Dhurandhar: When Cinema Dares to Tell Uncomfortable Truths About Modern India

Finally, Characters That Feel Like Real People

Let me start by saying something that needs to be said: Dhurandhar is not your typical Bollywood masala entertainer. This isn't Pathaan with its gravity-defying stunts and product placement masquerading as plot. This isn't Tiger with its cartoon villains and hero who single-handedly defeats entire armies while maintaining perfect hair. Dhurandhar is what happens when filmmakers decide to treat their audience like intelligent adults capable of handling complexity, nuance, and uncomfortable realities.

The first thing that strikes you about this film is how lived-in the characters feel. These aren't actors showing up for their contractual obligations before rushing off to their next magazine cover shoot. Every character in Dhurandhar carries weight, history, and depth that makes them feel like real people who exist beyond the frame. You can sense the years of experience, trauma, and choices that have shaped each character into who they are when we meet them.

Ranveer Singh's Hamza isn't just playing spy; he embodies a man who has sacrificed everything personal for his nation's security. Sanjay Dutt's portrayal of a character based on Pakistani police officer Chaudhry Aslam Khan brings gravitas and moral complexity. Arjun Rampal's Major Iqbal from ISI isn't a one-dimensional villain but a man serving his country just as Hamza serves his. R. Madhavan's portrayal (reportedly based on NSA Ajit Doval) carries the burden of decision-making at the highest levels.

This ensemble approach is rare in Bollywood, where most films are designed as star vehicles with supporting characters serving as glorified extras. In Dhurandhar, there are no small parts. Even Sara Arjun and Rakesh Bedi make their presence felt despite limited screen time. Director Aditya Dhar has created a cinematic world where every character matters, every decision has consequences, and nothing feels superficial or inserted for commercial appeal.

Akshaye Khanna: When the Villain Steals the Show

I need to dedicate an entire section to Akshaye Khanna because his performance as Rehman Dakait is nothing short of phenomenal. This is the kind of acting that reminds you why cinema matters, why we go to theaters, and why some performances become legendary.

Khanna plays a gangster who controls Karachi's notorious Lyari area, and he does it with such magnetic charisma and understated menace that you find yourself fascinated by this morally reprehensible character. There's a scene early in the film where Rehman Dakait enters dancing to Fa9la by Flipperachi to meet Baloch rebels, and the sheer swag, confidence, and controlled danger he projects is mesmerizing.

What makes Khanna's performance extraordinary is his restraint. He doesn't chew scenery or rely on theatrical villainy. His Rehman Dakait is calm, calculating, almost gentlemanly in his cruelty. When he speaks, people listen not because he's loud but because he commands respect through sheer presence. Every gesture, every pause, every facial expression is perfectly calibrated to convey power without shouting about it.

The result is something fascinating and slightly disturbing: audiences are falling in love with the villain more than the hero. Social media is flooded with clips of Rehman Dakait's scenes, with fans dissecting every frame of Khanna's performance. People are leaving theaters talking about Rehman Dakait's swag, his dialogue delivery, his entire vibe. When a villain becomes the most discussed character, you know the actor has done something special.

Khanna has delivered memorable performances before, but Rehman Dakait feels like a career-defining role. After his equally impressive turn as Aurangzeb in Chhaava, Khanna is experiencing a renaissance that reminds everyone why he's considered one of Bollywood's finest actors. His minimalist approach to maximum impact serves as a masterclass for younger actors who confuse volume with intensity.

Ranveer Singh: Breaking New Ground

Speaking of the hero, Ranveer Singh's performance in Dhurandhar represents a significant departure from his recent work and explores new territories in his acting range. Known for his high-energy, extroverted performances in films like Gully Boy, Padmaavat, and his lighter comic roles, Singh here delivers something completely different: restraint, intensity, and brooding silence that speaks volumes.

His Hamza is a man carrying impossible burdens, operating in hostile territory where one mistake means death, and living with the knowledge that his actions have consequences measured in human lives. Singh conveys this psychological weight through minimal dialogue and maximum presence. His eyes tell stories his mouth doesn't speak. His body language shifts subtly between the different identities Hamza must maintain to survive.

