🔴All the stars were seen at Dharmendra’s funeral? Fans reached the funeral and darshan? Dharmendra Deol

In a world dominated by artificial glamour and fleeting digital fame, few voices emerge that echo through time with a sincerity that pierces the heart. One such voice belongs to Dharmendra Singh Deol — not just the Bollywood icon of decades past, but a living poem, a farmer at soul, and a philosopher by instinct. As rumors swirl and hearts ache in uncertainty about his health, Dharmendra’s words return, more powerful than ever, reminding us that some lives do not fade — they become legends.

“I am a son of the soil,” he says with the quiet pride of someone who knows where he belongs — the earth. “Even as I die, I will do something. With my fading, aging breath, I will steal a few more, tear through the chest of this earth, and sow a new crop.” These aren’t just words — they are a declaration of relevance, resilience, and regeneration. This is not a goodbye; it’s a promise.

His poetic monologue continues, painting fields in our minds: “When once again the fields wear the green blanket… the youth in my breath will return, and with it, life.” He imagines himself, aged and weak, holding the sickle in his hands, singing Baisakhi songs as golden crops sway under the sun. “I will lay down mounds of gold,” he concludes — not for wealth, but for the joy of having lived a life of meaning.

It is no wonder that fans are heartbroken and confused. Social media, that tireless engine of half-truths, has been flooded with unconfirmed reports of his death. According to several outlets, Dharmendra, aged 90, passed away after being hospitalized for weeks at Mumbai’s Breach Candy Hospital. His health has undeniably been fragile in recent months, and sources report multiple ICU admissions. But no member of the family has come forward to confirm or deny anything with certainty. Silence, it seems, has become the default response — respectful perhaps, but painful for those who’ve loved him for generations.

As this information vacuum grew, so did the misinformation. Heartless rumors circulated faster than fact. Some claimed he had already passed. Others whispered of last rites. It was enough to send fans rushing to his home, hoping for just one glimpse. But inside, Dharmendra lay in isolation, unaware — or perhaps, more aware than we’ll ever know — of the digital hysteria outside.

What is remarkable is that, even in the midst of illness, pain, and rumor, Dharmendra’s own words continue to spread — not fear, but hope. His recent videos, whether from his hospital bed or earlier from his quiet moments of reflection, speak to something eternal. “Even after achieving everything, life can feel like nothing,” he muses in another recording. “Why does the soul resist leaving? Where does it go, who takes it away — like something stolen in the night?”

Such musings do not feel like the end. They feel like deep breaths — tired, but full of wisdom. In a voice soft with age but firm with truth, he tells us: “Expect nothing — the more you expect, the more sorrow will grow. Live with joy, and life will shape itself beautifully.”

He doesn’t just offer philosophy. He offers motion. “Get up,” he says. “Get up and go somewhere — anywhere. Sit too long and you’ll fall asleep. It’s not time to sleep yet.” These are not the words of a man defeated by age. They are the commands of a warrior — not with weapons, but with verses.

In a touching moment from a rehabilitation session, we see Dharmendra gently being coached through physical therapy. “Push your hand forward,” the trainer says. “Move your arms.” He obeys, slowly, but with full presence. The man who once carried action films on his back now finds glory in lifting his own hands. And even in those frail moments, he smiles. He listens. He repeats the exercises. The poet and the fighter are one and the same.

And then he gifts us one more poem: “Life, my life, is an interesting tale — one that passed in fleeting moments, disguised as daily routine.” There is no bitterness. Only observation, acceptance, and a sly recognition of life’s quiet trickery. A reminder that we all get busy living, only to realize later how quickly the days have passed.

Yet this isn’t a eulogy. Dharmendra is still here. His body may be in ICU, but his soul remains very much alive — alive in every word, every fan standing outside his home, every farmer who sees a bit of himself in the actor, and every aging man who finds courage in his poetry. And even if that final moment comes, even if the breath does stop one day — what he leaves behind is more than enough.

The fields he imagines, filled again with green, are not just metaphor. They are his legacy — a legacy of hard work, dignity, and the simple joys of being true to oneself. In an industry that has often sold glitter in place of gold, Dharmendra remains the pure metal — unfiltered, unrefined, but priceless.

And while the headlines may change — from health updates to tributes, from rumors to eventual reality — one thing is certain. His legacy will not be built on box-office numbers or awards. It will be built on his refusal to surrender to despair. It will be built on his poetry. It will be built on the memory of a man who, even as he faced mortality, spoke like a seed — ready to sprout again, in the hearts of those who still listen.

As he said:
“Tawakkon na karo… Udaasiyan aur badhengi.
Live freely, joyfully — and life will find its rhythm again.”

So whether you’re a lifelong fan or someone who only now discovers the depth of Dharmendra’s heart — take a moment. Say a prayer. Leave a comment. Not because he is gone, but because he has given us so much while he is still here.

As he would say himself: “Love you all. Take care. Enjoy your life.”

Play video :
https://youtu.be/euoIjOGCAzA?si=ZjJvjvy-6ijQQRmS