Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!

For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.

I am not sure to what extent Guru Dutt or Rehman are influenced by Shakespeare but that instant yearning for Waheeda Rehman after she lifts the veil to reveal her resplendent face is classic Romeo.

Truth be told, all the poetic exaltations lyricist Shakeel Badayuni bestows in praise of her incandescent charm are not mere flattery. Rehman as Jameela is a picture of awe and adoration, a breathing goddess, a bona fide Chaudhvin Ka Chand.

But beauty, often, pays a price. Be it Snow White evoking the Evil Queen’s wrath or Ann Darrow finding an unlikely admirer in King Kong. Here it triggers a commotion in the lives of best friends Aslam and Pyare Miyan.

For all its romantic fervour, Chaudhvin Ka Chand (1960) is a project stemmed out of necessity.  The heartbreaking response to Kagaz Ke Phool, one of the finest Hindi films ever made, left filmmaker Guru Dutt’s production house in doldrums and in sound need of a major success. And though he may be perceived as a man of melancholic disposition, his actions render him a fighter. He decided to move on almost immediately with a period romance triangle set in Lucknow.



Chaudhvin Ka Chand (poornima/full moon) is essentially a Muslim social, which depicts the values and directives of a conservative society, a predominant Purdah system, the confusion and prying it leads to against the backdrop of Lucknow’s indulgent Nawabs, their whims and their women.

While the subject doesn’t demand the profundity of his other landmarks like Pyaasa, Kagaz Ke Phool or Sahib Biwi Aur Ghulam, it garners enough merit of its own to find a spot in the realm of classics.

And yet Dutt chose M Sadiq over himself to direct it. (He never directed a single film after the debacle of Kagaz…) Sadiq who later went on to helm the 1963 Pradeep Kumar-Bina Rai hit Taj Mahal was passing through a rough patch in his career.

In an interview to Nasreen Munni in the latter’s documentary (In Search of Guru Dutt), Rehman reveals how M Sadiq was undergoing financial instability and hadn’t delivered any hits but Dutt believed in his talent. Moreover, he was convinced Sadiq , being from a Muslim background, will  be able to convey the Nawabi decorum and etiquette of his community more aptly.

Inside these opulent kothis with ornate, enamelled pillars and grand furniture, adorning surahis and hookahs, everyone communicates in chaste Urdu and exemplifies the gait of grace clad in Bhanu Athaiya’s meticulous wardrobe of delicate chikans, tulle and zardozi gararas, tanzeb kurtas and brocade sherwanis.

The curiosity to see what lies beneath the veil, however, turns many a respectable Nawabs into bumbling fools. And during one such encounter, Nawab Sahib (Rehman), fondly addressed as Pyare Miyan by friends and family, loses his heart to the beautiful Jameela (Waheeda Rehman). It’s a brief glimpse but cupid’s arrow has struck him hard. This tradition flourished through the decades – from Mere Mehboob’s Sadhana to Bombay’s Manisha Koirala.

We get a better view of just how exquisite Jameela is when she emerges excitedly amidst bursting flower pots twirling a pair of equally radiant phool jharis (sparklers) draped in a shiny dupatta embellished with ‘kamdani ke phool.’ The dupatta causes its share of mix-up after the women exchange theirs with the best friends and pledge lifelong sisterhood.

Since Nawab is forbidden from entering the zenana (the ladies room) territory, he sends out Tuntun, his lumbering domestic help and confidante to find out his ladylove’s identity. The only clue: the wretched duppata. And thus begin a series of cleverly planted misunderstandings.

Chaudhvin Ka Chand is also about three best friends –’Ek jaan aur teen kaalib’ (Three bodies, one soul).  The real-life camaraderie of these friends — Walker was Dutt’s discovery while he hung out with Rehman since his Prabhat Film Company days — is extended on celluloid too.

Pyare Miyan is most affluent and madly smitten. He’s always getting beaten up in the movie. Then there’s the mild-mannered orphan Aslam (Guru Dutt), also well-to-do but feels a sense of obligation towards the Nawab for all his generosity since he was a kid.

And finally there’s Johnny Walker’s Shaida, a mischievous scamp who is thoroughly afraid of his battering father much to the amusement of his baby sister. His sub plot builds along the way but serves little except to provide comic relief from the ensuing melodrama.

In a turn of events, Pyare unwittingly persuades Aslam to marry Jameela. Elaborate wedding festivities, blustering shehnais and flower-covered dolis mark the event as the merriment cuts to a dawdling dulhan welcomed into her new home with curious kids and relatives surrounding her at every step.

