You’ve probably heard the buzz around the new spy thriller, Dhurandhar. It’s got big names, massive action, and a plot that dives deep into the gang wars of Lyari, a Karachi neighborhood often sensationalized as the ‘Wild West.’ But as the film faces a ban across the Gulf region for its perceived anti-Pakistan stance, a bigger question has emerged: how much of its story is real, and how much is just fantasy? Lucky for us, sociologist Nida Kirmani, who has spent over a decade researching Lyari, has a lot to say about it.
Key Highlights
- ✓ Aditya Dhar's spy thriller Dhurandhar has been banned from release in several Gulf countries, including the UAE, Saudi Arabia, and Kuwait.
- ✓ The film’s villain, Rehman Dakait, is portrayed as a monster, but many locals remember him as a Robin Hood-like figure.
- ✓ The infamous "football with severed heads" incident was ordered by gangster Uzair Baloch in 2013, long after Rehman Dakait was dead.
- ✓ Lyari is not just a den of crime; it’s a vibrant cultural hub, proudly called ‘Karachi ki maan’ (the pride of Karachi) by its residents.
- ✓ Mainstream Pakistani cinema has avoided Lyari's story because powerful political entities like the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) were deeply involved in its conflicts.
A Familiar Story of Bans and Controversy
Let's get the breaking news out of the way first. Dhurandhar has reportedly been blocked from release in Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE. The plot follows an Indian spy, Jaskirat Singh Rangi (played by Ranveer Singh), sent into Lyari after the 2001 Indian Parliament attack on a mission to get close to the infamous gangster Rehman Dakait. According to sources, the film's perceived anti-Pakistan narrative is what triggered the ban.
Honestly, this isn't exactly shocking. It's a path well-trodden by other Bollywood films. Salman Khan's Tiger 3 was banned in Oman, Kuwait, and Qatar over its portrayal of Islamic countries. Hrithik Roshan's Fighter faced a similar fate for its depiction of cross-border conflict, and even Akshay Kumar’s Bell Bottom was stopped in several Gulf nations. It seems films that touch on these sensitive geopolitical nerves often hit a wall in the region.
The Man, The Myth, The Monster: Who Was Rehman Dakait?
This is where the film's narrative completely veers into what Kirmani calls "almost completely based on fantasy." The only thing Dhurandhar seems to get right is that a powerful man named Rehman Dakait existed. The movie paints him as a terrifying overlord, a monster who ruled with pure fear. But talk to the people who actually lived in Lyari, and you get a very, very different picture.
While he was certainly feared and capable of great violence, many in the community saw him as a Robin Hood figure. He was known for his charitable initiatives and social work, supporting members of his community in ways the state wouldn't. Think about this: when he died, the country's most revered philanthropist, Abdul Sattar Edhi, attended his funeral. That single fact speaks volumes about how he was perceived on the ground.
And what about that gruesome story of gangsters playing football with the severed heads of rivals? It's a chilling tale that has become part of Lyari's dark legend. The thing is, that brutal act happened in 2013. Rehman Dakait had been dead for years by then. The real architects of that horror were two other infamous gangsters, Uzair Baloch and Baba Ladla. The film pinning this on Dakait is a complete fabrication that sensationalizes a complex history.
Why Has This Story Never Been Told in Pakistan?
You might be wondering why a story this dramatic hasn't been tackled by Pakistani filmmakers. The answer, according to Kirmani, is simple and unsettling: the people largely responsible for the violence are still in power. She points directly at the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) and the military establishment, who she says used Lyari for their own political games.
The PPP allegedly allied with criminal gangs in Lyari to counter the city's then-dominant political party, the Muttahida Qaumi Movement (MQM). At the same time, with about 50% of Lyari's 1.5 million residents being Baloch, the area was a hotbed for Baloch political organizing. Many residents believe the military establishment had an interest in supporting the gangs to suppress Baloch nationalism. It's a tangled web of power and politics that makes telling the real story incredibly risky.
Beyond the Headlines: The Soul of Lyari
One of the biggest problems with films like Dhurandhar is that they flatten the diversity and vibrancy of a place like Lyari. Kirmani’s fascination with the area began when she noticed parallels between it and Zakir Nagar in Delhi, where she did her PhD research. Both were stigmatized by the media as dens of crime, but the reality was far more complex. In Lyari, she found a place with a rich history, proudly called "Karachi ki maan" by its people.
Lyari has always been a hub for art and culture. It's home to many people who trace their origins to the African continent, and so it has been influenced by global trends tied to the African diaspora. This is why the explosion of hip hop and rap music in recent years isn't some sudden "makeover." It's the soul of the community re-emerging now that a relative peace has settled after the gang wars. The art was always there, just waiting for the space to flourish again.
The Scars and Strength That Remain
When the state-led "Karachi Operation" began in 2013, the official story was that peace had returned. But what about the thousands of people whose lives were shattered? This is the story Kirmani tells in her documentary, Shadowlands. It follows two people who lost family members to encounter killings or inter-gang violence, showing how the scars of conflict remain long after the fighting stops. The root causes—poverty, drugs, unemployment, and state neglect—are all still there.
Yet, amidst this, there's incredible resilience, particularly among women. Kirmani’s work highlights how women and girls in Lyari push against gender norms through "quiet, everyday acts of resistance" in their pursuit of fun and leisure. They might not call it feminism, but they are challenging boundaries in powerful ways. This strength is also seen in the broader fight for Baloch rights, where social media has helped women leaders like Mahrang Baloch inspire a global movement for justice, sharing photos and videos of their protests to a worldwide audience.
Conclusion
The bottom line is that while Dhurandhar might be a blockbuster spy thriller, its portrayal of Lyari and its people is a caricature. The film's controversy and its ban in the Gulf shine a light on the sensitive nature of cross-border narratives, but the real story is much deeper. It’s about a community misrepresented, a complex history flattened for entertainment, and a vibrant culture that refuses to be defined by violence alone. The true story of Lyari is one of political maneuvering, enduring trauma, and an unbreakable spirit—a story far more compelling than any fiction.