This is not just new for Ranveer Singh; it's relatively uncommon for Bollywood as a whole, which tends to favor bombast over subtlety. The Indian film industry has been stuck in a rather stale state where heroes are either over-the-top or completely bland. Singh's performance in Dhurandhar charts a middle path where the character feels intense and compelling without relying on theatrical excess.

There are moments in the film where Singh explores emotional territories rarely seen in mainstream Bollywood cinema. The moral ambiguity of espionage work, the toll it takes on personal relationships, the ways violence changes a person, these aren't themes Bollywood typically handles with nuance. But Singh, working with Dhar's mature screenplay, delivers a performance that acknowledges these complexities without offering easy answers.

The physical transformation alone demonstrates Singh's commitment. The actor underwent significant changes to embody this character, and it shows in every frame. But more importantly, the psychological transformation is visible. This isn't Ranveer Singh playing a spy; this is a spy who happens to be played by Ranveer Singh. That distinction matters enormously.

The Soundtrack: Finally, Something Different!

One of Dhurandhar's most refreshing aspects is its soundtrack, which dares to be different from the Arijit Singh dominated monotony that has plagued Bollywood for years. Don't misunderstand me, Arijit Singh is a talented singer, but when literally every romantic song sounds like it could be from the same album, music loses its power to enhance specific narrative moments.

Dhurandhar's music, composed by Sashwat Sachdev, perfectly blends with the film's tone while taking risks that pay off spectacularly. The use of Fa9la by Flipperachi for Rehman Dakait's introduction is inspired. The track's swaggering confidence matches the character's persona perfectly, creating one of the film's most memorable sequences.

But what truly elevates the soundtrack is the strategic use of old Bollywood classics in certain situations. This isn't just nostalgia pandering; these song choices serve specific narrative purposes, creating layers of meaning and emotional resonance that original compositions might not achieve. The juxtaposition of familiar melodies against unfamiliar contexts creates a haunting effect that stays with you.

The background score deserves equal praise for its restraint and effectiveness. Too many Bollywood films assault viewers with overbearing music that tells them exactly how to feel in every scene. Dhurandhar's score trusts the visuals and performances to carry emotional weight, intervening only when necessary and always in service of the story rather than as a replacement for storytelling.

This approach to music represents what Bollywood desperately needs: diversity, experimentation, and a willingness to try something other than the formula that has dominated for the past decade. When every film sounds the same, music stops being special. Dhurandhar reminds us that soundtracks can enhance rather than overpower cinema.

Dark Pasts: The Weight of History

The character weighting in Dhurandhar works exceptionally well because the film invests time in exploring or hinting at the dark pasts that have shaped these individuals. Every major character carries trauma, regret, or moral compromise that informs their present actions and decisions.

We see glimpses of what made Hamza the man he is, the losses he's suffered, the choices he's had to make. Rehman Dakait's backstory explains (though doesn't excuse) how a human being becomes capable of the violence he commands. Even supporting characters get moments that reveal the experiences that forged them.

This attention to backstory creates depth that most Bollywood films don't attempt. Characters feel like they existed before the film started and will continue existing after it ends. Their motivations make sense because we understand where they're coming from. Their conflicts resonate because we've seen what's at stake for each of them personally.

The film doesn't spoon-feed these backstories through exposition dumps. Instead, it trusts the audience to pick up on hints, implications, and subtle character moments that reveal history without explicitly stating it. This sophisticated approach to characterization elevates Dhurandhar above typical Bollywood fare where characters are defined by surface-level traits rather than psychological depth.

26/11 and Uncomfortable Truths: When Cinema Confronts Reality

Now we arrive at what makes Dhurandhar truly significant beyond its cinematic quality: its willingness to confront uncomfortable realities about terrorism, Pakistan's role as a failed state sponsor of terror, and the ongoing asymmetric warfare that India faces.

There's a moment in the film that serves as its emotional and thematic center. The screen goes red, and we hear the actual voice recordings from the 26/11 Mumbai attacks. The terrorists' conversations with their handlers in Pakistan, the cold-blooded instructions to maximize casualties, the religious justifications for mass murder, all of it played against the red screen as we process what we're hearing.