Their wedding night scene is laced with endearing humour (when Aslam frightens a veiled Jameela about his ugly appearance till she lifts her ghoongat to confirm) that loosens both up marking the beginning of genuine affection.

During its infinitely melodious title song,  Waheeda Rehman and Guru Dutt’s remarkable chemistry takes a life of its own and cinematographer (and also the producer of the 1978 cult classic, Don) Nariman Irani’s passionate close-ups of the two suggest more intimacy than actual touch.

After the film celebrated its silver jubilee, Dutt re-release the film with two songs in colour. He re-shot Chaudhvin Ka Chand and the mujra Dil ki kahani, picturised on Minoo Mumtaz, entirely, only this time his favourite V K Murthy (to whom Irani was first assistant) stepped in to do his magic.

Apparently the censors found the Technicolor-treated version a tad too sensual for their liking. And while their censure is debatable, the observation isn’t. When compared to the bashful Jameela of black and white, the ruby-lipped Rehman indeed looks far more confident and conscious of the effect she has on her man.

Things get complicated once Aslam finds out the object of Pyare’s obsession is none other than his wife. The revelation is handled quite elegantly. Instead of blaring violins and out-of-the-blue lightening, a visibly distraught Aslam just stands still clenching tightly his crisp kurta.

This is the part where Dutt shines and takes the script to another level. His reaction is restrained yet emotional. At the same time, he appears somewhat amused as if destiny has played a practical joke on their lives. Like any bad news, this too takes a little time to sink in.

And when it does, the mood becomes distinctly stark and theatrical leading to another gem from Mohammad Rafi, Mili khaak mein mohabbat with a lone Aslam lamenting his fate surrounded by ruins.

Even if Chaudhvin Ka Chand is designed as a crowd-pleasing entertainer, Ravi’s eclectic soundtrack isn’t there for the heck of it. Songs are a crucial part of the narrative. (The film won three Filmfare Awards for Best lyrics (Badayuni), Male playback singer (Rafi) and Art Direction (Biren Nag)).

Like when Aslam enters self-destruction mode and pretends to be debauched to discredit himself in Jameela’s eyes, the torment his actions cause her are beautifully articulated in Badle badle mere sarkar. Irani’s play of diffusers lends Rehman’s glistening tears the sheen of a diamond.

It’s not hard to see why everyone would be so besotted by the lady. It’s impossible to look away from the screen when she’s there. Though much junior, the Guru Dutt discovery gets top billing in the opening credits but more than lives up to this privilege.



Among her co-stars Guru Dutt, I reiterate, gets under the skin of a sensitive individual caught in a bizarre tug of loyalty to his friend and commitment to his love.

As the spoilt, self-seeking, exasperatingly ignorant Nawab preoccupied with superficial appeal, Rehman fails to create any sympathy for himself.

Quite early in the film, Jameela makes fun of his appearance describing his nose as a ‘jalli hui roti pe bhuna hua baingan.’ It’s a nasty visual and one Rehman does nothing to erase. His personality, better-suited for sly characters, lacks the boyishness or vulnerability to pull off the love struck Pyare Miyan.

But the only discordant note is concealed within the enormous pile of pleasurable elements in Chaudvin Ka Chand.Apart from all that I’ve harped on above there’s Walker’s hilarious attempt to smoke hookah, Uma Devi aka Tuntun bringing in her share of antics and Minoo Mumtaz’s glamorous mujras to Ravi’s glorious compositions dipped in the ink of Badayuni’s verse (Sharma ke agar yun pardanashi, Yeh Lucknow ki sar zameen, Yeh duniya gol hai, Balam se milna hoga, Bedardi mere saiyan), which capture a myriad of moods in the star voices of Rafi, Geeta Dutt, Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle and Shamshad Begum.

Love triangles are rarely ever fair on women. Either she is subject to suspicion and scrutiny over her character or easily dispensable/sacrificed to be with another.

In Chaudhvin Ka Chand too, there comes a point when Aslam initiates a situation for divorce and a desperate Jameela rebukes her concerned family for interfering, demeaning herself as her husband’s kaneez/laundi (maid/mistress) so much so that a disgraced Aslam hangs his head in shame.

It not only mirrors a male chauvinistic society and routine regression but a complete breakdown of a wife and woman’s pride. But in the era Chaudhvin Ka Chand belongs to, a Cocktail kind of ‘You love me. I love her. She loves me back’ admission is unheard of.

