here is another.

But in the early 1980s this hierarchy was challenged by the 'Other'. The fake-hero of Urdu cinema faded against the spellbinding and charismatic personality of Mustafa Qureshi and Sultan Rahi in whom boomeranged the long suppressed archetype of Punjabi folk hero, Jugga, the great dacoit. The birth of the Punjabi villain destroyed the cinematic culture of Urdu movies.

Close to the ruthless villain, stood the 'vulgar' comedian, pitching his show in the Punjabi tradition of bhaands.

Theatre advertisements proudly parade the kings of comedy. They are announced as shehenshahs of zarafat, caricaturing the pomp and show of the Mughal kings. Rangeela for one is an obvious hit on the Mughal king Mohammad Shah Rangeela.

The 'vulgar comic' comes to life against the floodlights in his flashy clothes, mixes Michael Jackson with Punjabi Rambo, pokes fun at the burger-families, mocks at the privileged and the powerful, and offends the 'eminent-feminent' by doing mother-sister of all those who cross his path. A series of stand-up comedians with a thin storyline, the comedy theatre remains burlesque without any dramatic situations or nuanced characters but the 'vulgar' comic is the laughter choking in the gutters of the underworld, a miserable fool trespassing the orderly decorum, playing his trick with the props of exhibitionism and bawdy movements, lampooning textual morality.

Flanked by the vulgar comic and the ruthless villain is the 'nauch girl'. This magnetic Punjabi diva stands opposite to the coy, dreamy, virtuous and de-sexed heroines of the early Urdu cinema. The latent eroticism of the baji culture has sprung out full force on the screen in the form of this energetic and sexually aggressive female gyrating to the thrusting beat of Punjabi disco. She unfurls the feathers of defiance breaking the fetters of artistic restrain and moral pretensions. Her desperate bursts of energy vengefully subvert the mainstream aesthetics.

The vulgar comedian, the terrifying villain and the dirty dancer in the centre make the great triangle of our 'get-real' culture. The trio rules the other Pakistan that lies subliminally under the mainstream display of art and culture. They are the tragic flaws of Pakistani performing arts. They all disorientate the audience and jolt them out of hierarchy. They bring out a nightmare of grotesque figures of caricature and bathos. The artistic poise, naivete, and innocence are strangulated by graphic exaggeration. In Pakistan, it is not art but the revenge of art, something that is self-annihilating