“Woh manzil kya jo aasani se tay ho,

Woh rahi kya jo thak kar baith jaye.”

Young Jagdeep often heard his mother, Kaniz Fatema, utter this Urdu couplet. They goaded her on in her fight to exist. Years later, it became the footnote of his life. His reference point, his mantra in hostile times. From an affluent family in Datia, Madhya Pradesh, life flung eight year-old Syed Ishtiaq Ahmed Jafri (actor Jagdeep’s original name) and mother Kaniz on the streets of Bhendi Bazaar in Mumbai. Selling combs and soaps to survive, even as children his age devoured comics and chocolates, destiny handpicked young Jagdeep for the movies. “When reality slaps you hard on the face, you grow up fast,” says son/actor/anchor Jaaved Jaaferi about his late father, who became a breadwinner at nine.

Beginning as a child actor, then hero, Jagdeep later veered towards the comic, given his talent to sell laughter at the box-office. Yet, his ‘core’ remained ‘tragic’, resonating with the personal narratives of most comedians, including Charlie Chaplin, who used comedy to distract their inner demons. “Comedy arises from tragedy. If you only dwell on tragedy, then you’ll die with depression,” maintains Javed who empathised with his emotional father.

Being denied even the smallest joys of childhood, Jagdeep made sure to give sons, Jaaved and Naved Jafri, a sound one. Something Jaaved and Naved respected him for. That’s why perhaps, Jagdeep’s aberrations with alcohol, his stint with smoking, his second marriage… nothing could dent their bond and belief in their father. While the world fondly remembers him as the iconic Soorma Bhopali in Sholay, son Jaaved shares unknown facets of the human being his legendary father was. In his own words:

Being her youngest, Dad’s mother, Kaniz Fatema, brought him along when she came to Bombay from Lahore after the Partition (1947). My grandfather (late Syed Yawar Husain Jafri) was an attorney, and had passed way in Madhya Pradesh. For some reason, grandma’s older sons refused to look after her. So, from a well-placed cultured family, they suddenly found themselves on the streets of Bhendi Bazaar. While grandma cooked in an orphanage, Dad, who was around eight, sold everything from soaps, kites to combs to survive. He also worked with a maalishwala. He’d walk behind him with a canister of oil shouting, “Tel maalish!”

Spotted by a stranger affiliated to films, he was offered the chance to act as an extra in B. R. Chopra’s Afsana (1951). He was around nine then and was delighted to be paid three rupees for the job. He went on to do more films as a child artiste in the ’50s including K. A. Abbas’s Munna, Guru Dutt’s Aar Paar, Bimal Roy’s Do Bigha Zamin and AVM’s Hum Panchhi Ek Daal Ke.

Being a National Award winning film, the child actors of Hum Panchhi Ek Daal Ke including Master Rumi, Daisy Irani and Mohan Choti got the opportunity to meet Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru. He presented them with gifts. When it was Dad’s turn, there was no gift left. So Panditji blessed him and gave him his staff instead. It was Dad’s cherished possession.

Dad was in his early teens when he was cast with Dilip Kumar saab in Footpath (1953). For the mahurat shot, he cried without using glycerin. Dilip saab was impressed. Later, the same day, Dilip saab offered to drop him on his way home. They stopped at the petrol pump, where people gathered asking for Dilip saab’s autograph. Dilip saab, graciously pointing towards Dad said, “Take his autograph he’s kal ka Dilip Kumar.” That was the day Dad gave his first autograph.

By the time I was born in the early ’60s, Dad was an already established actor. We (referring to brother/host Naved Jafri) were closer to our mother Sugra as Dad would be busy shooting. But while Mom would spank us, dad never raised his hand. We respected him and maintained a distance. Dad gave us a comfortable childhood but didn’t let us lose touch with reality. He was a star but we lived in a one-bedroom apartment at Turner Road in Bandra. Our small home would be filled with cousins. I enjoyed cycling around in the quaint lanes of Bandra. We studied at St Teresa High School, the best part of which was that a boy from a slum and that from a skyscraper shared the same bench. That kind of mingling was the greatest gift of my childhood. When I was in class 10, we shifted to a three-bedroom house at Carter Road, near Otters Club.

During our holidays, we’d accompany Dad on his outdoor shoots. One such trip was to Kashmir for the shooting of Anokhi Pehchan (1972) with actors Sanjay Khan saab, Simiji and Nirupa Royji. We lived in a houseboat. I also recollect the time when we were in Kashmir and Rakesh Roshanji had come along with his newlywed wife Pinkyji (Roshan). Another memory that stands out is of the premiere of Anmol Moti (1969 film featuring Jeetendra and Babita). The premiere of the film was held at Naaz cinema. Dad played a pearl diver, who’s killed by an octopus. It was traumatic for me to watch my father being devoured by the creature.