Some scenes enrage not only because a woman’s future is dependent on her husband’s goodwill and can easily become putty in his hands if otherwise but because even after all these years the scenario remains unchanged in certain sections of society.

But being a Guru Dutt film, this disparity is not an endorsement but a means to underscore the decay in man’s mentality. Unfortunately very few subsequent films of this genre, including the Rishi Kapoor-Jeetendra-Tina Munim starrer Deedar-E-Yaar, which is amply inspired by Chaudhvin Ka Chand understood the significance of social critique.

Besides influencing a whole new generation of love triangles, some of this romance drama’s most strategic scenes find resonance in films that came out much later.

Like the one where Guru Dutt gets lyrical on discovering his lovely wife napping on the terrace on a full moon night. You’ll see similar imagery in the song Woh chand jaisi ladki from Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Devdas featuring Shah Rukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai.

The tragic climax involving death by a diamond is replicated in Muqaddar Ka Sikander wherein Rekha takes her life while Amitabh Bachchan furiously begs her to open the door.

But nothing can ever recreate the magical allure of Waheeda Rehman aptly described as ‘Chehra hai jaise jheel mein khilta huaa kaval. Ya zindagi ke saaz pe chhedi hui ghazal. Jaane bahaar tum kissi shayar kaa khwaab ho.’

This article was first published on rediff.com.

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I am a bread person. And I cannot emphasize enough how MUCH I love croissant. When smeared with soft butter or cherry jam and served next to hot tea, it just makes my day.

But what I realised while trying my hand at making one is just how complicated the technique is. The level of finesse (which comes with practice in case of not-gifted folks like me) involved in doing those numerous folds (whoa) that produces good bread. Also, did you know HOW MUCH butter goes in making six innocent looking croissants? I’ll remember that next time I’m in the mood to indulge.

Anyway, so I just blindly followed this recipe by Chef Pierre-Dominique Cécillon on YouTube using all-purpose flour, yeast, butter, milk, salt and sugar.  And glazed it with a mildly heated mix of honey and butter. Half the dough went in baking elongated plain croissants and the other half I filled with a teeny tiny choco chips folded in crescent shape.

For the second version, I just looked at this demonstration by Nigella Lawson. She uses ready-made puff pastry.

I have a relatively small oven so these are like mini croissants. Being a rookie, I can’t claim to have a made a thing of beauty but they, I will not lie, did taste good. Especially the chocolate ones.

I am sure if I can do it, anyone can. Right, Chef Auguste Gusteau?

I took pictures of today’s batch. And here they go.

I’ve always wondered about Jack and the Beanstalk.  For one, the English folktale actually promotes stealing and self-interest over hard work.  But what truly intrigues me is this: what became of the giant’s wife?

We all know about the farm boy who climbs a massive beanstalk and tricks a giant by running off with his many riches. But, let’s be honest, he couldn’t have achieved any of this without the help from the giant’s wife. She not only not reports Jack to her fee-fi-fo-fuming husband but even hides him inside an oven to spare his life. In place of gratitude, Jack leads the giant into being crushed to death.

Surely, she must have planned some grand revenge in her mind. Maybe she’s the mother of all those gnarly giants Jack encounters in Bryan Singer’s new movie. That would have been cool, right? But Jack the Giant Slayer has, curiously enough, no gals in its populated universe. So how does their kind reproduce? Magic beans, I presume.

In this 3D-sized mash-up of Beanstalk and another fairytale Jack the Giant Killer, Jack (Nicholas Hoult, earnest, endearing) is an honorable lad and his quest to scale the plaited ladder is borne out of necessity not nosiness.

A quick back-story establishes a legend about how the mighty King Erik conquered the ruthless giants by engineering a crown made from one of his burly victim’s heart. It’s a mighty and solitary tool that tames these furious creatures into submission.

Jack is rather fond of this story and grabs the opportunity to relive the same after an accidentally dropped bewitched bean grows into a stem so mammoth and creepy, it could’ve well sprouted out of Tim Burton’s imagination.

Having said that, Singer’s CGI/motion-capture brimming visuals are more Peter Jackson than Tim Burton. The giants look like a leaner, discounted version of the trolls we saw in The Hobbit recently. Only unlike Jackson who can weave a yarn out of a limerick if need be, Singer’s aspirations are rather hollow.

The man behind The Usual Suspects and X-Men franchise could have had a lot of fun with the material in hand. Like how Puss in Boots 2 did by lending the same plot a wicked twist.

