But the “Anwar” in question is not Maqsood himself. It is , his longtime collaborator, director, and the silent anchor of their creative dynasty. The address was born not from a script, but from a spontaneous moment of intimacy and incredulity. During a rehearsal for the hit series Studio Dhai Rupaye , Maqsood turned to Ahmed after a particularly bizarre plot twist and muttered, “Anwar, yeh to bohat ajab kissa hai.” The line stayed. It became a framing device — a conspiratorial wink between creator and audience, as if to say: “We know this is absurd. Lean in.” Anatomy of the 'Ajab Kissa' What constitutes an ajab kissa in the Maqsood universe? It is not fantasy. It is hyper-reality — a mirror held at a crooked angle.
By [Your Name] “Anwar ajab kissa hai…” “Anwar, this is a strange tale…” For those raised on the cadences of vintage Pakistani television or the rhythmic flamboyance of Parsi theatre, these four words — Anwar Ajab Kissa — are not merely a phrase. They are a key, unlocking a vault of nostalgia, mystery, and theatrical genius. anwar ajab kissa
Think of classics like Half Plate (a greedy man’s deal with a cursed plate), Aangan Terha (the crooked courtyard that reveals family hypocrisies), or Sawa 14 August (a political satire so sharp it drew literal threats). In each, the premise is deceptively simple: a clerk swaps identities; a ghost demands rent; a politician’s toupee holds state secrets. But the “Anwar” in question is not Maqsood himself
So the next time life hands you a coincidence too absurd to explain, or a twist you didn’t see coming, lean into the microphone of memory and whisper: During a rehearsal for the hit series Studio
“Anwar… yeh to bohat ajab kissa hai.”
But what makes this particular kissa (story) so ajab (strange, wondrous)? And who is Anwar? The phrase is inseparable from the legendary figure of Anwar Maqsood — Pakistan’s preeminent satirist, playwright, and host. For over four decades, Maqsood’s gravelly, knowing voice has introduced some of the most iconic teleplays and stage productions with the now-famous hook: “Yeh ek ajab kissa hai, Anwar…”
In an age of algorithmic storytelling and predictable plots, the ajab kissa reminds us of a lost art: the art of the weird, the digressive, the unlikely . It celebrates stories that refuse to behave — that start with a knock on a door at midnight and end with the knocker turning out to be your own future. As Anwar Maqsood, now in his 80s, still occasionally recites the line on stage, the audience erupts — not in laughter alone, but in recognition. They recognize the contract: I will tell you a strange tale. You will not ask for proof. You will only ask for more.