Sequels are karma in the entertainment business: the original returns for another avatar, yet another, this time bigger, louder, and the same old plot. The Dhurandhar saga, it seems, is nowhere near its final frame. Co-producer Jyoti Deshpande teases action fans: “We’re not done with Dhurandhar yet... There’s something up our sleeves.” Then Rakesh Bedi aka Jameel Jamali hinted that Dhurandhar is a franchise, and the story ends with the spy returning to his nation. Which raises the obvious question: is Sher-e-Baloch preparing to leave the nation on his next mission? In the age of cinematic universes, no ending is quite an ending until the box-office arithmetic says otherwise.
Dhurandhar is every spy’s revenge fantasy, with the popcorn of violence porn. Everyone seems to be watching a different film. At the right-wing ticket window, India is the avenging angel, Pakistan the devil, and Ranveer Singh the macho-honcho who delivers karma armed and over-budgeted. For liberal-left critics, it is propaganda in a designer spy-thriller outfit. Taiwan’s Ambassador to India, Mumin Chen, praised the film; Shashi Tharoor admired its filmmaking while objecting to its graphic violence. Akshaye Khanna’s dance moves to FA9LA by Flipperachi have viral mimic vibes. So what exactly is going on? Dhurandhar offers Indians something reality rarely does: the satisfaction of watching historical humiliation converted into spectacular revenge. Terrorist attacks, intelligence failures and decades of hostility towards Pakistan are sick stories in real life. On screen, they become problems one exceptionally resourceful Indian operative solves. The hero does what governments, diplomats, and intelligence agencies cannot conveniently accomplish in a three-hour narrative. He gets even. If he cannot be intimidated, neither can India be. In an age of online outrage, endless commentary, and geopolitical doomscrolling, a hero who actually does something, and does it with ALEXA 35 Xtreme cameras, can feel like a refreshing change from another prime-time panel discussion. Call it patriotism with a payback bonus.
Dhurandhar knows exactly which emotional buttons to press. The IC-814 hijacking, the Parliament attack, and 26/11 are not mere entries in a grim chronology; they are national wounds associated with anger, grief, and a lingering sense of helplessness. The film makes a patriotic correction. The country that was attacked gets to attack back; ‘ghar mein ghuskar maarunga’ becomes less a line of dialogue than a national mood board. The intelligence operative turns avenger; humiliation is reversed, the enemy is outmaneuvered, and the audience gets to leave the theatre feeling that history has finally been handed a better script. Call it catharsis with a cover identity. The real world offers no such neat closure, but then the real world has never been particularly good at writing a satisfying third act.
Pakistan as Bollywood’s designated villain is hardly a new casting decision. Border, Gadar, and Sarfarosh had already established the rivalry as reliable cinematic currency. Aditya Dhar and Ranveer Singh do not merely invite audiences to love India; they invite them to enjoy watching India pulverise its adversary. But there is an irony here. A film can portray Pakistani terror networks as murderous without making every Pakistani complicit. Imtiaz Ali’s Main Vaapas Aaunga offers a different emotional register through Keenu’s Pakistani friend Aftab Ahmedzai, who dies protecting Hindu women from a murderous mob during Partition. The point is not that every film must be a peace sermon or that Pakistani perpetrators of terrorism should be given a sympathetic makeover; shared history can accommodate more than one story. Tharoor’s response refuses the usual binary: either applaud the film as patriotic genius or dismiss it as propaganda. Taiwan’s ambassador praising the film is not proof that Taiwan endorses its portrayal of Pakistan; put together, the interesting point is that Dhurandhar has acquired a life beyond the box office. Fans see national confidence; critics see propaganda; others see an impressively mounted thriller with a generous helping of full-on carnage. All three responses can coexist, which is precisely what makes the phenomenon more interesting than a simple verdict on whether the film is good or bad. Dhurandhar offers patriotism without the complications of foreign policy, revenge without the blood on the viewer’s shirt, and the comforting certainty of a cinematic villain in a world where actual conflicts rarely come with such tidy moral bookkeeping.
So here is the question worth leaving on the table: when a country enjoys its enemies almost as much as it enjoys its heroes, is it watching a thriller, or are filmmakers milking one of the most profitable forms of national entertainment by cranking up the volume? The real box-office magic of Dhurandhar is to turn geopolitical horrors into a spectator sport, and give the audience a front-row seat to national revenge, and let everyone go home feeling that they have settled a personal score with the villain. With possibly a third helping.