On December 5, 2025, Indian cinema screens lit up with the much-anticipated release of Dhurandhar, a film that plunges viewers into the gritty, labyrinthine world of Karachi’s Lyari—an infamous neighborhood whose history is as layered as the city itself. At the heart of the movie is Sanjay Dutt’s portrayal of Chaudhary Aslam Khan, a real-life Pakistani police officer and so-called “encounter specialist,” whose career and fate mirror the violent, tangled web of politics, crime, and security that has defined Lyari for decades. But as Dhurandhar draws crowds and headlines, its arrival has also reignited debate about the true stories behind Karachi’s underworld and the blurred lines between fact, fiction, and state narrative.
According to The Indian Express, Chaudhary Aslam Khan was no ordinary cop. Born in Mansehra district and joining the Karachi police force in the late 1980s, Khan quickly gained notoriety as the Station House Officer of Gulbahar Police Station. His reputation as a tough, unyielding officer grew during the late 1980s and early 1990s, when Karachi was rocked by ethnic violence—much of it attributed to the Muttahida Qaumi Movement (MQM), a political party representing Urdu-speaking migrants from India. The city’s streets became grim landmarks, with bodies stuffed in jute sacks, and Khan found himself at the center of government crackdowns that, critics and human rights groups allege, often devolved into extrajudicial killings of MQM workers.
But Lyari—one of the city’s oldest and most densely populated neighborhoods—was a different beast. Home to Baloch and Kutchi communities and a stronghold of the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP), Lyari was notorious for its own brand of organized crime. As ethnic and political tensions intensified, so did the violence. Khan’s role shifted with the political winds: after MQM aligned with General Pervez Musharraf’s government post-1999, the state unleashed a crackdown on Lyari’s gangs, both to curb crime and to weaken the PPP’s grip. Khan was appointed to lead the Lyari Task Force, launching a series of police encounters that would define his public image—and, eventually, his legacy.
One of the most dramatic episodes came in April 2012, when Khan led a 12-day siege in Lyari targeting criminal groups associated with Uzair Baloch. The operation, as reported by The Times of India, ended in the deaths of 12 policemen and little to show in terms of arrests or lasting peace. By then, Karachi was also contending with a surge in suicide bombings and sectarian violence from groups like the Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) and Lashkar-e-Jhangvi (LeJ). Khan’s relentless pursuit of militants made him a marked man, and on January 9, 2014, his convoy was struck by a suicide bomber on the Lyari Expressway—a killing for which the TTP quickly claimed responsibility. Investigators later suggested the attack may have involved inside help.
Khan’s career was as controversial as it was storied. Credited with more than 100 encounters and awarded a head-money reward of Rs 7.5 crore for eliminating or arresting wanted suspects, his methods drew both praise and condemnation. He played a key role in the arrest of Saulat Mirza, an MQM operative who, before his execution in 2015, alleged that MQM cadres had received support from India’s intelligence agency RAW—an assertion India has always denied. Khan also targeted Uzair Baloch, who was later accused by Pakistani authorities of sharing information with foreign intelligence and being linked to the high-profile case of Indian national Kulbhushan Jadhav. Again, India has rejected these claims.
While Dhurandhar dramatizes these real-life events, it is not without its own off-screen controversy. As reported by The Times of India, the family of Major Mohit Sharma, an Ashok Chakra awardee, filed a petition in the Delhi High Court, seeking clarity over speculation that the film was based on Sharma’s life—allegedly without the family’s consent. Director Aditya Dhar responded publicly, stating, “Hi, sir - our film Dhurandhar is not based on the life of braveheart Major Mohit Sharma AC(P) SM. This is an official clarification. I assure you, if we do make a biopic on Mohit sir in the future, we will do it with full consent and in complete consultation with the family, and in a way that truly honors his sacrifice for the nation and the legacy it has left for all of us. Jai Hind.” The Delhi High Court, while not halting the film’s release, referred the matter to the Central Board of Film Certification for further review, highlighting the delicate balance between creative freedom and respect for real-life legacies.
But perhaps the most compelling story isn’t just about individuals—it’s about Lyari itself. Once dubbed the “mother of Karachi,” Lyari’s transformation from a working-class enclave to a battleground of gang wars and state crackdowns is a saga of shifting alliances, betrayals, and survival. As The Times of India details, Lyari’s criminal underworld stretches back to the 1960s, when hashish traders like Dad Muhammad and Sheru vied for control. By the 1990s and 2000s, more organized figures like Rehman Dakait and Iqbal (“Babu Dacoit”) had carved out empires, often operating with the tacit approval—or active support—of political patrons in the PPP. The formation of the Peoples’ Aman Committee (PAC) around 2008 blurred the boundary between crime and politics, as gang leaders became both enforcers and community benefactors, funding clinics, schools, and football tournaments even as they ran extortion rackets and controlled water supplies.
Violence, however, was never far from the surface. The feud between Rehman Dakait and rivals like Haji Lalu and Arshad Pappu unleashed a cycle of killings, abductions, and reprisals that left hundreds dead. After Rehman’s controversial death in a police encounter in 2009—a killing many rights groups believe was extrajudicial—leadership passed to Uzair Baloch, whose tenure saw even more bureaucratized crime and deeper conflict with the state. The infamous 2012 police operation in Lyari, led by Chaudhary Aslam, exposed both the resilience of gang networks and the limits of state power, as armed groups repelled police with heavy weaponry and the neighborhood was effectively sealed off for a week.
As Karachi’s security crisis deepened, the city became a sanctuary for militants fleeing counterinsurgency campaigns elsewhere. The 2014 attack on Karachi’s Jinnah International Airport by TTP militants marked a turning point, prompting a sweeping crackdown by the Pakistan Rangers and a new phase in the city’s long war with organized crime and terrorism. The assassinations of both Chaudhary Aslam and, later, gang commander Baba Ladla, signaled the end of an era—though not the end of Lyari’s troubles.
Today, Lyari is quieter, its streets less dominated by open gun battles and extortion rackets. Yet, as The Times of India notes, the scars of the past remain. The legacies of figures like Chaudhary Aslam, Rehman Dakait, and Uzair Baloch linger in both popular memory and ongoing debates over the true nature of crime, politics, and protection in Pakistan’s largest city. Dhurandhar may be fiction, but its roots in reality remind audiences of just how thin the line between hero and villain, state and outlaw, can be.
