Hero: Death, Afterlife

Vijay's death gave birth to the hero in conflict with himself. Popularly labelled the anti-hero created by scriptwriters Salim-Javed, Bachchan reflected the angst-ridden inner self of young men in a politically turbulent India. Badness with the goal of goodness.

It is not easy to reason Bachchan's popularity by calling it super success, super talent, super humility or super timing. Zanjeer, Sholay, Don, Natwarlal, Coolie, Namak Halal, Laawaris, Sharaabi, Shahenshah...the man became a mannequin on whom hung the many dilemmas of Indian youth. Bachchan may be the tallest, the most well-spoken, the most lovable cinematic mannequin of our times, but his heroism lies in the fact that he is not really a mannequin.

The hero of the millennium—voted (surprisingly) over Gandhi and Mandela—is a man who teaches a powerful lesson in the reinvention of self. In an industry obsessed with youth, he has made ageing an old idea. Now, as he narrates the stories of heroism in modern India—the tired, self-doubting Inspector Anant Shrivastav in Khakee who turns defeat into victory, the maverick policeman in Bunty Aur Babli who brings the cons back into business, the idealistic teacher in Black, the new-age old lover in Baghban, the arrogantly humble Sarkar or the affable host of KBC, there is in him, a resonance of everything we want to see in our ourselves. He is the scriptwriter's ambition, the storyteller's imagination, the sociologist's case study. He is the old woman's blessing and the young man's alter ego.

He is what India thinks its heroes should be.

Vijay is dead. Long live Vijay.