“Hey brother, you look just like Asrani? Have you done comedy yet?” said Annu Kapoor, an Indian actor.

The unique actor Annu Kapoor is also a bit of a singer. 25 years ago, when Annu Kapoor’s live Antakshari program on Zee TV was organized in Kathmandu, Bindas got the opportunity to play a role by being part of the management team of that program.

Bindas was afforded the opportunity to collaborate with Annu Kapoor on tasks ranging from receiving him at the airport and transporting him to his stay at Hotel Everest to arranging the audition at the Russian Cultural Center andorganizing the final show at the Federal Parliament building (then Birendra International Convention Center), the latter of which has been rendered to a ruinous state following the recent Gen Z outrage.

When we went to ‘receive’ him at the airport, Annu Kapoor saw me and immediately said, “You look just like Asrani! Were you lost at a fair?”

“Yes, we were lost at the fair, but in the previous life,” I replied.

Annu Kapoor laughed out loud.

“By God’s grace, may the cow in your house now give water instead of milk, and may you drown and die in that very water.”

This dialogue is from the Hindi film Malamal Weekly, where the artist Govardhan Asrani, known professionally as Asrani, is seen cursing another artist, Om Puri. The film Malamal Weekly, which was based on a lottery, made me laugh, but I laughed even harder watching Asrani’s performance in the film Hum Nahin Sudhrenge in 1980.

Seeing the political parties and their leaders still failing to show self-improvement even after being shaken by the Gen Z movement, I only recently connected with Asrani’s performance in the film Hum Nahin Sudhrenge. Perhaps it was a telepathy that a piece of bad news was coming? Suddenly, I heard the news of Asrani’s demise.

Curses in Asrani style

I, too, share a small connection with Hindi cinema’s comedy king, Asrani, through a childhood memory.

In Nepali, rani means “queen,” and that became the root of a schoolyard riddle.
“Which queen washes utensils?” someone would joke. “Kharani (ashes)!”
“Then which queen laughs?” my friends once asked me.

Having just watched Sholay, I bluffed confidently. That evening, I told them, “You asked which queen laughs, right? Such an easy one!”
“What is it?” they asked.
“Asrani,” I said.
They burst into laughter and agreed, fair enough.

That feeling of pride from giving the correct answer has been inspiring me to this day. “Asrani” was not just an answer for me; it was also the inspiration to focus on my studies, give the correct answer to every question in the exam, and fulfill the “ready-made” dream of that time: “study hard, become knowledgeable, and serve the nation.” Whether I became knowledgeable or served the nation is a different matter, but Asrani was the first answer of my life.

This is a story from the time when the film style had exploded in Nepal. The Nepali Congress started its non-violent movement on May 23, 1985. While the movement was underway, on June 20, 1985, of the same year, there were bomb explosions at Narayanhiti Palace, the National Panchayat Building, the main door of Singha Durbar, and the Annapurna Hotel reception. Five people died in that bomb blast.

Following the bomb blast, the Panchayat government quickly started arresting leaders of the multi-party Nepali Congress and Communists. During that turmoil, my father, Ram Chandra Bhattarai, the editor of the then Dainik Nirnaya in Bhairahawa, was also arrested. When I went to the police office near the press office with my elder brother in the evening, carrying food for my father, I saw a policeman with a Hitler-style mustache.

“He looks just like Asrani from Sholay,” I said.

“Shut up, you fool! They’ll grab you too!” my brother cautioned.

I had just watched the movie Sholay a few days earlier at the Pancharatna Cinema Hall in Bhairahawa, when I was exactly 14 years old. Not just the characters of Veeru (Dharmendra), Jai (Amitabh Bachchan), Thakur (Sanjeev Kumar), and Gabbar Singh (Amjad Khan), but also Asrani’s character, Jailor, who says, “Main Angrezon ke zamaane ka Jailor hoon” (I am the jailer from the time of the British rule), was embedded in my mind.

