If I mention iconic Bollywood numbers like ‘Hari Om Hari’ from Pyaara Dushman (1980), ‘Tu Mujhe Jaan Se Bhi Pyaara Hai’ from Wardaat (1981), or ‘Rambha Ho Ho Ho’ from Armaan (1982), what comes to your mind?

For me, these unforgettable item numbers of the 1980s instantly bring up images of one dazzling and electrifying performer—Kalpana Iyer.

To me, Kalpana Iyer was more than just a dancer—she was the epitome of glamour, grace, and unapologetic sensuality.

Kalpana ji wasn’t just a dancing vamp—her acting chops were evident in films like Satte Pe Satta (1982), Anjaam (1994), Raja Hindustani (1996), and Hum Saath Saath Hain (1999).

Kalpana Iyer always remained a dream—a legend I admired from afar. There was something ineffable about her, a divine connection I felt, even though we’d never met.

Thanks to the magic of social media, that dream finally came true. To my absolute delight, I connected with Kalpana ji on a networking site. Today, she lives in Dubai with her sister and nephew. On a recent trip to Dubai, I made it a point to visit and meet her in person.

As I walked towards her, anticipation and emotion welled up inside me. The moment I touched her feet, she embraced me warmly, and I found myself crying uncontrollably.

We spoke for hours. There she was—the 1978 Miss India finalist, still exuding charm, elegance, and the spirit of a true star.

I asked her if she had formal dance training? “No formal training at all. I joined a Bharatnatyam class as a child but couldn’t continue due to financial constraints. Everything I know is self-taught—instinctive.”

When I asked how she managed to deliver so many hit dance numbers without training. “I danced from the time I was a baby,” she said. “Stage was my teacher. It instilled discipline, punctuality, and confidence. I never needed too many rehearsals—I just absorbed everything I observed. My choreographers were my gurus, and I followed them with complete faith.”

When asked to name her favourite song, she laughed, “Jab chaye mera jadoo was my first, so it’s very close to my heart. Hari om hari was my first solo. Each number has its own story and memory. They are all special.”

She had nothing but praise for the choreographers she worked with. “We called them dance masters then. Each one was different, each one unique. They shaped me. I owe them everything.”

Was there ever a dance that proved too difficult? “Never,” she smiled. “Tough? Yes. Painful? Of course—swollen feet, sore knees—but never too difficult.

Has she missed the limelight since stepping away? “Oh yes,” she admitted. “I’d be lying if I said no. I miss everything—the camera, the set, the people.”

And who does she admire among today’s stars? “Priyanka Chopra and Deepika Padukone—they’re sheer elegance in motion. Kareena and Katrina impress me with their dedication. And Hrithik Roshan—he brings tears to my eyes. He’s a dancer like no other. Among choreographers, Prabhu Deva stands out—he’s a risk-taker, and that sets him apart.”

As I left her presence, I couldn’t stop thinking about how this one woman, in a time when heroines shied away from sensuality, dared to redefine what it meant to be a female performer in Bollywood.

Kalpana Iyer—forever a star, forever a fan.