most bouts -- both with his rivals in the real and the ones on the screen. It had all the trappings of an international bestseller.
When the time came for me to take his permission, he raised his genially giant frame from the chair to embrace me once again, But this time I was prepared. I just extended my hand to shake with his. For the next few weeks, I was applying pain balm to soothe my aching palm. On hindsight I should have folded hands with a "Namaste".
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