logo

I don’t do reviews. So what, you ask? Did we ever ask you to do it? You’ve got a point there. But I wrote that line because it felt cool to do so. People always say that to me when I ask them to review a film. In fact, lots of people I know start their post stating this isn’t a review; it’s merely a collection of their impressions after watching a movie. The world, in their opinion, will be a better place once it has been apprised of their impressions.

Bottomline (Thought for the Day): It’s socially acceptable to be found watching “Tauba Tauba” (IMDB) than seen reviewing it.

Audience (in chorus): Preamble bahut ho gaya, aage badho

I have decided to join the hugely successful group of men and women who are involved in providing the audience with the forensic reports, autopsies and personal deconstruction of narratives in Hindi cinema. A reader recently wrote to me about why I should be posing more serious questions about cinema than writing glib posts. He felt that I am criminally depriving the world of my views on Kusturica and Takeshi Kitano. I wrote back saying the world isn’t prepared for a few things yet (life in Mars, another Anant Mahadevan movie et al) and it should remain that way. However, it set me off on a journey of self-doubt regarding my contribution to society and the world.

And it became all the more necessary after the fiery, revolutionary youth leader of PFC, KK, asked this life-altering question to a lot of us, “instead of criticizing a film, why don’t you write about what you’d have done differently had you been the director”? I found this very interesting thought experiment and proceeded with a few movies in my mind. Here are my answers on what I would have differently had I been the director of these movies (notice my patented staccato styled response that others, most notably, Hemmingway tried to copy in the past):

Film: Chocolate
What I would have done differently: title song with the word chocolate, have the film shot in Tuticorin, have Tanushree’s character watch The Usual Suspects in the movie and then ask the question at the end of it, “to hua kya, funda kya hai”? It would have meant closure for a lot of people.

Film: Race
What I would have done differently: introduce one final twist in the tale – it’s actually a lesbian love story, Bips and Kats take the booty away leaving the two dumb brothers beating the daylights out of each other, Anil Kapoor is actually Sherlyn Chopra in the drag (notice Anil Kapoor’s character doesn’t have a single body hair so how could it have been Anil Kapoor) and have Akshaye Khanna wear a headgear through out the movie to avoid being shown as an example of a trapezoid to young children.

Film: One, Two, Three
What I would have done differently: Stop filming after the mahurat shot, take a holiday in South Africa and see if you can make a guest appearance as a horse in Saif’s stud farm in Race

I could go on and on. But I need to stop and come back to what I started off with. That’s to do an insightful piece on a movie that was really personal to me. There have been a lot of movies that have been deeply personal to me. Mr. Prime Minister, Jungle Love and Sher-e-Hindustan being three of them. But I will start with a genuine masterpiece.

Readers, I present to you “Peecha Karo”, a criminally neglected classic from one of the forgotten precocious talents of Hindi cinema, Pankaj Parasher. This is my first autopsy, so wish me luck. On second thoughts, if it’s autopsy, then it’s the dead that I am dealing with. So why fret? Instead, let me just tell you the story of Peecha Karo.

Peecha Karo is the story of two self-styled secret agents, Ravi Baswani (Hari Giridhara) and Satish Shah (Giri Haridhara) who suspect a retired Brigadier (Amjad Khan) of selling national secrets and want to prevent him from doing so. The two of them were in employment of the Brigadier in the past in the army but were thrown out for reasons which aren’t hard to decipher as one goes through the movie. To this mix, writer Rajesh Majumdar adds a bevy of odd characters – the Brigadier’s daughter (Roma) and her suitor, Farouq Sheikh (Vijay), his father, Rajendra Nath (Kandha Ram), Brigadier’s Man Friday, Rajesh Puri, and Boss No 1, Anupam Kher.

The first few minutes of Peecha Karo firmly establishes what it is trying to be. It’s a spoof of the kind that you have never seen before. It starts off with Ravi Baswani (RB) trying to enter into an asylum in a cop’s uniform. When stopped by the guard, he calls himself “Chhota Chetan” and then goes on to put on a pair of 3D glasses on the guard. Inside the asylum, we see Satish Shah (SS) in the standard Indian jail uniform (striped shirt and kachha) with a cape which has Shiva written on it. SS is Qaidi No 3D who is holding an audience of enthralled convicts with his Jackie Shroff act from Shiva ka Insaaf (the most commercial 3D movie made in Hindi cinema). RB and SS then establish the crucial plot element in their conversation about a Brigadier trying to pass on confidential defence secrets into enemy hands. RB whisks SS away and as they step out of the asylum gates, the guard stops them again. RB says he is chhota Chetan while SS responds with main hoon mota Chetan.

It might appear like a school skit– 3D, chhota Chetan, Shiva ka Insaaf, mota Chetan – but Pankaj Parasher dares to start off his second film (the first after his successful TV series Karamchand) with such goofiness. And it only gets better.

The humor through the movie covers the entire spectrum from the ridiculous, the Brigadier makes mysterious calls with the code words “Kutte ko billi ka salaam”, followed by some random meowing; to the sublime, Rajendra Nath who runs Kandharam & Sons, an establishment which sells ‘maiyyat ka saamaan’, tells Farouq, “Krishna ne Ramayan mein Arjun se kaha tha, zindagi ek safar hai suhana, yahan kal kya ho kisne jaana”. There’s also “Shakespeare ne Menaka se kaha tha ki naach meri bulbul tujhe paisa milega.”