Actually, I have seen, laughed at, and enjoyed the films of artists like Mehmood, Johnny Walker, Kesto Mukherjee, Jagdeep, Kader Khan, Shakti Kapoor, Tuntun, and even Laxmikant Berde, Asit Sen, Asad Warsi, and Rajpal Yadav.

But the impression Asrani left was such that, rather than asking, “Who is the hero? Who is the heroine?” we would say. “Asrani is in the movie; it will be very funny,” and we would run to the cinema. If money was tight, it was the Dress Circle; if it was less, the First Class; and if there wasn’t even Rs 2, the “Front Bench” would do.

The fun part was that as soon as Asrani appeared on screen, we would immediately start our “khat-khat khat-khat” (chattering/giggling); he wouldn’t even have to say anything—just the sight of the “funny man” would make us laugh. Especially Asrani.

A few days later, after the Chairman of the Janabadi Morcha, Ram Raja Prasad Singh, took responsibility for the bomb incident, my father was released.

My father was greeted by “Surma Bhopali” standing at the Bhairahawa prison gate, in his distinctive uniform of that era.

“Uncle, you look just like Asrani, he he he,” a mischievous boy commented.

It was natural for a policeman assigned to security duty not to like being compared to a comic artist from a Hindi film. He looked like he was about to get annoyed and charge at me. I quickly ran away from there.

These were lighthearted matters. The main effect Asrani had on my life, however, was not humorous—it was tragic.

In my childhood, my round head, fair face, and curly hair, combined with my height, made me look somewhat like Asrani. Plus, I was always laughing and joking. So, my friends and brothers would tease me and call me “Joker.”

While studying in grade 7 at Indrarajya Laxmi Secondary School (Only Girls’ School) in Narayanthang, Bhairahawa, I liked a classmate named Bishnumaya. I couldn’t tell her how I felt. Back then, “practical education” included a “cooking class,” and we would get marks for making a dish and serving it to the teachers and having them taste it.

One time, Bishnumaya, Anjana, and I were grouped together to prepare a dish. We were supposed to cook hot Halwa. I stepped forward, saying, “I can make better Halwa than Pawan Misthanna Bhandar.” At home, we used to get semolina and ghee and make Halwa, which we ate with coconut. I began by frying the semolina. When it was time to add the water, Bishnumaya and Anjana were supposed to pour it in.

While cooking, the semolina got a bit over-fried, turning even darker on top. When they delayed adding the water, the Halwa turned even redder. Still, after the water was soaked up and the semolina swelled, we declared it “cooked” and took the pan off the stove, covering it with a lid.

Now it was time for everyone to taste the dishes they had prepared. Some made chukauni (a yogurt dish), some puri, some kheer (rice pudding), some buniya (laddu ingredients), and some even made petha (a sweet gourd dish). The teachers came and started tasting the dishes one by one. After tasting every dish and saying, “Wow, how sweet, amazing!” the teachers tasted our Halwa and immediately said, “Ugh! How unsweet, how bitter! Did you put fenugreek instead of sugar in the Halwa?”

Everyone looked at us and laughed. We became the objects of ridicule. Our group got laughed at. The Halwa was deemed bad because of me. The thought that we would get poor marks in the practical wasn’t the issue; rather, my heart was broken by something else that day. In the evening, when returning home, I overheard Bishnumaya telling Anjana, “How can the Halwa made by that Joker Asrani be sweet? That bastard Joker made us lose marks too. Moron Asrani.”

Why shouldn’t Asrani be a comic actor? The “Asrani style” became a curse for me. I started hating my curly hair. I stopped only short of shaving off my thick, curly “Asrani look” hair, and instead, I started getting a Jackie Shroff-style haircut—the hero from the recently released film Hero—and started tying a ribbon band.

I would take the band off inside the classroom, and after school was over, I’d put on the band, whistle down the entire street, and walk with a swagger. But not only Vishnumaya but also other friends, too, never took me for a Jackie; they only ever thought of me as Asrani, which, at that time, was not just the comedy of my life but a “tragedy.”

Today, however, I say with pride, “Thank you, Bishnumaya, for calling me Asrani.” Because Asrani is a great artist. Master artists of comedy like Asrani have departed from this world, but the laughter he brought to everyone is still resonating everywhere in the cosmos.

