Aditya Dhar’s Dhurandhar is the kind of film that makes you slightly uncomfortable, which is probably why it still needs a touch of romance to survive. Bollywood audiences, after all, have been carefully trained for decades to require a love story the way some people require sugar in their coffee. Without it, the film might feel too confrontational, too factual, too much like reality knocking without an appointment.
So yes, Dhurandhar does include moments of romance. Not because terror needs tenderness, but because a cinema shaped by years of colonised storytelling habits still expects emotional cushioning. The gunfire must be followed by longing glances. The ideology must be briefly interrupted by a song. Otherwise, the audience might feel personally attacked.
What the film does not do is pretend that hatred is accidental or misunderstood. It calmly presents the reality that certain Pakistani state structures, intelligence agencies, and terror outfits have pursued Indians, particularly Hindus, with an ideological clarity that is chilling in its consistency. The 26 November 2008 attacks are shown not as a tragedy born of confusion, but as a design. Ten Lashkar e Taiba operatives. 166 dead. A city dissected with purpose. Kasab’s testimony hangs in the background like an unwanted but undeniable fact.
The romance is there. The fantasy is minimal. The truth remains stubbornly present. Dhurandhar understands its audience well enough to meet them halfway, but not so much that it lies to them. And in today’s Hindi cinema, that restraint feels almost radical.
