Angoor

In a bustling Indian city, a sudden accident tears apart the household of Raj Tilak and his wife Shammi, leaving each parent with one child from two sets of newborn twins. The strange symmetry of the situation is amplified by the fact that both pairs of boys share the same names – each pair called Ashok and Bahadur. Years later, the two families have settled into separate lives, yet the invisible thread of their shared beginnings remains taut, promising a collision of identities the moment their paths cross again.

Ashok has grown into a respectable man married to Sudha, while his counterpart, a lover of detective stories, wanders the city with his own quirks. Across the street, Bahadur lives a contented life with his wife Prema, and his twin, a carefree bhang enthusiast, brings an altogether different energy to the neighborhood. Adding to the household dynamics, Sudha’s younger sister Tanu moves in, injecting youthful chatter and fresh perspectives. The daily rhythm of the community – visits to the jeweller, rides with the amiable taxi driver, occasional inspections by the ever‑watchful police inspector – creates a vivid backdrop against which these duplicated lives begin to intersect.

The film’s tone balances gentle observation with a lively, far‑cical spirit, reflecting the timeless comedy of mistaken identities while staying firmly rooted in a modern Indian milieu. Humor arises not from grand set‑pieces but from the ordinary – a misplaced phone, a wrong‑address delivery, an accidental greeting – each moment hinting at the deeper questions of belonging, family ties, and the ways in which fate can humorously rewrite the script of everyday life. Through its warm ensemble and crisp dialogue, the story invites viewers to wonder how much of who we are is shaped by name, nurture, and the inevitable mix‑ups that accompany a world populated by doubles.