Javed Kodu's death marks end of an era
Funeral prayers for the veteran performer were held at the marquee behind his residence in Singhpura, followed by his burial at the Singhpura graveyard.
With a career spanning over four decades, Javed Kodu leaves behind a legacy of laughter, resilience, and heartfelt performances, according to media reports.
Born with dwarfism, Kodu faced numerous personal and professional challenges throughout his life. Despite facing discrimination and mockery both on and off stage, he rose to become one of Pakistan's most beloved figures in theatre.
His stage name "Kodu" was affectionately given to him by the legendary comedian Akhtar Hussain Albela. He began his acting career in 1981 with the play Sode Baaz and went on to appear in over 150 Punjabi and Urdu films, along with countless stage productions.
Among his most memorable television roles was in the popular drama Ashiyana, which is still fondly remembered by fans.
Javed Kodu is survived by his son Salman Kodu and another son, Shera, who has followed in his father's footsteps and is a popular performer on the comedy show Mazaaq Raat.
Kodu's contributions to Pakistani theatre and cinema are immeasurable. His passing marks the end of an era for stage comedy in Pakistan.
Tributes have poured in from across the country, celebrating his enduring spirit, sharp wit, and the joy he brought to audiences nationwide. He will be remembered not only for his iconic performances but also for his courage, resilience, and for proving that true talent knows no physical limits.
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Express Tribune
a day ago
- Express Tribune
Remembering CM Naim
It was sometime in late fall of 1999, a few months after I had arrived at the University of Chicago, that I first heard of Professor CM Naim – or Naim sahib, as some of my fellow students called him. He was a prominent scholar of Urdu literature and literary tradition, and had taught Urdu to hundreds of students at the University of Chicago over the years. His reputation was, as was conveyed to me by those in his class, of a serious instructor with exacting standards. It was perhaps my own residual trauma of instructors with exacting standards that I had encountered in Pakistan, and my own ignorance of how important it is to spend time with scholars of literature, that I never sought to meet him. I heard plenty of stories about his classes and his encyclopedic knowledge, his insistence on proper pronunciation, and his attention to every single word in text. I learned from friends that he was also the organiser of Friday afternoon chai which, among other things, used to have samosas. In the typical fashion of graduate students who longed for free food, I would show up, just after the mehfil had ended, to see if there were some left over samosas. I did not have the courage to meet Naim sahib. Years later, when some of my trauma dissipated and my love for literature reignited, I came across many of his writings, scholarly and otherwise. I was inspired and mesmerised. I especially loved his articles on the history of jasoosi novels (an umbrella term that combines spy novels, crime fiction and detective stories). I learned about Tirath Ram Ferozpuri and the early Urdu translations of English detective stories. His most recent book on the topic, Urdu Crime Fiction 1890-1950: An informal History, is as engaging as it is insightful. Over the years, I learned about him from others who had spent their lifetime studying south Asia, Urdu literature, or cultural traditions in the region. I regretted the fact that I did not get to benefit from his wisdom while he and I were on the same campus. I was too busy in the lab, too myopic in my worldview and too naïve to appreciate the opportunity. Then, one day in early 2024, I learned that Naim sahib had written to a mutual acquaintance, Professor Manan Ahmad, about my Urdu book, Aaina haaye khud shanasi, that had been reviewed in a newspaper, and he had expressed interest in reading it. This was my cue, and I was not going to miss this opportunity. I immediately sent him a copy. A couple of weeks later, in March 2024, I got a note from him. He wrote, "Biradaram, I finished your book. Wish it was longer. Wise, sincere in the sense of being really what its title says and not nursing some hope or grudge. But you do write high Urdu; humour comes in Yusufi's manner. Your book is such that should read by all bright young people." I know that I do not deserve such praise, and that he was being extremely generous, but I was over the moon. This was just the first part of the email. In the second part, he was the exacting professor once again and pointed to several typos that need to be corrected. That day, I regretted my decision of not seeking his company on campus even more. That email exchange in March opened a new chapter in my interactions with Naim sahib. I sent him my other book that he liked just as much. We regularly communicated about essay writing in Urdu, the publishing industry, the nature of language and what we both were reading these days. I would send him my Urdu essays and he would comment on their diction, style and structure. I would read and re-read his every email, not because they were complicated or layered, but because there was a sincerity and honesty in them that I craved. In one of his last emails to me, he encouraged me to write more and ended his note with: Zor-i qalam paayanda baad. Naim sahib passed away last week, but I know the strength of his pen lives on.
