It seems Bollywood in India has run out of story ideas. The movie Dhurandhar, scheduled for release soon, is the perfect example of this intellectual and moral bankruptcy. It has sparked discussion not for its cinematic innovation, but for how it reshapes Pakistan’s local crime scene for dramatic effect. It positions India as morally flawless and heroic, while Pakistan is reduced to chaos, crime and terrorism. Local struggles, from the Lyari gang wars to the sacrifices of police officers, are reframed and artificially linked to cross-border threats.
In reality, the Lyari gang wars were a local phenomenon, rooted in poverty, political neglect and socio-economic inequality. Rehman Dakait rose as a gang leader controlling parts of Lyari’s criminal networks, but his operations were primarily local, including extortion, smuggling and territorial disputes, not international terrorism. Police officer Chaudhary Aslam risked his life repeatedly to dismantle these gangs, restoring order where chaos ruled. He also conducted operations against terrorist elements in Karachi. His leadership, tactical brilliance and sacrifices cannot be overstated. He was the central figure in these operations, not a secondary character aiding a foreign hero, as the said movie seems to imply.
Rehman Dakait is portrayed as a pawn in a broader conspiracy, linked artificially to cross-border terrorism. Dhurandhar’s undercover arrival in Karachi drives the narrative, as he navigates gang networks and ‘uncovers’ these supposed links. This pattern is not unique to Dhurandhar. Indian films like Baby, Uri, Raazi, Phantom, and The Kerala Story have consistently oversimplified Pakistan’s complex social and political realities. Indian heroes are depicted as morally and professionally superior, while local conflicts are reframed as extensions of anti-India terrorism.
Pakistan’s own film industry shares part of the blame. Instead of exploring Karachi’s gang wars, or national security operations, filmmakers have focused on romantic comedies, flashy action films and family dramas. These films entertain, but they do not engage with Pakistan’s most compelling stories, leaving a vacuum that Bollywood readily fills with its own narratives.
Cinema is more than entertainment. It is a tool for soft power. By portraying Pakistan as chaotic and violent, Bollywood shapes global perceptions without deploying diplomacy or force. Other nations have used cinema to protect and promote their narratives: Iran portrays domestic conflicts with depth and nuance; Mexico represents cartels while preserving national dignity; and Nigeria showcases local stories to global audiences. Pakistan has the talent, the history and the stories to do the same, but it has yet to rise to the challenge.
The latest Bollywood offering should serve as a wake-up call for us. Pakistan’s heroes, martyrs and history cannot be left to suffer foreign scripts. The real problem is not Bollywood’s imagination; it is Pakistan’s refusal to imagine itself. Stories related to heroes and national resilience deserve to be told by Pakistanis before they are appropriated, distorted and sold back to the world. Bollywood may thrill audiences, but Pakistan must reclaim its stories, and show the world its truth before others jump in to write it for us.
NAIMATULLAH GADHI
KHAIRPUR MIRS