This isn't fiction or dramatic license. These are actual recordings from one of the darkest days in modern Indian history, when ten terrorists trained, equipped, and directed by Pakistan's intelligence apparatus murdered 166 innocent people over four days of coordinated attacks across Mumbai. The red screen is a brilliant directorial choice, forcing the audience to focus entirely on the words being spoken without visual distraction.

It's dark. It's saddening. And it's a fact. This is not Bollywood exaggeration or nationalist propaganda. This is documented reality that much of the world, and even many Indians, would prefer to ignore or forget because it's uncomfortable to acknowledge the brutal truth about state-sponsored terrorism against India.

Dhurandhar doesn't shy away from naming Pakistan as a failed state that uses terrorism as foreign policy. The film shows the Lyari gang's connections to larger terror networks, the way Pakistan's intelligence services cultivate and direct these groups, and the reality that India's intelligence and security forces operate in a perpetual state of asymmetric warfare against an enemy that doesn't play by conventional rules.

This isn't jingoism or chest-thumping nationalism. It's a sober examination of geopolitical reality that Western media often ignores and that certain segments of Indian society refuse to acknowledge because it contradicts their preferred narratives about the region.

A Departure From Bollywood Slop: Why This Matters

To understand why Dhurandhar is significant, you need to understand the sorry state of contemporary Bollywood. The industry has become a factory producing formulaic content designed by committee to maximize opening weekend collections while minimizing creative risks. Most films are either mindless action spectacles, derivative rom coms, or biopics that sanitize their subjects beyond recognition.

Films like Pathaan and Tiger represent this trend at its worst. They're expensive, technically competent, and utterly devoid of substance. They offer two hours of explosions, stunts, and product placements wrapped around the thinnest possible plot. They treat audiences like children who just want to see things blow up without caring about why or what it means.

Dhurandhar represents the opposite approach. It's ambitious, demanding, and refuses to talk down to its audience. At 214 minutes, it requires commitment and attention. It deals with complex moral and political issues without offering easy answers. It depicts violence as brutal and consequential rather than choreographed entertainment.

This kind of cinema is essential for the health of any film industry. When all films chase the same formula, the medium stagnates. When filmmakers take risks, try new approaches, and trust audiences to handle complexity, cinema evolves and improves. Dhurandhar proves that Indian audiences will support substantive filmmaking if given the opportunity.

The film's box office success, earning over ₹193 crore worldwide in just four days despite its length, adult certificate, and challenging subject matter, demonstrates that there's a significant audience hungry for cinema that respects their intelligence. People are tired of being served the same reheated slop. They want films that make them think, feel, and engage with important issues.

Audience Love: Why Viewers Are Connecting

The audience response to Dhurandhar has been overwhelmingly positive, with specific aspects resonating deeply with viewers across demographics. The IMDb rating of 8.3 out of 10 is extraordinary for a contemporary Bollywood film, indicating genuine appreciation rather than opening weekend hype.

People are praising the film's mature storytelling and willingness to tackle difficult subjects without melodrama or simplification. They appreciate characters that feel real rather than cartoonish. They're responding to the film's emotional honesty about the costs of espionage and counter-terrorism work.

Social media is filled with detailed breakdowns of specific scenes, character moments, and thematic elements. This isn't passive entertainment consumption; viewers are actively engaging with the film, discussing its implications, and recommending it to others. Word-of-mouth has been exceptionally strong, with Monday collections exceeding Friday's opening, a rare achievement indicating the film is building momentum rather than declining.

International audiences are equally impressed. The overseas collections of US $4.72 million in four days demonstrate that Dhurandhar's appeal transcends geographical boundaries. Non-Resident Indians and even non-Indian viewers are responding to the film's quality and substance.

Perhaps most tellingly, people are comparing Dhurandhar favorably to international espionage thrillers rather than just other Bollywood films. That's the highest compliment possible, suggesting the film succeeds on a global cinematic level rather than just within the Bollywood context.

The Hate: When Truth Becomes Controversial

Of course, not everyone loves Dhurandhar. The film has generated significant controversy and hatred from certain quarters, and understanding why reveals important truths about contemporary India and the broader South Asian political landscape.