Walls, posters, and dreams

Asrani was born in the city of Jaipur. His father, Thakur Das Jethanand Asrani, had a carpet and saree business in Jaipur. Asrani’s family settled in Jaipur from Karachi after the partition of India and Pakistan. Born into a middle-class Sindhi family, Asrani obtained his graduate degree from Rajasthan College after studying at St.

Xaviers School in Jaipur. To cover his expenses while studying, Asrani started his career as a voice artist at All India Radio in Jaipur, where his voice and acting immediately drew everyone’s attention.

One famous anecdote is told before Asrani entered cinema. The story is from the time when Asrani was cycling with a friend on M.I. Road. Asrani was sitting on the front of the bicycle, with one foot dangling on the handlebar, full of youthful enthusiasm.

“Stop the cycle!” Asrani suddenly ordered his friend, pointing to a government motor garage passing by.

The cycle stopped. Asrani went straight to a hoarding for the film Meherbaani.

“Look at this; one day the poster of my film will be here too,” Asrani said with a smile, pointing to the poster.

“Yes, brother, this will definitely happen,” his friend replied half-heartedly.

Well, Asrani’s destiny had already charted its course. A few months later, at the same place, on the same wall, the poster for a film titled Hare Kanch Ki Chooriyan was pasted. Along with stars like Bishwajeet, Naina Sahu, Helen, and Rajendra Nath, Asrani’s face also shone in a corner of that poster.

That moment of joy was not just Asrani’s but the victory of every aspiring artist. It was proof that if dreams are true, the walls will greet you.

What’s a wall? Asrani leaped into the walls of the audience’s hearts with a golden-lettered tribute to his performance.

Asrani was one of the longest-active comic actors in Indian cinema. In his career spanning over five decades, he worked in 350 films.

After honing his talent by learning acting from the Film and Television Institute of India in Pune, Asrani entered the Hindi film world around the mid-1960s.

Starting his career with serious and supporting roles, Asrani’s comedic talent quickly flourished. As a result, from the 1970s to the 1980s, he became an indispensable, familiar, and leading face of Hindi cinema, often playing the role of a lovable simpleton, a troubled official, or a witty sidekick. Due to his “comic timing” and facial expressions, Asrani became an actor desired by every director.

Asrani played memorable supporting roles in films like Sholay and Chupke Chupke. The roles in Sholay, such as ‘Surma Bhopali’ and another who exhibits the gait of Hitler, the German Nazi ruler, in Sholay, became highly famous.

Asrani, who worked in films in several languages, including Gujarati and Rajasthani, also shared the comedic stage with actors like Mehmood, Rajesh Khanna, and, in later times, Govinda.

“We sold fritters, but we didn’t become mendicants”

Exactly 11 months ago, on November 23, 2024, at an event organized in Ajmer (Rajasthan), Asrani gave a statement that made everyone present feel proud.

“Have you ever seen a Sindhi beggar in any country? No. Because Sindhis never beg. We have sold carpets, we have sold clothes, and we have sold fritters, but we have never held out our hands. This is the biggest identity of our community.”

The crowd applauded with the sound of snapping fingers. But Asrani didn’t stop there. “You will not find any Sindhi thief, terrorist, naxalite, or murderer. But you will find a businessman. We haven’t left any country in the world. Sindhis are selling clothes and serving delicious food everywhere—Japan, Indonesia, and Malaysia.

I have sold clothes myself. My father and mother also did the same. They stitched clothes and worked hard but never begged. This is the most important thing,” Asrani concluded.

The eyes of everyone were filled with tears when Asrani, who embodied the meaning of being human with his humor and wit, passed away last Monday at the age of 84.

Even Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi was stunned. Just a little while before his death, Asrani had posted a message on his Instagram account for his fans: “Happy Diwali.”

Forget it—in Asrani’s case, maybe this Diwali was happy because he attained freedom from this miserable and painful world; he attained salvation. But for his die-hard fans, the news of his passing left us speechless. Farewell, Asrani.