Kisse Pyaar Karoon 2009 【100% BEST】
For roughly a decade, "Kisse Pyaar Karoon" existed in a strange limbo—loved by many, but rarely played on mainstream radio. However, with the advent of YouTube Music and Spotify algorithmic playlists like "Noughties Nostalgia" or "Sad Bollywood Love Songs," the track has seen a massive resurgence.
Today, the comment section of the song’s YouTube video is a digital cemetery of memories. Users write things like:
This resurgence proves that while production styles change, the core human experience—the confusion of "whom to love"—remains timeless.
For years, finding the exact origin of "Kisse Pyaar Karoon" was a digital scavenger hunt. Unlike Bollywood tracks with lavish music videos, this song was a product of the early "YouTube musician" era. The most popular upload, which has amassed millions of views over the years, features a still image of a lonely silhouette against a window or a simple black-and-white photograph.
The title itself is a question—"Kisse Pyaar Karoon" (Whom should I love?)—which perfectly encapsulates the existential romantic dread of the late 2000s youth.
Kisse Pyaar Karoon is not a masterpiece, and it isn't a hidden gem. It is a formula film executed with earnestness. If you enjoy the chaotic energy of early 2000s comedies and don't mind a few plot holes in exchange for some laughs courtesy of Asrani, this 2009 flick might just be the "kissa" (story) you are looking for.
Did you watch Kisse Pyaar Karoon when it released? Or are you discovering it now? Let us know your favorite comedy film of 2009 in the comments below!
The 2009 film Kisse Pyaar Karoon, directed by Ajay Chandhok, serves as a quintessential example of the "buddy comedy" genre in Bollywood, though it struggled to find a unique identity amidst the high expectations of the late 2000s. Starring Arshad Warsi, Aashish Chaudhary, and Yash Tonk, the film explores the enduring, if often chaotic, bond of friendship against the backdrop of romantic entanglement and comedic deception. Plot and Friendship Dynamics
The narrative centers on three inseparable friends—Sid, John, and Amit—whose lives revolve around leisure and a shared sense of mischief. The core conflict arises when John falls for Sheetal (Udita Goswami), a woman who is later revealed to have ulterior motives: usurping John’s wealth. The film’s tension is driven by Sid and Amit’s desperate "Save John Operation," a series of bumbling attempts to rescue their friend from a relationship they view as alienating and predatory. This theme of "bros before woes" is a staple of the genre, positioning male camaraderie as the ultimate stabilizing force in the face of romantic peril. Inspirations and Cultural Context
Yes. Absolutely.
If you are looking for a glitzy, upbeat EDM track, this isn't for you. But if you want to sit on your balcony late at night, watch the rain, and feel a pang of that beautiful, old-fashioned sadness from your youth, press play on Kisse Pyaar Karoon (2009).
It is a relic of a simpler time—when music was judged by the shiver it sent down your spine, not by the number of streams on a chart. It is, and will remain, a quiet masterpiece of the Indian indie pop explosion. So, go ahead. Search for it. Turn up the volume. And let the confusion of 2009 wash over you once more.
Have you listened to "Kisse Pyaar Karoon (2009)"? Share your memories of this song in the comments below.
Released on February 27, 2009, Kisse Pyaar Karoon is a Bollywood comedy directed by Ajay Chandok that explores the chaotic lives of three inseparable friends. Often described as a unofficial remake of the Hollywood film Saving Silverman, it attempts to blend buddy-comedy tropes with the slapstick humor characteristic of late-2000s Indian cinema. The Narrative Core: A Trio in Trouble
The story follows three college friends—Sid (Arshad Warsi), John (Aashish Chaudhary), and Amit (Yash Tonk)—who live together in a run-down bungalow. The plot is driven by John’s romantic woes. After failing to confess his love to his classmate Natasha (Aarti Chhabria) before she leaves the country, John falls into a deep depression.