Express Tribune
2 days ago
- Express Tribune
Yasir Hussain calls out 'elitist' Karachi restaurant
Actor and director Yasir Hussain has raised his voice against discriminatory treatment reported at some of Karachi's upscale clubs and restaurants, where patrons wearing traditional attire are allegedly being denied service. In an Instagram Story posted on Friday, Hussain responded to reports that a man was turned away from a restaurant in Karachi for wearing shalwar kameez, the national dress of Pakistan. "There is increasing disrespect towards shalwar kameez. This drama has started in many clubs and fine-dining restaurants," he wrote, labelling them as "Wannabe Angrez." Actor Mishi Khan also publicly criticised the same establishment. In a video posted on her Instagram, she said, "I am shocked. Can you believe they called our national dress cheap? We're running on foreign funding, paying double the debt, we lack jobs and resources, and just look at their attitude! As if they're from Switzerland!" The outrage is justified, as she questions what exactly these people deem as appropriate dress: "What are we supposed to wear now? Should we wear bikinis or hot pants just to be allowed in? I will definitely find out which restaurant this is, and I will reveal its name to you." This controversy involved a man reportedly identified as Advocate Abdul Latif, who alleged that he was turned away and that the staff told him, "We don't serve pendus," using a derogatory term for rural or unfashionable people. Latif said that after facing humiliation, he sent a legal notice to the restaurant, but the administration has yet to respond. He has now approached the Consumer Court, seeking action against the restaurant. The shalwar kameez is Pakistan's national dress and a cultural symbol. Yet, private venues enforcing Western dress codes have sparked debate over class-based discrimination and cultural erasure. Hussain pointedly remarked that venue owners have adopted an attitude towards traditional dress similar to their attitude towards Urdu. The matter has drawn public backlash. Social media users have demanded identification and a boycott of the restaurant. One user wrote, "Truly boycott such restaurants — they will remember their place. Speak to them in their own language, and they will stay within their limits." Another user echoed, "Agreed. We should take a stand on this!"
Express Tribune
3 days ago
- Express Tribune
Sardaar Ji 3 review: bridging borders but missing depth
After undergoing various socio-political and cultural controversies, and ups and downs, the new Indian film Sardar Ji-3, has been released globally except its parent country India. This leaves 1.5 billion film lovers deprived of enjoying this comedy feast starring Diljit Dosanjh, one of the most prominent and celebrated stars of India. Interestingly, the reason for this deprivation is that the film's female lead happens to be the famous Pakistani actress Hania Amir. Other stars in the cast include Neeru Bajwa, Manav Vij, Gulshan Grover, Jasmin Bajwa, Nasir Chinyoti (also Pakistani), Sammy Jonas Heaney, Daniel Khawar, Sapna Pabbi, and Monica Sharma. The project has been directed by Amar Hundal and produced by Gunbir Sigh Sidhu and Manmord Sidhu, while Rakesh Dhawan, Dheeraj Rattan and Manila Rattan teamed up as screenwriters. Another twist in this cinematic cum political tale is that long before the recently mounting tensions between the two arch-rivals India and Pakistan, the government of Pakistan had banned the screening of Indian films in the country, but as a unique case has permitted this cinema venture to be released in the country's theatres and cinemas. That is a timely and prudent move by our decision makers on diplomatic and geopolitical fronts and will definitely cement further the ties between Pakistan and the East Punjab [Indian] and its people, especially the Sikh community. I have always valued and loved the fact that art and culture transcend the political divides, also between Pakistan and India, and hence music and entertainment of both countries are cherished by the people on either side of the border. As the Punjabi diaspora is globally present and has exercised a great impact on broader-spectrum culture, the modern-day Punjabi films, plays and music are considered beyond the restraints of regional and political boundaries. Linking its roots to the previous two parts, Sardar Ji 3 continues the eccentric saga of the beloved ghost-hunting character Jaggi, portrayed by Diljit Dosanjh. This time, Jaggi finds himself entangled in a bizarre cross-border tale involving supernatural elements, mistaken identities, and an unlikely romance. This time the ghost is bigger and more horrible, and later on, it appears to belong to the dead body of the twin brother of the villain who has hired the psychic pair for getting their castle free from this weird and unearthly presence. It is unbelievable that for many years, the villain has kept the body of his brother inside the castle without any special procedure or treatment in a simple wooden-box. Set against a backdrop of fantasy and farce, the film attempts to blend comedy, action, and fantasy with a touch of patriotic sentiment. The plot weaves in a new twist through the character of a cute girl, which becomes the centre of both the romantic and political drama. However, despite the fresh setting, the storyline remains structurally similar to the earlier installments, leaning heavily on familiar tropes — bumbling heroes, exaggerated and even comic villains, and a chaotic narrative full of comic misunderstandings. Thematically, Sardaar Ji 3 appears to aim at promoting righteousness and relationship setting aside financial gains and pragmatism. It tries to wrap its message in humour and whimsy, hoping to soften complex realities