Dhurandhar‘s most dangerous idea is that Director Aditya Dhar envisions an Indian State run by a deep state — an intelligence machinery not accountable to Parliament, courts, or voters, observes Syed Firdaus Ashraf.
IMAGE: Ranveer Singh in Dhurandhar.
If one watches Dhurandhar closely, it gets difficult to ignore the many glaring loopholes in it.
As a journalist, one is compelled to ask how these inaccuracies escaped the notice of Director Aditya Dhar, given his reputation for meticulous research.
Or perhaps the question should be framed differently: Were these loopholes ignored deliberately because historical accuracy was never the film’s priority?
At its core, Dhurandhar pretends to be the story of an Indian spy (played by Ranveer Singh) infiltrating Karachi’s criminal underworld to eliminate enemies of the Indian State.
But what it delivers is a thinly-veiled ideological narrative — one that champions a powerful, unaccountable intelligence apparatus while subtly undermining India’s democratic institutions.
The film resembles propaganda that normalises the idea of a ‘deep state’ controlling India, rather than a grounded espionage thriller.
The problems begin in the very first scene.
Dhurandhar opens with visuals of men and women blindfolded aboard the hijacked Air India IC 814 at Kandahar.
Cursory research would have revealed that this portrayal is incorrect.
During the 1999 hijacking of IC 814, most of the women (barring the cabin crew, Rachna Katyal whose husband Rupin was slain on the flight and a couple of others) and children were de-boarded in Dubai before the aircraft proceeded to Kandahar.
When a filmmaker chooses to recreate real incidents, accuracy becomes a moral responsibility.
IMAGE: R Madhavan in Dhurandhar.
As the narrative unfolds, it becomes clear that Dhurandhar is less about national security and more about the personal worldview of a powerful intelligence officer named Ajay Sanyal (played by R Madhavan).
In the film, Sanyal is portrayed as the ultimate authority on patriotism, morality, and national interest.
His judgements over-ride elected governments, democratic processes, and institutional accountability.
His political biases are not subtle. They are open, unapologetic, and central to the film’s ideological spine.
The democratically-elected United Progressive Alliance government, led by Dr Manmohan Singh in 2004 and 2009, is depicted as weak, compromised, and unworthy of intelligence cooperation.
Dhurandhar suggests that national interest, as defined by this intelligence officer, supersedes the mandate given to the government by the people of India.
This is a deeply troubling premise.
India is a Constitutional democracy where sovereignty lies with the people, not with intelligence agencies or unelected officials.
When a film glorifies an intelligence officer who withholds information, manipulates outcomes, and waits for a ‘government of his liking’ to come to power, it crosses from fiction into ideological indoctrination.
Dhurandhar opens with a disclaimer claiming that all characters and events are fictional.
Yet, it proceeds to show footage of the 26/11 Mumbai terror attacks.
You cannot claim fiction while selectively inserting real tragedies to lend authenticity to your narrative.
This selective realism is not accidental. It is manipulative.
Herein lies the film’s most dangerous idea: Director Aditya Dhar envisions an Indian State run by a deep state — an intelligence machinery not accountable to Parliament, courts, or voters.
A future political system where unelected officials decide when Indian democracy is ‘fit’ to function.
Dhurandhar normalises this trajectory for India — and the applause it has received from sections of the public should worry anyone who values democratic governance.
IMAGE: Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar.
The film’s disdain for the Congress-led UPA government is not merely political. It is vindictive.
Ajay Sanyal, the intelligence officer, explicitly states his desire for a future ruler who would stop the circulation of fake currency and crack down on abattoirs.
It retrospectively justifies demonetisation and beef bans imposed by BJP-ruled states by framing them as long-overdue acts of national cleansing.
The so-called Pink Revolution, frequently invoked by Prime Minister Narendra Modi during the 2014 campaign, finds ideological validation in the movie.
The distortion becomes even more startling in the depiction of the 26/11 attacks.
The film entirely omits the role of Indian terrorist Abu Jundal (Syed Zabiuddin Ansari), who was present in the control room in Karachi directing the terrorists in Mumbai during those horrific days and nights, November 26, 27, 28, 2008.
What Dhurandhar conveniently ignores is the fact that the UPA government identified Abu Jundal, tracked him down to Saudi Arabia, and extradited him to India.
This was one of the most significant counter-terrorism successes under the Congress regime.
Today, Jundal remains imprisoned in an Indian jail, a testament to that operation.
The film’s silence on this achievement is telling; it does not fit its narrative of a weak and incompetent UPA government.
The discussion on fake currency further descends into an all-time low to hit at Opposition leaders.
Dhurandhar suggests that a minister and his son deliberately allowed counterfeit Indian currency to circulate from Pakistan. This borders on blasphemy.
While that minister and his son were later arrested by the Modi government on other charges, no case was ever proven — or even seriously pursued — regarding fake currency.
If such allegations were credible, why were they never substantiated legally?
Ironically, the only individual who faced scrutiny was the then finance secretary, against whom the CBI filed a case that has yielded no concrete outcome so far. That too, because the finance secretary participated in Rahul Gandhi’s Bharat Jodo Yatra.
This selective targeting of individuals again reinforces the film’s ideological bias.
In conclusion, Dhurandhar is not merely a flawed spy thriller, it is a cinematic manifesto.
It glorifies authoritarian instincts, undermines democratic legitimacy, and promotes the idea that unelected power brokers know what is best for the nation.
In doing so, it dangerously blurs the line between patriotism and propaganda.
Cinema has immense power in shaping public consciousness.
When that power is used to normalise a ‘State within a State’, it is not just bad filmmaking.
It is a warning sign.
Photographs curated by Manisha Kotian/Rediff