Director Aditya Dhar is a Kashmiri Pandit, born in New Delhi on March 12, 1983, into a family with deep roots in Kashmir's indigenous Hindu community. His mother, Dr. Suneeta Dhar, served as Dean and Head of the Faculty of Music and Fine Arts at the University of Delhi. Dhar grew up hearing about terrorism from childhood because, as he's stated in interviews, Kashmiri Pandits have been targets of Islamic extremism for decades.

The Kashmiri Pandit exodus of 1989-1990 represents one of the most shameful chapters in modern Indian history, when approximately 300,000 to 350,000 Kashmiri Hindus were forced to flee their ancestral homeland due to targeted violence, intimidation, and genocide by Islamic militants. Thousands were killed, women were raped, and entire communities were ethnically cleansed in what can only be described as genocide.

Yet a significant portion of India's intelligentsia, media, and activist community has spent decades denying, minimizing, or justifying this genocide. They've created elaborate narratives that blame the victims, ignore the perpetrators, and essentially erase Kashmiri Pandit suffering from public discourse.

When a filmmaker like Aditya Dhar, who comes from this persecuted community, creates films that honestly depict terrorism and Pakistan's role in sponsoring it, these denialists react with fury. They cannot tolerate cinema that contradicts their preferred narratives about Kashmir, Pakistan, and Islamic extremism.

The criticism of Dhurandhar from these quarters follows predictable patterns. They accuse the film of being propaganda (as if honest depiction of documented facts constitutes propaganda). They claim it's Islamophobic (as if naming Pakistan as a terror sponsor is somehow bigoted against Islam). They attack Dhar personally, bringing up his Kashmiri Pandit identity as if that disqualifies him from making films about terrorism.

What they really hate is that Dhurandhar exposes uncomfortable truths about Pakistan's failed state status and its use of terrorism as foreign policy. They hate that the film shows India's intelligence and security forces in a positive light. They hate that it doesn't engage in both-sidesism or false equivalence about terrorism.

These critics wage a religious war against Hindus in India through intellectual and cultural means, even as they deny the violent religious wars waged by extremists in Pakistan. Films like Dhurandhar threaten their narratives by presenting documented realities they'd prefer remain hidden.

The Impact: Cinema as Cultural Conversation

The probable impact of Dhurandhar and similar films on Indian society extends far beyond box office numbers or critical acclaim. These films represent a cultural shift in how India processes and discusses its security challenges, terrorist threats, and geopolitical realities.

For years, Bollywood either ignored terrorism completely or depicted it in sanitized ways that avoided naming Pakistan or acknowledging the religious motivations of many terrorists. This created a distorted public understanding where average Indians knew about terrorist attacks but not about the larger context of state-sponsored jihad against their country.

Films like Uri: The Surgical Strike (also directed by Aditya Dhar) and now Dhurandhar are changing this dynamic. They're educating audiences about the realities of asymmetric warfare, intelligence operations, and the sacrifices made by security forces to keep the country safe.

This cultural shift has political implications. When citizens better understand the threats facing their nation, they make more informed decisions about security policy, defense spending, and diplomatic relations. They're less likely to fall for propaganda that portrays terrorists as freedom fighters or Pakistan as a misunderstood neighbor.

The impact extends to how Indians view their own history, particularly traumatic events like the Kashmiri Pandit exodus that were deliberately erased from mainstream discourse. Films that honestly depict these atrocities help restore historical memory and ensure that future generations understand what happened and why it matters.

For the film industry itself, Dhurandhar's success demonstrates that audiences will support substantive cinema that tackles important issues. This could encourage more filmmakers to take creative risks and address subjects previously considered too controversial or uncommercial.

The international impact shouldn't be underestimated either. Global audiences watching Dhurandhar gain insights into South Asian geopolitics that Western media rarely provides. They learn about Pakistan's role as a terrorism sponsor, India's challenges in managing asymmetric threats, and the human costs of ongoing conflict in the region.