through cinematic exaggeration. However, this intention is undermined by its lack of depth and over-reliance on slapstick humour. While the film hints at themes like love beyond borders, the absurdity and loud comedy often dilute the emotional and moral potential of the story. Another theme is the internal conflict of identity and legacy — Jaggi tackles the burden of his own exaggerated legend. The movie plays with the idea of living up to a larger-than-life image, which ironically mirrors Diljit's own struggle as an actor stuck in a repetitive on-screen persona. Despite some visually engaging moments and high-energy sequences, Sardaar Ji 3 lacks the narrative maturity and character development needed to transform it from a noisy comedy into a meaningful cinematic experience. In the end, it becomes more about gags than growth — both for the character and the actor portraying him. The plot and script were expected to blend humour, drama, and romance, typical of the Sardar Ji franchise, but this time, the viewers were caught unaware by a loosely woven horror thread in the general fabric of comedy. It would not be unjust to say that the amalgamation of both the mutually diverging elements — humour and horror — unfortunately proved to be counterproductive and marred the individualistic impacts of each of the genres. Moreover, we come across a very sombre and didactic aspect of human life — the evil deeds always bring forth evil outcomes — portrayed through the episode of the ghost in the castle and the people connected to his family and friends or accomplices. However, the teasing feature is that this grave story is confined to 5-10 minutes of dialogues/scenes sunk into the overall atmosphere of the sitcom. It seems that a major twist and climax of the story is just an insignificant incident in its scheme. It would be grimly unjust not to admire and relate dynamic appearance, awesome dressing style and confident acting of Hania. The songs picturised on her have oodles of her charm, while her performance hypnotises the audience, as do the stunning landscapes. Hania's dimples, screen presence, the song lyrics, dance steps, and melodies make watching the songs a treat for Pakistani audiences. The only but significant professional lapse in her performance was her poor command over Punjabi dialogue delivery that made the director take help from technology and dubbing in places where needed. Diljit Dosanjh seems to have reached a creative plateau with his repetitive performance. While his star power remains undeniable and his international fan-base continues to grow, the film exposes a deeper issue — his inability to break free from the repetitive mould he has built over the past decade. Diljit appears to be a prisoner of his own peculiar style, recycling the same brand of slapstick comedy, exaggerated absurdities, and over-the-top antics that once felt charming but now border on monotonous. The comic timing, facial expressions, and character delivery all seem like déjà vu for audiences who have followed him since the original Sardaar Ji. Despite commercial success in some overseas markets, the film feels creatively stale. There is little evolution in the narrative style or performance depth. What was once viewed as a unique blend of rural charm and urban wit has now become a predictable caricature. The clownish energy, which may have been endearing in the early years, now feels forced — almost as if Diljit is trying to meet the expectations of a role that no longer fits him naturally. The broader disappointment lies in the fact that Diljit has the talent and the presence to redefine Punjabi cinema, but Sardaar Ji 3 suggests he's stuck in a comfort zone. Instead of exploring new emotional ranges or bolder themes, he seems content repeating a formula that's well past its prime. As the global Punjabi film industry develops further and audiences become more discerning, actors like Diljit will need to take creative risks or risk becoming parodies of their former selves. Stardom is a gift — but it can become a burden when it resists reinvention. Switching to Neeru Bajwa, who plays the role of a ghost/witch named Pinky, we must say that she reprises her presence in the series with grace and seasoned charm, she has also done justice to her role with a few scattered deviations and lapses. Playing the role of a strong-willed and magnanimous female or feminine creature, she adds emotional balance to the otherwise chaotic and comedy-driven storyline. Her character acts as both a counterforce and a reality check to Diljit Dosanjh's over-the-top antics, grounding the narrative in moments of sincerity. While the film largely revolves around supernatural fun and cross-border humour, Neeru brings depth through her expressions and mature screen presence. Though her role isn't the central arc this time, her contribution adds a layer of continuity and credibility to the franchise. Her final understanding and decision to get aside, sacrifice her overwhelming love, and to bring Noor and Jaggi together adds to the positive emotional flow that runs through the theme of the film. Winding up, the film is just like a confection — sweet, effervescent, and unpretentious. It embraces its genre tropes joyfully, yet beneath that lies little narrative heft. Performatively, it struggles on Diljit's enduring appeal and music‑infused humour, which often rescues the experience. The insertion of Sikh spiritual text attempts emotional depth but highlights the film's tonal fragility. Meanwhile, its political entanglement inadvertently performs a cultural critique: the torn space where art and diplomacy collide. Muttahir Ahmed Khan is an author, literary critic and educationist, and can be reached at muttahirahmedkhan@ All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the writer
