Remembering Bollywood's Vinod Khanna

In Bollywood, that thrived on drama, he had no histrionics, no over-the-top banality to show. He never had to try too hard.

When I was finally allowed to watch Amar Akbar Anthony in the mid-80s (on VCR), there was only one takeaway. Vinod Khanna. Amitabh Bachchan was the bigger star - the biggest there ever was (and is) in India probably - and Rishi Kapoor was sweet and endearing. But Vinod Khanna was effortless. In Bollywood, that thrived on drama, he had no histrionics, no over-the-top banality to show. He never had to try too hard. What also helped was the fact that he was the best-looking Indian actor to have graced the screen; and that could well be a crown he'll continue to wear even as he crosses over to the other side.
A few years before I became his committed fan, he had gone off the radar - having become the "monk who sold his Mercedes", at a time when public hysteria surrounding him was at feverish pitch; he had delivered hit after hit - Muqaddar Ka Sikandar, The Burning Train, and, most notably, Qurbani. He had taken off to the US, where he was living in Osho's Rajneeshpuram in Oregon; he gardened, did dishes and cleaned toilets. In an interview to Anubha Sawhney in The Times of India, he later recounted, "I have always been a seeker. In the film industry, I had money, glamour, fame but wondered 'now what?'"
Five years later, he returned to India, enlightened and possibly better rounded spiritually. His personal life had disintegrated by then, but there was never any "gossip" or loose talk. Always dignified, and always a great one to take things in his stride (he remarried in 1990, to Kavita), he made his comeback with Insaaf. At a time when film releases were not preceded by hype and hoopla, the way they are now, here was one film everyone I knew was looking forward to: the electrifying combination of Vinod Khanna and Dimple Kapadia (also on a comeback spree). I loved Insaaf (as I loved most of his films), but it didn't quite prove to be the kickstart of a blitzy second innings. Vinod Khanna had matured beyond his scope to fit into a landscape that had stars like Govinda and the Khan pantheon emerging.
I lost that fervent touch with my favourite matinee idol, though I'd always catch him in on-and-off ventures - Dayavan, Jurm, and, later, Leela. And I noted, with considerable glee, that he created brand magic endorsing Cinthol soap. "I use Cinthol, do you?" he'd say dreamily, whipping up lathers of consumers. Everyone in my family became Cinthol users after the advert released.
I then heard of him joining politics, something I'm not particularly interested in, but I was happy to know he was mostly on a winning streak at his constituency - Gurdaspur (he won in the last Indian general elections in 2014) - and was appointed Union minister for culture and tourism (in 2002), followed by a stint as MoS at the ministry of external affairs.
His sons from his first marriage had been making a mark as well - more Akshaye Khanna, who's an incredibly talented actor. but not a patch on his father, I'd always maintain.
Earlier this month, a friend forwarded a photo of Vinod Khanna in a Mumbai hospital. It broke my heart. He looked a shadow of his former self. Gaunt. Reduced. Something I'd never imagined him to be. Apparently, he had been admitted for acute dehydration, but there were hushed whispers doing the rounds about the 'C-word'.
Turned out he did have bladder cancer. It got him - as cancer is wont to - in a few weeks.
Everyone talks of his masterful, underlaid performance in Mere Apne and Achanak (that was later rehashed into the dreadful Rustom last year), but I have a different vision of Vinod Khanna when I think of him. On a bicycle. In an almost forgotten film titled Aarop (that also starred the other Vinod - Vinod Mehra, who I used to absolutely love, and who passed away in 1990 at the age of 45), Vinod Khanna romances Saira Bano with panache while cycling, wearing same-tone shirt-pants - a fashion faux pas that only he could convert into a statement - and sandals. The bicycle could have replaced the most loaded Ferrari.
I'm also remembering him in Qurbani, standing on the beach, next to Zeenat Aman, the folksy tune of Hum tumhe chahte hain aise playing on the high seas, looking more handsome than anyone ever has (I used to wonder, very angrily, why on earth was Zeenat clinging to notions of Feroze Khan and not falling headlong into Vinod Khanna's arms).
Vinod Khanna, thank you for making my life charmed each time I turned on the television and you appeared on the screen - riding a wild horse on the edge of the beach (the Cinthol advert). May you live on.
-sushmita@khaleejtimes.com