Pran Krishan Sikand, the unforgettable screen villain, was in real life a warm and generous neighbour. Monojit Lahiri recalls his childhood encounters with the actor who redefined Bollywood villainy.

Remembering Pran, the legendary Bollywood villain who terrified audiences on screen but was a gentleman off it, is to revisit the golden era of Hindi cinema. Known for his unmatched versatility, Pran Krishan Sikand transformed the role of the villain with style, wit, and gravitas. Yet behind the menacing persona lay a kind, generous, and affectionate man—especially to the children in his Pali Hill neighbourhood. From cricket matches in his lush garden to Holi celebrations with stars like Raj Kapoor and Dilip Kumar, Pran’s warmth and humanity shone brightly. This unique blend of reel menace and real-life kindness made him one of Indian cinema’s most unforgettable icons.

Childhood Memories in Pali Hill

My twin calling, advertising and cinema—one a profession; the other, a passion—was born in the Bombay of my childhood, at a place arcadian and picturesquely peaceful, called Union Park in Pali Hill, a sleepy little neighbourhood in the fifties and sixties.

A little distance away was Danda Beach where, as kids, we played our more serious inter-colony cricket matches, desperately trying to ignore the god-awful fish-stink (emerging from the adjoining fishing village) while polishing our extra-cover drives. Pali Hill was in those days full of trees and old bungalows, a legacy of the Raj. Union Park and Pali Hill were also home to several movie personalities—sidey comedian Maruti, star comedian Gope and side-heroine Purnima (grandmother of Emraan Hashmi). There were also directors M. Sadiq (Chaudvin Ka Chand, Taj Mahal) and Amiya Chakravarti (Daag, Patita, Seema), and tragedy queen Meena Kumari, tragedy king Dilip Kumar and, a little further away, Sunil Dutt-Nargis. Closest of all, of course, was Pran.

Much has been written about the great thespian regarding his contribution to Bollywood. Suffice it to say that he invested into that predictable track a class and cool all his own. Sure, it was a thankless persona, factored in to make the hero more virile, virtuous and noble, but despite this drawback, Pran invariably stood out, irrespective of the leading man’s star-wattage. Be it Dilip, Dev, Raj, Shammi, Rajendra, Dharam, Manoj, even Rajesh and Amitabh, he always left his mark with some innovative gestures, catchphrases, or quirks.

Uncle Pran: A Gentleman Behind the Villain

For us kids, however, he was far from the object of terror or source of evil connivance to get the girl and loot the hero. He was simply Uncle Pran, the dad of our pals Babboo and Tunni (Pinky was too small), a warm, benign, friendly and generous person who enjoyed our company a lot.

We kids were always on the lookout for a place to play cricket, football or Daaba-Doobi but were constantly shooed away by the elders and ended up playing on the road. Uncle Pran saw us playing one day and invited us to play in his large garden. He didn’t give a damn about his gardener’s passionate pleas and warnings that the lush grass would be ruined by our stampeding feet. He made it very clear to him that if there was ever any complaint against us, he would be given marching orders. Imagine! Sometimes, if he got back early from shooting, he would join us in whichever game we were playing.

I remember once, I hit him hard during a game of Daaba-Doobi and the tennis ball left an ugly mark. I apologised profusely. He just laughed and said, “Tu to humse bhi khatarnak hai bete.” He always ensured that we got cold water and maybe some snacks after the game.

During Holi, actors from all over—including Raj Kapoor and Dilip Kumar—dropped by for hungama, song and dance. Huge drums of colour were placed outside his gate for us kids to play with. Snacks, cold drinks and lassi made frequent rounds with the revellers, and mauj-masti ruled.

On one occasion, his son Tunni, another friend, and I were invited to a party. Since he himself was going to a party downtown, he offered to drop us. As we were getting down, he put some money in his son’s hands and said, “This is for the three of you. Have a good time and don’t be too late.”

In all those years that I knew him, never once did I see him behaving rudely or inappropriately with anyone. He was always decent, warm, jovial and caring. Once, over a Coke, I remember asking him about the bruise on his chin. He laughed, “Arre kuch nahin bete. Yeh Shammi jo hain, fight scene mein zara zyada hi role ko seriously le liya ... aur wajah, yeh dishoom.”

A thorough gentleman, adored by all the heroines (whom he forever threatened to harass or traumatize on screen), he made sure that he treated them with the utmost chivalry. He also ensured that no one in his family ever abused, misused or exploited his stardom to grab anything not due to them. That has remained to this day.

Today, as the gentleman moves from sight to memory, a million thoughts invade the mind belonging, as if, to another lifetime. Sure—to quote showbiz’s greatest truism—the show must go on, but it will undoubtedly be a show poorer for the loss of a person called Pran Krishan Sikand, to the world, and Uncle Pran to me and my childhood friends. We pranced around his glorious lawn, all muddy and grubby playing football in the rain, while his three beloved dogs Bullet, Whisky and Soda watched from their little castle all those years ago.

Who can ever forget the respected, loved and admired, my ex-neighbour—a rare soul who gave villainy such a glorious name.