Chupke Chupke (Hrishikesh Mukherjee, 1975)

by Elissa Jayne Toohill

Hrishikesh Mukherjee and N.C. Sippy’s Chupke Chupke holds a surprisingly low rank in the mainstream collective memory of important South Asian films. Although it is not considered particularly obscure, it is certainly not a regular among popular top-ten rankings lists (not even in All-Time Favorite Bollywood Comedies lists) either, and we don’t see it referenced in many later films.

Having been a relative newcomer to South Asian Cinema fandom upon viewing this film for the first time, I found it difficult to understand why it the film doesn’t enjoy icon status. How can this be?

Well, despite the fact that its lead actor Dharmendra manages to accomplish the near-impossible task of playing the character Dr. Parimal Tripathi successfully (the character is a charismatic trickster that possesses a strong moral compass—a highly intelligent academic with a definite benevolent bent to his personality, he at the same time manages not to take himself too seriously), and despite its timeless brilliance in dialogue and humor, thoroughly enjoyable songs, and undeniable chemistry between romantic interests, Mukherjee-Sippy’s gem failed to attain much more than critical acclaim and cult classic status.

This outcome can be chalked up to simple temporal misfortune. Just shy of four months before the premiere of Sholay–the blockbuster megahit that cemented Amitabh-Dharmendra’s immortality–the very same duo starred in this lighthearted comedy together, an act further rendering Chupke Chupke temporarily forgettable. When you have the same exact headlining actors performing in such thematically disparate films, you are bound to relegate one to the backburner, however undeserving of relegation one of the films may be.

Popularity-related injustices aside, Chupke Chupke is a joy to behold. It fulfills its primary duty as a comedy for sure: the story is hilarious from start to finish, and it provides us with well-rounded comedic content. It pleases in ways from simplistic to intellectual—silly physical gags seem right at home with unpretentious-yet-highbrow humor. The technical prowess of the film crew is noteworthy (we notice their subtle artistry even in the opening credits, beautiful flower shots hinting at the recurrent botany theme). The story, while not airtight, glides smoothly from scene to scene. Humor is the near-constant primary focus, but not at the expense of social critique.

Not long after the opening credits, we get the first glimpse of Parimal’s mischief maker-cum-humble hero persona. During his stay at a hill station, our young Professor of Botany learns that the poor old solitary caretaker of the station is in a bind. The caretaker’s grandson has fallen ill, but the man fears he will lose his job if he heads back to the village to attend to his grandson’s needs.

Upon hearing this, Parimal promptly trades his coat for the caretaker’s typical chowkidar (caretaker) outerwear, offering to take over his duties while the old man heads home to care for his grandson. While the caretaker initially refuses (the reason being that he has a bus full of students on the way for a fieldwork excursion) Parimal insists, and the fun begins.

Too soon after the caretaker’s departure, the expected bus full of (female) botany students arrives. Parimal affects the caretaker’s accent and mannerisms, and while he is perceived to be subpar due to his lack of strength and his near-inability to anticipate his guests’ needs, he conducts his ruse well enough that it goes by undetected… that is until the highly-curious Sulekha Chaturvedi (played by Sharmila Tagore) overhears Parimal welcoming back the actual caretaker. Impressed with Parimal’s good deed, Sulekha demands to see Parimal without his caretaker’s hat, and she openly shares her positive opinion of his looks. Now impressed with Parimal in two ways, Sulekha slyly slips Parimal her number along with his chowkidar tips, and through their mutual attraction, love begins to bloom.

Shortly after Parimal’s subsequent matrimonial engagement to Sulekha, he learns of Sulekha’s unfortunately intense reverence of her jija-ji (brother-in-law), Raghav (short for Raghavendra), who is her sister, Lata’s husband. As Sulekha’s fawning over jija-ji increases, her praises peppered with jija-ji’s negative quotes about the intellect of botanists and the legitimacy of their field, Parimal’s desire to prove himself at least equal to Raghav increases along with it.

After the marriage, Parimal and Sulekha learn that Raghav is searching for a replacement driver on the unreasonable basis that his current driver, James’ poor Hindi will spoil his daughter’s language skills. Raghav bemoans the fact James cannot speak Hindi like those from Allahabad do. Parimal teasingly quips that he should apply for the position. When Sulekha boasts that such a prank could never fool her genius jija-ji, Parimal decides to follow through with the con. With sassy Sulekha and her brother Haripad ready to assist, the creation of our lovely driver Pyaaremohan Allahabadi begins.

Through “Pyaaremohan’s” interactions with Raghav, we receive layered humor: the sheer, goofy awkwardness of using legitimately “pure” Hindi, Parimal’s inner amusement brought on through fooling Raghav, his pleasure derived from proving that he speaks “pure” Hindi at a considerably higher level than Raghav (despite being one of those intellectually inferior botanists), a nuanced social critique of the idea of the promotion of language “purity”, and criticism of those types of individuals who demand “purity”.

          Parimal impresses Sulekha yet again when she learns of his successful swindle, and they begin to create yet another prank—since jija-ji and company do not yet know that Pyaaremohan is Parimal, Sulekha decides to plant a seed in Raghav and Lata’s minds that she is unhappy with her marriage to Parimal and, therefore, is having an affair with Pyaaremohan. As the newlyweds engage in their shenanigans as a team, the subplot of their increased attraction to one another and subsequent bonding is highlighted beautifully by the actors’ effective employment and exploitation of their obvious chemistry. In addition to being highly entertaining, this prank too could be seen as a social critique of valuing tradition and societal norms over contentedness and the extended family’s enforcement of these traditions—why are Lata, Raghav and company so perturbed by Sulekha’s happiness with her “illegitimate” lover Pyaaremohan when they are keenly aware of her displayed unhappiness with her “actual” husband?

Personal notes:

*As I am often tempted—and subsequently disappointed—by my curiosity ruining my full enjoyment of a film through my reading of spoilers (yes, even if there is a spoiler alert marking warning me to turn away), I have left possible spoilers out of my personal review, both of specific jokes and plot points. That said, Chupke Chupke is an immensely enjoyable watch, whether your affinity lies in expert technical execution, multifaceted humor, or social critiques.

**Although Chupke Chupke it is indeed a remake of Agradoot’s Bengali movie Chhadmabeshi (which is based on Upendranath Ganguly's Bengali story Chhadobeshi), multiple reviewers have claimed that the viewing experience between the two films is disparate enough to warrant a full watch of both or either film.