Fairy Tales are a fascinating playground for creativity. They outline so much adventure and enchantment but because of their concise structure leave a lot unsaid and open for interpretation. Snow White and the Huntsman explored the potential of its premise to alluring effect.

Singer, though, sticks to a banal narrative of unlikely courage versus dumb greed around a sprightly princess (the bland as a broccoli Eleanor Tomlinson) looking for adventure (and, yawn, rescuing) and her elf-faced hero.

Jack the Giant Slayer gets lively once the big guys begin to pop on screen. Their run-ins with the blah Princess, her scrawny savior, a sly, self-seeking Lord Roderick (a virtually unrecognizable Stanley Tucci) and the valiant guard Elmont (Ewan McGregor in Obi-Van mode) in Giantland or Gantua bring about some of the campy humor one came expecting in after seeing its lowbrow promos.

From rolling up Elmont in dough alongside some chubby pigs for pie or tricking the two-headed leader Fallon (Bill Nighy delivers effective menace in motion-capture) with, well, you can see it for yourself.

Should you?

Well, it’s not a memorable fantasy. It doesn’t have exceptional visuals. The 3D is nowhere as immersive as that of Life or Pi, The Hobbit or Avatar. It doesn’t have half the wit or brutality found in the books. The writing is laughable (Gack! It’s Jack, you freak!). But, if viewed as a kiddie flick about defeating enormous, dangerous looking beings, Jack the Giant Slayer is like those ‘use and throw’ glasses, disposable though watchable.

Stars: 2.5

This review was first published on rediff.com

Some issues have a longer shelf life than they should. And so what was prevalent in 1956 continues to be a problem even today. For all our ostensible pride over India’s celebrated diversity, a vast majority still squabbles over the differences nursing an inherent reservation for a community outside one’s own.

Long before the prospect of an inter-caste marriage between a Punjabi boy and Bengali girl faced its share of hiccups in Shoojit Sircar’s Vicky Donor, Kishore Kumar discovered the ills of communal bonhomie far more strongly in Mohal Segal’s deft satire and super hit rom-com, New Delhi.

It all starts at New Delhi railway station after Anand Khanna (Kishore Kumar) arrives in the Indian capital and gets into a taxi AND argument with Janaki Subramaniam (Vyjayanthimala). It’s a familiar situation where two different passengers get inside cab at the same time and bicker over ‘me first.’

The dispute ends with a flustered Anand forced to get down underscoring his somewhat secondary stature in an imminent relationship with the spunky Janaki.

The second time they bump into each other, Anand’s cycle inadvertently splashes some muddy water on Janaki’s sari resulting in an amusing dirt-slandering match between the two.

This hostility marks an earlier chunk of their third encounter as well leaving Anand to tackle a bunch of cranky bystanders. (At some point, New Delhi seems to be subconsciously demonstrating, what those surveys/ debates frequently suggest with regards to the city’s hotheaded, unfriendly reputation.)

Above circumstances compel him to take refuge in Kala Mandir, an art and dance academy, where Janaki teaches song and dance. Here, Anand steps aside and Kishore Kumar gets into his element to render a uproarious sampling of his deliberately dissonant voice attributed to, ahem, Ustaad Machchar Khan’s training. It’s as though Sunil Dutt referred to this Kishore Da clip to get the nuances right for his off-tune Bhole in Padosan starring the latter as his guru.

Of course, a Kishore Kumar caper cannot have him playing unmelodious so within seconds he charms an awe-struck ‘Mala with the breezy Milte Hi Nazar Aap Mere Dil Mein Aa Gaye. Needless to say, they don’t fight ever again.

Before their romance sets in, Anand, a Jalandhar boy in Delhi to study radio engineering, struggles to find rental accommodation. At a Bangla-speaking residence, the son (Prabhu Dayal) is most hospitable but his unyielding father insists, ‘Amhi komra dega toh kissi Bongoli bhai ko dega.’ His request is similarly dismissed by a Marwari party, ‘Maaf karo bhai mhaare ko to Marwari kirayedar chahiye, mhaari jaatwaalo.’

And the tone and tradition of rejection continues with Sindhi, Marathi and Gujarati-speaking proprietors compelling Anand to masquerade as a South Indian (referred to as ‘Madrasi’ by everyone in the film in still politically-evolving times. But if you weren’t offended by Mehmood’s accent in Padosan, this won’t hurt either) to find instant roof above his head.

