What it means to wear a face that is not yours, for a homeland that is.
Where do I even begin?
There are movies that give you goosebumps because of one scene, one line, one perfectly timed performance. And then there is Dhurandhar — where the entire film feels like a full-body rash of goosebumps. From start to finish. No breathing room, no dull beat, no moment that isn’t sharpened to a point.
Because here, it isn’t just the story. It isn’t just the direction, or the acting, or the screenplay, or the dialogues. It’s the alchemy of everything coming together — raw, fearless, unapologetic. And at the centre of that alchemy is Aditya Dhar.
With Uri, he showed us the discipline of the armed forces — what they can and will do when the leadership above them says, “Go.”
With Dhurandhar, he proves something far more unsettling: you don’t need a uniform. You just need a maksad. A purpose strong enough to burn everything else down.
Casting: Absolute madness. Inspired madness.
Akshaye Khanna, I expected brilliance from — after Chaava, it was clear that the man had layers waiting to erupt. And he did not disappoint.
But Arjun Rampal? I mean, yes, he’s done the villain bit in Om Shanti Om, but we shouldn’t even mention those two films in the same sentence. The gap between them is the entire spectrum of what a director can extract from an actor.
And Sanjay Dutt’s SP Chaudhary? Definitely the wild card. I need either a second watch or the second part to fully read him.
Oh, and the last scene is pure, wicked icing.
This movie is proof that casting is not about faces — it’s about instinct. And Dhar’s instincts are razor-sharp.
The guts to go this close to the truth
The disclaimer was long enough to qualify as a pre-credits short film. But guess what? It didn’t soften a thing. The film still went as close to reality as it could — Kandahar hijack, Parliament attack, and of course, the Taj.
That red screen… that entire sequence… my first thought wasn’t about the terrorists.
It was: What was the media thinking? Were they even thinking?
For the first time, I saw Pakistan.
Usually, Bollywood shows you Pakistan through conference rooms, flags, pompous generals, and cartoonishly dramatic threats.
But here?
I saw Pakistan.
- The streets
- The houses
- The night-life
- The politics
- The recruitment
- The layers under the layers
And above all, the stranglehold — ISI and the… Lyari? (I need a second watch for the exact term.) How deeply everything is interconnected, how much of that machine runs not on patriotism but on pure, cold power.
It reminded me of the line from Uri:
“Pakistan ISI ke neeche hain. ISI Pakistan ke neeche nahi.”
And this time, instead of being told, I witnessed it.
While Rehman and Iqbal were loud, flamboyant, explosive in their attacks… they completely missed the silent strategy of Ajay Sanyal — the intelligence chief who sneaks a man into their heartland without a single ripple.
“Ghayal hoon. Isliye ghatak hoon.”
I still don’t know whether this belonged more to Sanyal or to Jaskirat Singh Rangi a.k.a. Hamza Ali Mazari.
Ranveer Singh — a masterclass in becoming
What do I even say?
The man disappears. Every. Single. Time.
From Gully Boy to Khilji, from Bajirao to Rocky Randhawa — he shifts entire personalities like he’s changing skins. But here… as Hamza… he becomes something else altogether.
There is not a trace of Rocky in this performance. Not in the smile, not in the posture, not in how he looks at Yalina.
Those pale brown eyes give away nothing he doesn’t permit. Not even the question of whether he truly fell for her or if she was always just another carefully positioned pawn… or perhaps a dangerous mix of both.
His only slip — that one moment of shock, rage, helpless agony — is enough to decide the rest of his arc. He will kill Rehman. No second thoughts. No hesitation.
What does it take to turn Jaskirat Singh Rangi into Hamza Ali Mazari?
This question haunted me throughout the film. Because undercover agents aren’t just performing roles.
They are erasing themselves.
What kind of junoon — that fierce, consuming, bone-deep obsession — does it take for a person to bury his / her own name, his / her own history, his / her own heartbeat… just to keep his / her country safe?
What kind of fire must burn inside someone that they can smile at the men they want to destroy, hug the man they intend to kill, shake hands with monsters — all while carrying a storm of loathing just beneath the surface, held down only by purpose?
It is not patriotism. Patriotism is too mild a word.
It is not duty. Duty is too formal.
It is something darker. Something purer. Something far more relentless.
The only word I can come up with is: Junoon — a passion so ruthless it becomes identity. A purpose so consuming it becomes survival.
Every time Hamza put an arm around Rehman, every time he stood beside Iqbal, I kept thinking — what does it take for a man to live like this? To let the world believe he belongs to the very evil he wants to annihilate? To eat with them, laugh with them, celebrate with them… while quietly planning their ruin?
We often clap for the final strike. But we rarely acknowledge the slow death an undercover operative dies every single day.
Hamza is not heroic because he fights.
He is heroic because he pretends not to.
Because he becomes the shadow his enemy never sees coming.
And that — that unbearable, unstoppable junoon — is what Aditya Dhar captures so brilliantly through Jaskirat’s transformation.
The dialogues, the violence — unfiltered, necessary
The dialogues are brutal, crude, completely unbothered by sanitization. So crude that even in the dead seriousness of certain scenes, I found myself laughing — because that’s exactly how men in that world talk.
The violence? Essential. Raw. Unmasked. Shown exactly as it should be, without tiptoeing around gore.
The one thing that didn’t sit perfectly
Jaskirat Singh Rangi’s recruitment. A little unconvincing. But considering the immensity of the rest, I’m willing to let that one slide.
All in all, three hours and forty minutes — not once did I look at my watch.
That says everything.
And now, I’m counting down to March 19, 2026 — Dhurandhar: The Revenge.
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