Technical Excellence: Craft in Service of Story

While much discussion focuses on Dhurandhar's themes and performances, the technical execution deserves recognition. Vikash Nowlakha's cinematography creates a visual language that perfectly matches the film's tone, using shadow, contrast, and careful composition to build tension and atmosphere.

The action sequences eschew Bollywood's typical over-the-top choreography for something more grounded and visceral. The violence feels consequential and brutal rather than stylized. This mature approach to action serves the story by making stakes feel real and danger feel genuine.

Shivkumar V Panicker's editing maintains narrative momentum across 214 minutes, no small achievement. The film's chapter-based structure helps manage the epic runtime while allowing for the complex character development and thematic exploration that shorter formats wouldn't permit.

The production design and costume work create authentic environments that ground the film in believable reality. Filming in locations including Thailand, Mumbai, Punjab, and Ladakh provides visual diversity while maintaining geographical authenticity.

All these technical elements work in concert to serve the story rather than calling attention to themselves. That's the mark of truly excellent craft, where every department contributes to a unified vision rather than competing for notice.

The Kashmir Connection: Personal Stakes in Storytelling

Understanding Aditya Dhar's background as a Kashmiri Pandit adds crucial context to Dhurandhar's thematic concerns. This isn't just another filmmaker making a terrorism thriller for commercial reasons. This is someone whose community has been devastated by the very forces his film examines.

Dhar has stated in interviews that growing up as a Kashmiri Pandit meant hearing about terrorism from childhood. He experienced the community trauma of the exodus, even though he was born in Delhi after his family had already left Kashmir. That generational trauma informs his filmmaking in ways that pure imagination never could.

His first directorial venture, Uri: The Surgical Strike, dealt explicitly with terrorism and won him the National Film Award for Best Director. Now with Dhurandhar, he's created an even more ambitious examination of intelligence operations against Pakistan-based terror networks.

This personal connection to the subject matter gives Dhurandhar an authenticity that films made by outsiders to this conflict often lack. Dhar understands the stakes viscerally, not just intellectually. He knows what it means when terrorism succeeds and what it costs when security forces fail.

The hatred directed at Dhar by certain critics reveals their discomfort with Kashmiri Pandits telling their own stories. They preferred when this community's voices were silenced and their experiences erased. Films like Dhurandhar threaten that erasure by insisting that Kashmiri Pandit perspectives matter and deserve to be heard.

Conclusion: Cinema That Matters

Dhurandhar represents what Indian cinema can achieve when filmmakers prioritize substance over formula, when they trust audiences to handle complexity, and when they're willing to tackle important subjects despite inevitable controversy.

It's not a perfect film. At 214 minutes, it tests patience at times. Some subplots could be trimmed without losing essential narrative. The climax, while impactful, lacks the punch some viewers might expect. But these are minor criticisms of a film that gets so much right.

The performances are exceptional, led by Akshaye Khanna's career-defining turn as Rehman Dakait and Ranveer Singh's restrained intensity as Hamza. The technical execution is first-rate across all departments. The soundtrack breaks free from Bollywood monotony to create something distinctive and memorable.

Most importantly, Dhurandhar dares to tell uncomfortable truths about terrorism, Pakistan's failed state status, and the ongoing security challenges India faces. It does so without propaganda or jingoism, presenting documented realities that certain segments of society would prefer remain hidden.

The film's connection to modern India is profound. It reflects a nation tired of being gaslit about terrorism, tired of being told to ignore documented facts in the name of false peace, and tired of filmmakers who treat them like children incapable of handling serious subjects.

As someone who appreciates cinema that challenges rather than panders, that educates rather than merely entertains, and that respects intelligence rather than assuming stupidity, I find Dhurandhar to be one of the most significant Indian films in years.

It's not for everyone. If you want mindless action, stick with Pathaan and Tiger. If you prefer your entertainment without moral complexity, there are plenty of options. But if you want cinema that matters, that makes you think, and that treats you like an adult capable of processing difficult realities, Dhurandhar delivers magnificently.

This is the kind of filmmaking Indian cinema needs more of. Ambitious, challenging, unafraid to tackle controversial subjects, and trusting in audience intelligence. May it inspire more filmmakers to follow Aditya Dhar's example and create cinema that resonates beyond opening weekend collections.