Desperate to help their friend, Sid and Amit take extreme measures. Their efforts lead John to Sheetal (Udita Goswami), whom he eventually falls for. However, the comedy turns into a rescue mission when Sid and Amit realize Sheetal is a hyper-possessive, martial-arts expert who intends to alienate John from his friends. This leads to a convoluted climax involving a "fake" kidnapping by the friends to "save" John from his own engagement. Production and Reception
A Delayed Release: The film faced significant production hurdles, reportedly intended for a 2005 release but eventually hitting theaters four years later in 2009.
Ensemble Cast: Beyond the lead trio, the film features veteran actors like Ashish Vidyarthi as the gangster "Munna Bhai" and Shakti Kapoor.
Critical Backlash: At the time of its release, the film was largely panned by critics. Reviewers from Hindustan Times called it a "cinematic outrage," criticizing its reliance on "idiotic" gags and crude humor. kisse pyaar karoon 2009
Music: The soundtrack was composed by Daboo Malik, with tracks like "Aaiye Re Aaiye" attempting to capture the "Punjabi band" theme of the protagonists. Legacy in Comedy
While Kisse Pyaar Karoon did not achieve the cult status of Arshad Warsi’s more famous works like Munna Bhai M.B.B.S., it remains a footnote in the era's trend of "buddy comedies". It is frequently confused with the 2015 Kapil Sharma starrer Kis Kisko Pyaar Karoon, though the two are entirely unrelated in plot and production.
In the ever-evolving landscape of Indian music, certain eras are defined by specific sounds. The late 2000s (roughly 2007–2010) represented a golden age for independent music, a period sandwiched between the dominance of Bollywood film soundtracks and the explosion of streaming giants like Spotify and Apple Music. This was the age of the mobile ringtone and the blogspot download link. It was an era where artists like Jal, Atif Aslam, and Strings ruled the airwaves with heartfelt, acoustic-driven ballads.
Released in the middle of this era, "Kisse Pyaar Karoon" (2009) stands as a shimmering artifact—a song that, while perhaps not achieving the immediate chart-topping fame of a filmi blockbuster, carved out a permanent residence in the hearts of a generation. For those who grew up with 2G internet and 128kbps MP3 files, this track is more than a song; it is a time machine.
While the script may have been standard fare, the casting was the film's strongest suit.
The most common question in the comment sections of these videos is: "Who is the singer?"
The voice belongs to Rahul Mishra. In 2009, Rahul Mishra was an emerging independent musician trying to break into a market saturated by Kumar Sanu and Sonu Nigam covers. "Kisse Pyaar Karoon" was his original composition—a raw, unpolished demo that accidentally became his legacy.
Unlike today’s PR-managed launches, Mishra simply uploaded his music to platforms like ReverbNation and early YouTube. The song resonated because it felt real. The vocal mixing isn't perfect. The guitar strumming is simple. But the pain in his voice when he hits the hook—"Kisse pyaar karoon, main kisse pyaar karoon"—is authentic.
Other notable tracks (for deep dives):
While Rahul Mishra continued to produce music into the 2010s, he remains, to the mainstream, a "one-hit wonder." Yet, for millions of lonely hearts, he is the voice of a generation.
In the sprawling, often chaotic landscape of mid-2000s Bollywood, Kisse Pyaar Karoon (Whom Should I Love?) emerges not as a landmark of cinematic art, but as a fascinating, unintentional artifact of a specific cultural anxiety. Directed by Ajay Sharma, the film stars the quintessential action hero of the era, Ajay Devgn, in a convoluted comedic thriller about a man juggling three wives. While dismissed by critics for its illogical plot and regressive gender politics, a deeper excavation reveals the film as a potent, if grotesque, allegory for the modern Indian male’s crisis of identity. The film does not merely celebrate polygamy; it dissects the terror of emotional surplus, the bureaucratic nightmare of love in the age of globalization, and the ultimate failure of a patriarchal system that prioritizes performance over connection.
