On the birth anniversary of the legendary Sanjeev Kumar, we celebrate one of Indian cinema’s finest and most versatile performers. From emotionally layered dramas to unforgettable comic roles, the actor left behind a body of work that continues to inspire generations of movie lovers.
Filmfare’s Editor-in-Chief Jitesh Pillai looks back at the legacy and story of the legendary actor whose talent and character were extraordinary. In his words:
The first sign of a great actor is when he lends himself to caricature, which is why you see a lot of second-rate hams trying to imitate Sanjeev Kumar. And failing miserably. The thing about Sanjeev was that you could almost “feel” his performances. They were that tactile. There was a goodness about them. They lacked guile. While there was craft, you could also see him channelling some inner resource, and the force of it came full blast on screen.
You have to take Aandhi (1975) or Mausam (1975). How did a 35-year-old pull off such characters? You cared for what Sanjeev did, be it Anubhav (1971), Dastak (1970) or Namkeen (1982). We invested in his life; we invested in his emotions. We share a symbiotic relationship with very fine actors on screen. Some we pay to invest in and forge relationships with.
Perhaps that’s why Thakur Baldev Singh from Sholay (1975) is unforgettable. Behind the pain, there is a menace on slow burn which hits you like a bullet in the climax. He made you cry as he did in Koshish (1972); he moved you in Arjun Pandit (1976) or Humare Tumhare (1979), or he could be outrageously funny in Pati Patni Aur Woh (1978) or hilarious in Angoor (1982).
Sanjeev Kumar had that Teflon knack. He was seamless. He gave the character actor dignity, be it in the heavyweight Trishul (1978) or Silsila (1981). Your heart went out to him because he was a friend. He was the man next door. He was the do-gooder uncle. Even when the films were godawful, like Naya Din Nayi Raat (1974) or Chehre Pe Chehra (1981), Sanjeev made you invest in his predicament.
I’ve laboured through bad films like Ayaash (1982) and Daasi (1981) just to see this man emote. He probably had a hunch that he wouldn’t live beyond 50, so he ate and drank himself silly. He enjoyed the good life. Unrequited love was his thing, and I often think he died less due to a heart attack and more due to heartbreak.
At 47, the merry bachelor upped and left, leaving behind many films like Qatl (1986), Professor Ki Padosan (1993) and Love And God (1986). You think of Sanjeev Kumar, and a smile comes to you, just like you would smile at the happy memory of a friend who never really left your side.
Happy Birth Anniversary, Haribhai.
Here are two books on Sanjeev Kumar that are worth reading for anyone who wants to know the man behind the legend:
Sanjeev Kumar: The Actor We All Loved by Reeta Ramamurthy Gupta and Uday Jariwala
A neatly curated biography, this book offers fascinating insights into Sanjeev Kumar’s life, struggles, relationships, insecurities and extraordinary career. Along with heartfelt memories from colleagues like Sharmila Tagore, Tanuja and Moushumi Chatterjee, it paints a portrait of a deeply humane yet emotionally wounded man. While one may wish for a more detailed analysis of his acting craft, it remains an engaging and affectionate tribute to one of Indian cinema’s greatest performers.
An Actor’s Actor: The Life and Times of Sanjeev Kumar by Hanif Zaveri and Sumant Batra
This book focuses more on the man behind the actor, exploring his family, early years, personal tragedies, reported romances and complex personality. Rich in anecdotes and archival details, it offers a compelling account of his life, though readers looking for deeper discussions on his performances may be left wanting more. Even so, it serves as another valuable addition to the limited literature available on the unforgettable Haribhai.
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