DEVANAND

Born: September 26,1923

Died: December 3,2011

His Autobiography “Romancing with Life” is  interesting  story of his  life journey from a young boy to man who rules the world of Hindi cinemas for decades.

>In one of the chapters of the book , he mentions about his collection of marbles, he used to play with. One day in a fight with other boy, marbles fell and he lost  all of them, his prized collection was gone.

> he also collected postal stamps. During his initial days in Bombay, he used to stay with famous writer, film maker K.A. Abbas. One day he decided to leave Abbas’ house and carve a new life for himself without being dependent on someone. He had no money to support himself. He found a buyer for his collection of stamps. After bargaining price, finally he managed to get 30 Rupees for his collection, reasonably big amount those days .

Dev Anand’s chapter with Zeenat Aman reads less like gossip and more like a poignant passage from a romantic’s diary—tender, vulnerable, and unmistakably human.

He discovered Zeenat at a moment when Indian cinema itself was changing. Hare Rama Hare Krishna did not merely launch her career; it unveiled a face and presence that seemed sculpted from Dev Anand’s own imagination—modern, luminous, and unafraid. He nurtured her talent further in Heera Panna and Ishq Ishq Ishq, watching her transform from a promising newcomer into a star who commanded attention without trying. For Dev, she was not just an actress he introduced to the world; she was a dream he had helped bring to life.

In Romancing with Life, Dev Anand does not shy away from the truth. Film magazines had already begun weaving stories around them, and this time the whispers were not unfounded. He admits to being emotionally involved with Zeenat, candidly acknowledging how deeply smitten he was. His words carry no bravado—only the quiet honesty of a man who loved sincerely and perhaps too idealistically. She was, as he suggests, the “picture-perfect” woman he had long admired in his mind, now real and radiant beside him.

Then came the moment that wounded him deeply. At the premiere of Ishq Ishq Ishq, Raj Kapoor—friend, senior, and cinematic giant—publicly kissed Zeenat. What followed at the party hurt even more: her open, carefree flirtation with Raj Kapoor, witnessed by Dev himself. It was not merely jealousy that stung him, but a sense of betrayal—of trust broken both by the woman he loved and the friend he respected. The pain was compounded by the knowledge that Raj Kapoor had already decided to cast Zeenat in Satyam Shivam Sundaram, a film that would redefine her image and career.

This episode stands out in Dev Anand’s life as a reminder that behind his evergreen charm and romantic screen persona lived a man who felt deeply, loved intensely, and suffered quietly. His autobiography reveals this side without bitterness. Instead, it reflects a lifelong pattern—Dev Anand was always enchanted by beauty, intelligence, and grace in women, and he never pretended otherwise. Romance, for him, was not a weakness but a way of being.

In writing about Zeenat Aman, Dev Anand does not seek sympathy or vindication. He simply preserves a moment in time—when love, cinema, friendship, and heartbreak collided—and allows the reader to see him not as a legend, but as a romantic soul, momentarily bruised, yet forever gracious.

In his autobiography Romancing with Life, Dev Anand offers a fascinating glimpse into the making of Guide—a film that would go on to redefine Indian cinema. Conceived as an ambitious project, Guide was planned to be made simultaneously in English and Hindi. While the Hindi version was initially entrusted to Dev Anand’s elder brother, Chetan Anand, creative differences soon began to surface between him and the director of the English version. The growing discord started affecting the work, and eventually, Chetan Anand stepped away from the project, much to Dev Anand’s disappointment.

At this critical juncture, Vijay Anand—fondly known as Goldie—was requested to take over the direction. Hesitant at first, he finally agreed, unaware that this decision would etch his name permanently in cinematic history.

As filming progressed, the industry buzzed with skepticism. The theme was considered daring—centered on a woman who leaves her loveless marriage for another man—and even more unsettling was the idea of the hero’s death in the final act. With Dev Anand’s established romantic image, many predicted outright rejection by audiences. Gossip grew louder, and doubts deepened.

In an unusual move, a special screening was arranged for Indira Gandhi, then the Minister for Information and Broadcasting, to secure government approval. After viewing the film, she gave her nod, paving the way for its release.

The premiere was a glittering affair, attended by the stalwarts of the film industry. Yet, when the lights came on, an unsettling silence followed. As Dev Anand recalls, colleagues and friends left the theatre quietly—without congratulations, without even a handshake. Both Dev and Goldie were stunned, convinced that the film had failed to connect.

But destiny had other plans.

Slowly, word of mouth worked its magic. Audiences returned to the theatres, and Guide gathered momentum—day by day, show by show—until it emerged as both a critical triumph and a box-office success. The film went on to win Filmfare Awards across nine categories and was sent as India’s official entry to the Academy Awards.

Guide became a milestone in Dev Anand’s illustrious career—a shining testament to artistic courage and unwavering conviction. It silenced every whisper of doubt and transformed risk into legacy. Even today, Guide stands tall as one of Indian cinema’s greatest classics, a timeless reminder that when belief is strong, destiny ultimately follows.

Dev Anand was one of the towering figures of Hindi cinema, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dilip Kumar and Raj Kapoor as the beloved trio who ruled the hearts of audiences from the 1950s to the late 1970s. Guide, for me, shines as the defining gem of his career. I first watched it at a very young age, far too young to grasp the layers of meaning woven into its story. But with every rewatch, the film opened itself to me a little more, and I found myself falling deeply in love—with its characters, its music, and its emotional depth. The movie flows effortlessly through moments of passion, turmoil, tenderness, and sorrow, creating a tapestry of feelings that lingers long after the final frame.

There are countless moments in Guide that quietly stir something deep within you—scenes that feel as though they echo a person’s own lived experiences. One such moment unfolds when Rosie arrives at Raju’s home. His maternal uncle despises her presence and hurls harsh, demeaning words at her. Raju, unable to bear the insult, confronts his uncle and declares that he will walk away—even if it means his mother may never see his face again. Those words, spoken in anger, become a haunting prophecy. The next time his mother sees him is in the film’s final moments, when he is on the edge of life itself. The intensity of that sequence—and the seamless flow of the screenplay—pulls you so deeply into the narrative that, for a moment, you forget it is only a story. Scenes like these are what make Guide a timeless piece of cinema, etched into the memories of generations of viewers. Some works of art simply happen—they emerge, almost mysteriously, and become immortal. And the credit, ultimately, belongs to the creator. Dev Anand produced many films, but Guide stands apart, unmatched in its impact. Though it opened to a lukewarm response, once the audience embraced it, the film went on to create history in Indian cinema.