At its surface, Kisse Pyaar Karoon is a farce of mistaken identities and narrow escapes. Siddharth (Ajay Devgn) is a conman who, through a series of improbable circumstances, ends up married to three different women—the fiery, independent Shalini (Ameesha Patel), the traditional homemaker Nandini (Neha Dhupia), and the bubbly, modern Trisha (Karishma Tanna). The film’s engine is his frantic effort to prevent these worlds from colliding. However, this premise is more than just slapstick; it is a nightmare vision of the “multi-tasking” man. Siddharth is not a charming rake; he is a harried project manager of intimacy. His life is a logistical puzzle of alibis, calendars, and emotional compartmentalization.
This is where the film’s latent critique emerges. Siddharth’s predicament mirrors the condition of the urban, globalized Indian male. He is expected to be a provider, a lover, a friend, and a master of a high-speed, fragmented life. The three wives represent three irreconcilable demands placed upon the modern man: Shalini is the intellectual partner and equal, demanding emotional transparency; Nandini is the nurturing caregiver, representing tradition and stability; Trisha is the embodiment of consumerist desire—fun, spontaneous, and physically alluring. Siddharth cannot synthesize these archetypes into a single relationship because, the film suggests, the modern male psyche has been fractured by these contradictory expectations. He loves each woman for a different part of himself, yet he is whole in none of them.
The film’s most revealing element is its treatment of women. Despite the title’s question—“Whom Should I Love?”—the women are not given an equal voice. They are prizes, variables in Siddharth’s equation. Their anger is real, but it is ultimately neutralized for the sake of a “happy” ending. In a startling resolution, the wives do not reject Siddharth; instead, they agree to share him, their individual autonomy sacrificed for a superficial domestic harmony. This is not a celebration of polyamory; it is the ultimate fantasy of patriarchal control—a harem disguised as a family. The women become the currency of a masculine economy, their love a commodity to be managed, bartered, and finally, monopolized. The film thus reveals its deep-seated fear: what if women, with their newfound agency in the 2000s (careers, independence, choice), were to demand a singular, authentic love? Siddharth’s bigamy is a defense mechanism against that very possibility.
Furthermore, the film is a dark comedy about the performance of love. Siddharth is a conman by profession, and his marriages are simply his most elaborate cons. He performs the role of the ideal husband for each wife, tailoring his personality to fit her expectations. Love, in this universe, is not a spontaneous emotion but a set of rehearsed gestures and calculated responses. This performativity resonates with a post-liberalization India where relationships themselves have become branded and marketed. The “good husband” is a product, and Siddharth is a master salesman. The frantic energy of the film—the chase scenes, the close calls, the rapid-fire dialogues—mimics the breathless pace of a society that has no time for introspection. Siddharth never asks why he loves; he only asks whom he should love next, reducing existential inquiry to a multiple-choice question.
The climax, where the truth is revealed and the wives miraculously forgive him, is the film’s greatest failure and its most profound truth. It fails as realistic storytelling but succeeds as an allegory for the resilience of a broken system. Siddharth is not punished; he is rewarded. The system of masculine duplicity does not collapse; it adapts, absorbing dissent into a larger, more absurd harmony. The film’s final image of one man surrounded by three smiling women is less a picture of happiness than a portrait of a hostage crisis—the hostages have simply developed Stockholm syndrome.
In conclusion, Kisse Pyaar Karoon is a shallow, problematic film that unintentionally dives into deep waters. It is a cinematic Rorschach test: one can see a brainless comedy or a caustic critique of Indian masculinity. By taking its absurd premise to its logical, illogical extreme, the film exposes the hollowness at the core of a patriarchal fantasy. Siddharth gets everything he wants and ends up with nothing—a man surrounded by love who is incapable of truly loving anyone but himself. The question “Whom should I love?” is a distraction. The real question the film dares not ask, yet answers inadvertently, is: “In a world of fractured selves and commodified emotions, do I even know what love is?” And the film’s frantic, hollow answer is a resounding, terrified silence.