Between the ’60s-’70s, Dad as a comedian was on top of his game. Mehmoodji had become older, Johny Walkerji had semi retired. That’s when the iconic role of Soorma Bhopali in Sholay (1975) came along. The character was brilliantly written (Salim-Javed). Dad betrayed an authentic Bhopali diction with the dialogue, ‘Mera naam bhi Soorma Bhopali aise hi nahin hai’ turning iconic. So bang on were his nuances that Dharamendraji and Amitabh Bachchanji kept cracking in the scene where they ask Soorma Bhopali for money on stepping out of jail. Later, Dad even directed a film titled Soorma Bhopali (1988).

Dad’s character in Feroz Khan’s Qurbani (1980) was called Mohammed Ali (a spoofy character based on the famed American boxer and activist). Those days Mohammed Ali visited the Middle East to raise money for his charities. Dad was also part of the contingent visiting the country. Mohammed Ali and Dad were put in the ring for a mock fight. And as Dad did his antics, Mohammed Ali laughed away.

Dad was child-like in his love for chocolates. When we visited New York for the first time in the ’80s, he bought a lot of chocolates, even stuffing them in his jacket pockets. He said, ‘I never got these as a child.’ Later, I’d get him Tobblers, Lindt… He also enjoyed petha and gajak, sweets associated with memories of his hometown MP.

Though he was known to be a funny man, basically he was a serious guy. Zindagi ke thapede (slaps) kaafi padhe the! Like comedians Charlie Chaplin and Groucho Marx… who made people laugh but their core was tragedy. The effort was to make it funny and live through it!” Dad was interested in poetry and history. He self educated him in English. He interacted with creative people, writers, filmmakers… like K Asif, Guru Dutt, Mehboob Khan. In jest, I’d say, “Your name is Jug-deep – you’re a deep ‘jug’!” referring to his philosophical outlook towards life.

The saddest moment in Dad’s life was when his mother passed away in 1991. My grandma lived with us. In fact, even after I became an actor, I shared my room with her. Dad was shattered. He sobbed like a child as I lowered her in the grave. Something cracked within him at that point. Sometime later, he got married again (to Najma). They had a daughter Muskaan (Jafri). There was a big turmoil at home. But at that point, I understood certain things. I didn’t hold it against him. Whatever grudges my mother may have had against him, as a father he’d done his best for us. Fair enough, there were certain things I didn’t agree with. That doesn’t take away the fact that I respected him, loved him and cared for him.

I didn’t like the alcohol bit because it makes you a different person. Gambling was not something he did in extreme. It’s not that he lost a fortune. He used to smoke too. I got put off by these things so I never took to smoking, alcohol or gambling. We have cordial relations with my stepmother. My sister Muskaan (Jafri) is a fantastic actor. She’s multi-talented. Dad encouraged her. As he was not working while she was growing up, he had more time with her.

Dad had developed a prostrate problem in his last few years. That fateful day, my stepmom called me as his oxygen levels had dropped. Dad was breathing heavily and looked intently at me as I placed him on a chair. Then he let out a long breath and it was over. The whole family was around him when he passed away on 8 July 2020. He was 81. In retrospect, I regard him with admiration. He was someone, who took life’s punches on the face. He didn’t allow stardom to affect him. He stood his ground yet remained grounded.

Shah Rukh Khan is currently gearing up for his upcoming film, King. While the superstar continues to maintain a low profile, he is often spotted at events and private gatherings.

The birthday party was also attended by Ranveer Singh, Sanjay Dutt and others. In one of the clips, Ranveer was seen singing his film Dhurandhar’s title track as his co-star Sanjay Dutt joined him on stage.

Another photo has gone viral from the same event featuring SRK, Ranveer, Preity Zinta, and Shilpa Shetty, among others.

#RanveerSingh, #ShahRukhKhan, #ShilpaShetty and more pose for a picture together. �#Celebs pic.twitter.com/xffjvOuT2r

— Filmfare (@filmfare) March 29, 2026

About King

The actor is currently working on Siddharth Anand’s directorial, King. Earlier this year, the makers officially announced the release date for the movie through a social media post. The caption shared, “#KING is Ready to ROAR on 24.12.2026 in Cinemas. #ItsKingTime #KingDateAnnouncement.”

The clip showed Shah Rukh Khan in icy cold regions, fighting enemies while trying to survive in adverse conditions. In some of the glimpses, he was seen in the middle of performing intense action sequences. It had opened with a high-octane, stylised action sequence that saw SRK’s character take down enemies.

Also Read: Fact Check: Did Shah Rukh Khan Say He Is ’dying’ to Work With Aditya Dhar After Dhurandhar?

There is a certain kind of cinema that arrives silently, without announcing itself. Sabar Bonda, Joyland and Moothon fall into that space. These are films that engage with the politics of identity, love and family. They observe grief, repression and desire closely and allow their characters the dignity of contradiction. Set across different cultural landscapes, they remain bound by a shared emotional undercurrent, that is, how people navigate love and belonging in worlds that often resist them.

