Generations to come, it may be, will scarcely believe that such a one as this ever in flesh and blood walked upon this earth.
Source: E=mc² on Mahatma Gandhi

As was said about the Mahatma seven decades ago, (jot this down for posterity’s sake, will you) seven decades hence so will it be repeated about Bollywood filmmaker Sajid Khan, the Orson Welles of our era.

Rosebud!

Hey, I heard that.

Masterpiece – No Less

So many of my lifelong movie dreams were fulfilled by Sajid Khan in Humshakals that I am now happily in his debt forever.

Directed and co-written by Sajid Khan, the story is like what Henry Miller would not write after a ‘hectically busy’ day at the Cosmodemonic Telegraph Company, stepping into a speakeasy in the evening after borrowing a tenner, returning home drunk after a fuck with his mistress, slapping his pregnant wife and then clacking away on the typewriter.

Nonpareil!

Littered with gems that left me gaping in utter delirium at the wonder on the screen, Humshakals is the defining moment in Indian movie history.

To appreciate this Kohinoor to the utmost I leave to minds far superior to mine, but find below my grateful obeisance at the altar of Sajid Khan.

Given my Ganga-like mind, for decades I’ve lusted for an incest angle that leaves nothing to the imagination in a mainstream Hindi film. And Humshakals nicely obliged me with a romance between Bipasa ‘Mishti’ Basu and Riteish ‘Kumar’ Deshmukh. Her heaving, swollen bosom struggling to escape their cells, Bipasha looked sweetly, lactatingly matronly while Riteish fit the role of a cute piglet suckling on mama sow’s udders five times a day.

Thank You, Sajid bhai.

After being entranced by Tamanna Bhatia’s lifeless, skimpy attired performances in scores of Tamil and Telugu films, I desperately yearned for the same punishment in a Hindi film. In her yellow frock, red frock, pink frock and a gazillion other colorful mini-frocks, Tamanna delivered the pinnacle of her zany treats in Humshakals. Oh, I scampered out of the theatre all smiles and a song on my lips.

Thank You, Sajid bhai.

Riteish Deshmukh has tortured me in so many Bollywood films that I have had him on speed-dial and on my Christmas cards list ever since Heyy Baby. But to see three Riteish Deshmukhs playing six characters, each one worse than the other, means Eid came early for me in 2014. Riteish – the billionaire’s best friend; Riteish – the mad canine (not kidding) lifting its hind legs at a lamp-post and then making a lamp-post out of Tamil accountant Srinivasan; Ritesh – the sane-mad man wrongfully committed to an asylum; Riteish – the Paratha wallah delighting Londoners with Cocaine Parathas; Riteish – the Hijra; Riteish – the girl with a 38D bosom. Six Riteishes! OMG, I’m so spoiled for choice. Is this what the nouveau intellectuels in Navi Mumbai call embarras de richesses.

Thank You, Sajid bhai.

Ever since Bal Thackeray joined his mentor Adolph Hitler in the vast political theatre in the sky, I’ve longed for another famous Mumbaikar to acknowledge the greatness of Der Fuhrer, gas-chamber and all. Thank God for the asylum warden Satish Shah, who not only did that but added Gaddaffi, Saddam and Kim Jong-il to the list of those who deserve the world’s undying gratitude. Oh, the omission of Dick Cheney must surely have been an oversight.

Thank You, Sajid bhai.

Marriage to Kareena has done miracles for Saif Ali Khan. Brought his acting skills to Madame Size Zero’s levels. In his multiple roles, Saif never once changed his bored ‘Me Nawab, You hoi-polloi‘ expression. Must be a hard feat to accomplish. Left me in awe. The last time I witnessed such a stupendous achievement was when Kareena effortlessly did the retard in Jab We Met for the entire length of the film. Isn’t marriage the great equalizer! Now I know why Shahid Kapoor can still act.

Thank You, Sajid bhai.

The finale was so wonderful that I sat spellbound holding my breath lest my inhalation or exhalation distract me. UK’s House of Commons, Prince Charles, a just out of coma father zipping up to the stage in a wheel chair, criminal transfer of the Singhania business empire in front of the bewildered Prince, three Saif Ali Khans, three Riteish Deshmukhs, Mama Bipasha, Tamanna ‘mini-frock’ Bhatia, a deadly bomb in the chandelier up above, down below two deadlier scrotum-crunching midgets, three asylum guards and a bewildered crowd. Wow! What a madhouse. Just like Indian Parliament in the Manmohan Singh era! Only thing missing to perfect the chaotic picture was Rahul Gandhi.

Thank You, Sajid bhai.

Now a word about the brilliant script, co-authored by Sajid.

Bhaiyon-Behno, Humshakals is that never-seen-before Bollywood gem about a rich man whose uncle is trying to grab the property after packing the nephew off to the loony bin.

For nearly three short hours, Humshakals kept giving and giving and giving leaving me gasping, gasping and finally breathless.

Folks, if you have Indian blood flowing through your veins, if your father is really Patel, Singh, Reddy, Gowda, Gupta, Naidu, Chettiar, Shah, or Chaudhuri then Humshakals is right up your alley.

SI cannot recommend this masterpiece strongly enough.

Thank You, Sajid bhai.

No regrets if these tired, old eyes fail to open in the morning.

For they’ve have feasted on Humshakals.

  Sajid Khan