Although it’s a bit of a stretch to imagine a Punjabi lad would have this much trouble finding a landlord in a North Indian region, director Segal’s priority, along with his co-writers Inder Raj Anand (father/grandfather of directors Tinnu/Siddharth Anand respectively) and Radhakrishan, is to look at the bigger picture.

Which is when Anand, if hails from the same state and shares the same mother tongue, he’s eligible for preferential treatment and discounted lease. But if he’s an ‘outsider’ he gets the boot. New Delhi looks at this community-based groupism in the most disparaging light.

The rent issue works as a prelude to the main quandary. Being a Punjabi works to Anand’s disadvantage yet again when he falls for the Tamilian Janaki.  To deal with a meet-the-parents kind of scenario, he brings in his bumbling domestic help (Dhumal) to pose as his father leading to ample hilarity, which has been reproduced in many films since.

There’s, refreshingly enough, no melodrama when Janaki discovers his true identity but neither family approves.

While Janaki’s otherwise doting dad (Nana Palsikar) is allergic to Punjabi people, Anand’s father is a typically arrogant, authoritative but well-meaning Punjabi patriarch, one is accustomed to seeing on celluloid, be it New Delhi’s Nasir Hussain or Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge’s Amrish Puri.

Anand’s sister Nikki (Jabeen Jalil), like her big brother, harbours romantic sentiments for a non-Punjabi, (the nice Bengali guy I mentioned in the beginning) sparking off a turning point in the story wherein now Janaki disguises herself as a Punjabi kudi. The idea is to teach both fathers a lesson in judging a person by his/her merits not caste, creed or community.

New Delhi strives to make such conditioning appear thoroughly regressive and blasts its endorsers in the strongest words through writer Radhakrishan’s character (he plays a small role of Vyjayanthimala’s family friend).

The latter articulates this outlook rather pointedly when he remarks, ‘Aapki aankhon se ek patti utri hai aur doosri chadh gayi. Pehle aap Punjabiyon ke siva sab pranth ke logon ko bura samajhte the. Aur aaj ek Punjabi ke wajah se sab Punjabiyon ko bura samajhne lage hain. Pranth ka label laga dene se koi acha bura nahi hota. Insaan acha bura hota hai apne salukh se, apne karmon se.’

New Delhi may be about a vivacious couple finding their happily-ever-after but the meaningful course (even if a tad simplified) Segal charts to realise it, makes it a cut above other films of this genre.

Set in New Delhi, K H Kapadia’s cinematography offers ample views of its landmarks and monuments.

Whether it’s the opening credits, which draw attention to its almost empty but grand-as-ever driving lanes across the majestic Rashtrapati Bhavan, Connaught Place, India Gate or scenes shot specifically inside Red Fort, Jantar Mantar or Boat Club or a fleeting view of Golcha cinema at Daryaganj, one can’t help marveling at just how unbroken this imagery is.

Unlike Mumbai, there’s very little advertising — one-off posters of Cantharidine or Sapotex on local buses. Even after so many years, if you can overlook the traffic, the heart of Delhi looks just the same.

Kapadia’s camerawork is as effective in capturing its leading lady’s grace and radiance. Vyjayanthimala, (styled by her grandmother Yadugiri Devi ‘Yagamma’) is spectacular here.

In terms of histrionics, it’s not a demanding role but the 20-year-old actress (don’t be fooled by her two braided pigtails) avoids the giggly heroine stereotype lending her Janaki a self-assured air and the guts to rebel for her cause with tact and talent.

Segal, a student of dance at Uday Shankar’s academy, blends both its actors’ greatest asset to produce some memorable numbers. If Kishore Kumar yodels his way around a motionless ‘Mala in the imaginatively picturised and performed Nakhrewali, the dancing sensation enthralls with her stunning elegance during a Bharatnatyam dance recital and agility (the ease with which she bends backwards, whoa) in the Bhangra extension to Tum Sang Preet Lagayi Rasiya.

Kishore Kumar’s Anand is a passive personality and in visible awe of his domineering father but shares a comfortable equation with the women in his life. Whether he’s bantering with his sister or making shy advances at ‘Mala, he shows a sense of humour but doesn’t overpower any scene with the kind of boisterousness he demonstrated in films like Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi or Half Ticket.

Still, his co-star had a ball shooting with the legendary entertainer who ribbed her incessantly in order to break her concentration during the filming of Nakhrewali. Their effervescent pairing worked well in films such as this, Ladki, Miss Mala and Aasha.