RB and SS continue tailing the Brigadier and his daughter in some of the most unusual ways seen on screen (acting as post boxes, rose gardens and hay stacks). This provides ample scope for situational humor including a scene where the two of them act as hay stack but are careful to have a No Smoking placard sticking out of the stack lest someone should light up. Viju Khote, the havaldaar does, and the No Smoking placard rains down blows on him as he fiddles with the bidi.

The Brigadier’s daughter Roma is in love with Farouq and the romance blooms with the song ‘O pori zara ikkade aa’ which has Farouq doing Mass PT steps patented by Jeetendra complete with white shoes while Roma does the Sridevi act by dancing amidst pots and pans and some naag-nagin music thrown in between. This song also features that awesome 80s trick of having 6 images of the couple arranged in a circular fashion on screen which then proceed to rotate counter-clockwise. That was artistry, they were artists (not technicians, mind you Stardust and others), something lost in today’s cinema.

Brigadier wants to meet the ladka after Roma has impressed him with fabricated stories of Farouq being an expert martial arts specialist among many other virtues that he possesses. Briagdier arranges to have his own Kung-Fu expert Choos Lee (son of Guth Lee) to have a round with Farouq when he visits home. Through some devious backroom machinations involving spiking Choos Lee’s milk, Farouq triumphs over Choos Lee and wins the Brigadier over. It’s time for Brigadier to meet Farouq’s family but Roma doesn’t have the nerve to tell him about Farouq’s modest background. So she concocts a story of Farouq’s family being in London and convinces Farouq to act as his own father and meet the Brigadier.

Rajendra Nath gets the wind of his son’s affairs through a phone call which he picks up and finds Roma on the other line telling him (mistaking him for Farouq) that she has prepared chicken for him and asking him to come over since there’s no one at home. This provides segue for an amazing Sameer/Anand-Milind song which goes:

“Roz shaam piya ghar jaldi aana,
Khaana teri pasand ka banaoongi,
Tumhe murga bana ke khilaoongi,
Ku-ku-du-ku”

Farouq makes his entry into the Brigadier’s home disguised as a silver haired old man and just as he is warming up to his role, in walks Rajendra Nath. This leads to one of the most hilarious exchanges in the entire film ending with Brigadier saying, “mein Birgadier hoon” to which Rajendra Nath responds, “Main bhi fire brigade walon ko jaanta hoon.”

RB and SS are aware of Farouq’s duplicity and they help Farouq in his wedding plans with Roma while co-opting Farouq into their plans of tailing Brigadier. Farouq and Roma get married with Farouq becoming a Ghar-Jamai. From here on, things move breathlessly and it’s difficult to keep pace with the action on screen. There are two outstanding comic scenes in the course of all this. The first when RB and SS plan to have Farouq put into the boot of the taxi Brigadier is taking to visit Boss Number 1. The idea is to have RB, dressed as a beggar, stop the taxi and hold them long enough for Farouq to slip into the boot. RB, unfortunately, overacts with a million Baba, Baba, leading to Brigadier to leave the taxi and look for another. RB realizes he’s overacted and tries to stop the Brigadier by shifting to Baba Black Sheep instantly from the beggarly Baba Baba. Farouq, meanwhile, is in the boot waiting for the car to start. The police arrive on the scene and demand a ‘talaashi’ of the car. Along with the driver (Javed Khan), they open the boot and find Farouq inside. Javed Khan asks him, “Dicky mein kya kar rahe ho?” to which Farouq responds, “Akela aadmi dicky mein kya kar sakta hai?”

The other scene is when Rajesh Puri and Farouq are throwing the telephone receiver between themselves since they didn’t want to take the call while the Brigadier walks in and asks, “yeh kya ho raha hai.” Rajesh Puri responds without batting an eyelid, “telephone exchange.”

The ending is a bit of a let down but by then you are beyond the plot and how it will end. Pankaj Parasher, as usual, showed an amazing talent in creating some outstanding standalone scenes but you can see early signs of the weakness that will plague his later work, his ability to pace the story. But you have to hand it to Pankaj, during those 4-5 years in mid to late 80s, he was in a league of his own as he followed Karamchand and Peecha Karo with the slick Jalwa and Chaalbaaz. Peecha Karo, however, in my opinion, tops all his achievements as a filmmaker. There are only that many films where you have a character telling a cop, “aap abhi jaate hain ki main police ko bulaoon.” And there can only be one film where you have Farouq Sheikh put on a silver body suit and headband and dance to “jaane kya hua raama raama, nasha chadh gaya raama raama” with a bit of breakdance thrown in – the one sequence where you imagine pressing your palms on a glass door in front of you and move your body sideways in sinusoidal wave forms. Lastly, you are in doubt at times if all the humor in the film is really intended. As the credits roll at the start of the film with an athletic Kalpana Iyer showing off her curves to the title track “Peecha Karo”, you find among singers credited for the movie someone named Shron Prabhakar. The Indian Evita has been called many names in her career but never has it been shorn of glamour as in the credits of Peecha Karo.