Filmfare’s Editor-in-Chief, Jitesh Pillaai, reflects on these three films. In his words…

Sabar Bonda

I’m always concerned with the “politics” of a film and filmmaker. And that’s when #SabarBonda (cactus pear) scores. After a slight homage to Eliot’s peach scene in Call Me By My Name and one tip to Sairat, this beguiling and deceptively simple Marathi film finds its poetic rhythm. A son, Anand and his mother (an excellent Jayshri Jagtap) share a silent moment of togetherness after the death of Anand’s father, but the minute the mourners gather the mother is automatically “socialised” into wailing loudly. The dirge continues till the mother and son have to go back to their village to complete the ten-day ceremony following the father’s death. Anand meets the “unmarried” Balya, his childhood friend and sparks fly. Anand had come out to his driver father and mother and his mother keeps his secret at all costs. This is done rather well, especially the scenes between the mother and son. It’s poignant and filled with empathy, especially Anand’s final breakdown, realising his father’s deep empathy and concern.

The eroticism between the lovers is moving. It’s as much a desperate attempt to hold on to one another as much as making sense of the grief around them. There is much joy when debutant director Rohan Parashuram Kanvade pokes gentle fun at some of the rituals, and yet seems to suggest that it’s these very families that give us a sense of our roots. Through the bucolic life, Sabar Bonda gives you a sense of idyll and rhythm.

What are we without our grief and healing? And sometimes it’s love that makes us belong and heal faster. Sometimes we find it in the comfort of strangers, and at other times families ironically are our oasis. Sabar bonda is not an easy watch, but you will be rewarded and perhaps even ennobled going through the experiences with Anand and Balya. Bhushaan Manoj and Suraaj Suman are terrific in their portrayal of love and longing excellently shot by Vikas Mrs. Sabar Bonda is an excellent addition to the LGBTQ love stories because it avoids all the coming-of-age cliches. It’s resilient and stoic without labelling itself and also retaining its mystical beauty.”

Joyland

Joyland may be devoid of any joy. But it is laced with humour and biting sarcasm that brings in the light. At the outset, a pregnant woman’s water bag has burst, and she’s clinically firing off instructions to her family before she sets off to the hospital on a moped driven by her brother-in-law (Ali Junejo, terrific).

What you are looking at is the toxic patriarchy and misogyny of a lower-middle-class family in Pakistan, earning for a middle child. While it may look ostensibly like a love story between a transgender woman and her lover of nebulous sexuality, what diverted me and riveted me were the family shenanigans.

Between the two sisters-in-law who, despite the one-upmanship games, furtively share a cigarette and let loose at an amusement park, ironically titled Joyland. Joyland for me is memorable for the crucial love-making scene between the transgender woman and her lover who might find his real identity- was he emasculated by the pressures of family? Or didn’t he know who he was? The writing by Saim Sadiq, also the director, is lyrical and nuanced. When the “ghusal” rites are performed on the dead body of the pregnant woman, it left me with unanswered questions. Whose child was she carrying? Was her act of suicide an act of defiance against the tyranny of oppression?

And actress Rastie Farooqui steals the limelight away with her performance. But for me, it’s also Ali Junejo of Tangled Sensibilities chafing against brutal patriarchy; his eyes speak volumes. On the back seat of a scooter, huddled with his lover, his is the story of repression and heartache. The LGBTQ community may find many resonances in Joyland, but the pain is universal. With a remarkable economy of expression, the director and his cameraman create the ambience of claustrophobia. Hope is as fleeting as a rushed amusement park outing.

Moothon

I witnessed the love of Akbar and Ameer. Set amidst the sylvan locales of Lakshwadeep. Akbar flagellates himself through the ritual of kuthuratheeb. Almost like an atonement for forbidden love. Malayalam is just the medium for this universal feeling.

Moothon or The Elder One talks about forbidden love, gender stereotypes and ultimately the pain love engenders. A little boy goes in search of his older brother and reaches the mean streets of Mumbai with its brothels, gangsters, double dealings and merciless pimps.

Nivin Pauly as Akbar gives a performance of a lifetime, investing in his role a gentle lyricism in the flashback portions and a visceral madness in the Mumbai portions. He’s a knockout. Roshan Mathew as the mute Ameer is affecting, and his muteness is probably a rebellion in the times of inchoate noises and mindlessness. Especially moving is the scene in the Lakshwadeep waters in the moonlight where they exchange silences and tender glances.

The film becomes laboured in the Mumbai portions, where we enter Ram Gopal Varma territory. It’s raw, gritty, yes, but you are filled with Deja vu. Pauly’s portions with the child who has a secret, too, are heartbreaking, but alas, you are not allowed to get fully into it. What could have been another film on unrequited love is the transvestite’s story with Akbar.

The bonding between street-side children against a paedophile, the smart-ass street walker with a heart of platinum, the hero with the tender side are all too familiar tropes yet the director Geetu Mohandas revisits them with it sensitivity and gut-wrenching honesty. Ably abetted by R Rajeev Ravi’s first-rate camerawork.

Moothon is an immensely moving film if you are patient. It’s almost like an elegy for lost love and hopes and the loss of innocence. We can only heal through our memories and sometimes the love of strangers, too. The turmeric applied to Akbar’s body after his self-flagellation is meant to heal us, too. If you have felt the unbearable loss of love and are unable to express it, this film might be that immersive experience. Catharsis comes in the form of tenderness and one long, silent gaze.