Arre Bhai Nikal Aa Ghar Se, Milte Hi Nazar, Tum Sang and the chartbuster Nakhrewali — the soundtrack of New Delhi is simply delightful with Shankar Jaikishen composing sweet-sounding tunes against Hasrat Jaipuri and Shaildenra’s ingenious lyrics.   It is also interesting to note that the music accompanying the opening credits three years later went on to become a popular track – Jaon Kahan Bataye Dil for the Balraj Sahni-Rehman starrer, Chhoti Behan.

Here are a few more bits of trivia:

All those beautiful paintings displayed in Prabhu Dayal’s room, who plays an artist in New Delhi, are originals by the well-known painter Harikishan Lal.

New Delhi marks the debut of Jabeen Jalil as Kishore Kumar’s kid sister. Her other noteworthy role was competing with Bina Rai for Pradeep Kumar’s affections in Taj Mahal.

She and Prabhu Dayal may not have its leads’ charisma but their gentle courtship grows on the viewer eventually. Dayal went on to do small roles in Dev Anand starrers like CID, Kala Bazaar and Hum Dono.

Segal, later, gave break to stars like Rekha (in Sawan Bhadon) and Shatrughan Sinha (a cameo in Saajan).

Well known filmmaker J Omprakash (Aap Ki Kasam, Aasha, Aakhir Kyon?), also Hrithik Roshan’s maternal grandfather, began his innings in the industry as the exploitation executive (responsible for selling a film’s exploitation rights) of this film.

56 years later, New Delhi is still as topical as ever with upcoming films like Chennai Express and Two States addressing the complications of a north-south romantic equation.

The feature was first published on rediff.com.

Thaaki tikki thaaki tikki thaaki tikki thaaaa!

So clearly, the Ouuuuuu star LOVES to shake a leg! But I just never realised THIS much. Here’s a compilation of Bollywood’s villian/comedian Shakti Kapoor getting jiggy with it.

Aa dekhen zara, Rocky

Shakti Kapoor and Tina Munim challenge Sanjay Dutt and Reena Roy in a dance contest judged by the man who could burn a dance floor like none other — Shammi Kapoor. So who won?

Super dancer, Dance Dance

The man plays a drummer and Smita Patil’s violent husband for most part. But looks like Mithun Chakraborty’s disco dancing moves compel him to join in the party.

Ramba ho, Armaan

Best known for Bappi Da’s songs, this one (a poor-quality video) has Shakti doing some nifty steps. No, really I mean it!

Ek dupatta do do mawali, Pataal Bhairavi

A raunchy Silk Smitha finds herself sandwiched between Shakti and Asrani in this song that reflects typical 80s Bollywood. A prelude to Himmatwala, yes?

Bango, Bango, Qaidi (Contributed by Vikram Bondal. Please to suggest if you can think of some good ones.)

Silk is back to strutting her stuff along with the most salacious men Bollywood has known– Ranjeet and, of course, Shakti Kapoor.

Mera dil na todo, Raja Babu

Of pelvic thrusts and more pelvic thrusts.

Tuna tuna tak tak tuna, Thanedaar

For once Shakti wasn’t making Dutt’s life miserable. They even danced together in this hit song. Bhoole ko rasta dikhanewala chahiye, remember?

Baap Numbri Beta Dus Numbri

Kader Khan and Shakti Kapoor played central role in this con comedy about a swindling father-son. And yes, they dance.

Song medley, Loafer

Here Shakti Kapoor along with Upasana Singh (of Abba Jabba Dabba fame)takes on Rangeela’s Aamir Khan, Coolie No 1′s Govinda, DDLJ and Karan Arjun’s Shah Rukh Khan, you get the p(ick)ture?

Lelo lelo ji paan, Do Fantoosh

The draq queen act, what else? Brace yourself for Shakti performing a mujra in Alka Yagnik’s voice.

Geet khushi ke gao mere bhai, Nachnewale Gaanewale

Kader Khan, Shahbaz Khan, Sheeba and Shakti Kapoor get all Broadway on us? Yeah right! Nachnewale Gaanewala, whaddya expect?

Dhain din kurti malmal di, Waqt Ke Shehzaade

NOW THIS IS A FIND! Shakti Kapoor doing bhangra is okay. BUT GUESS who is singing for him? Jagjit Singh! THE JAGJIT SINGH!

The climatic dual, Taqdeerwala

The hilarious face off between Kader Khan’s Yamraj and Shakti’s Chota Ravan result in some mind-blowing moments and tak dhina dhin. )