Dhurandhar Brings Lyari Back Into Focus: How Ranveer Singh’s Film Revives Pakistan’s ‘Mini Brazil’ And The Legacy Of The Pakistani Pelé

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Dhurandhar flashes past Lyari Town on screen, it is almost blink-and-you-miss-it. Yet those fleeting frames have quietly dragged one of Karachi’s most misunderstood neighbourhoods back into public conversation. Starring Ranveer Singh, Akshaye Khanna, Arjun Rampal and Sara Arjun, the film leans heavily into power, crime and moral chaos. But Lyari is more than the violence Dhurandhar hints at. It is also the place Pakistan calls Mini Brazil — a neighbourhood where football never died, even when everything else seemed to collapse. To truly understand Dhurandhar’s emotional undercurrent, you need to step off the cinematic frame and into Lyari’s narrow lanes.

Lyari: Karachi’s Most Misunderstood Neighbourhood

For decades, Lyari has been shorthand for gang wars, turf battles, and political unrest. That history is real and cannot be erased. Entire generations grew up amid curfews, fear, and loss. Yet parallel to this darkness, something stubbornly hopeful survived — football. Walk through Lyari during a World Cup year and the transformation is surreal. Walls turn green and yellow. Brazilian flags flutter from balconies. Televisions glow late into the night as families crowd into single rooms, cheering for a country thousands of miles away. This is how Lyari earned its nickname: Little Brazil.

Why Lyari Fell in Love With Football, Not Cricket

In a cricket-obsessed nation, Lyari chose a different religion. The roots go back to Karachi’s port history. During the British colonial era, sailors and soldiers played football near the docks. Dock workers, fishermen, and laborers—many from Baloch and African-descended communities—picked up the game early. Football didn’t need expensive equipment or manicured grounds. All it asked for was space, skill, and imagination. Even when violence peaked, a ball would still be kicked around dusty streets before sunset. That continuity matters. Football wasn’t entertainment here—it was escape.

Kakri Football Ground: From Fear to Footsteps

One of Lyari’s most symbolic spaces is Kakri Football Ground. To outsiders, it looks like an ordinary open ground. To locals, it carries decades of memory. During Lyari’s worst years, this ground became associated with fear and silence. Today, it tells a very different story. Recently redeveloped into a multi-sport complex, Kakri now has turf pitches, floodlights, training areas, and facilities for women and girls. Every evening, children sprint across the same earth that once held grief. Without speeches or slogans, football reclaimed the space. If Dhurandhar had lingered here longer, the contrast would have been cinematic in itself.

Pakistan’s Pelé: Abdul Ghafoor and Lyari’s Greatest Dream

No story about Lyari and football is complete without Abdul Ghafoor — widely remembered as Pakistan’s Pelé. Born and raised in Lyari, Ghafoor’s control, flair, and attacking instincts made him a national icon in an era when Pakistani football briefly dreamed big. At a time when very few players travelled abroad, he even played in Calcutta in 1960, then a major football hub in South Asia. His life, however, mirrored Lyari’s contradictions. Talent met hardship. Fame met neglect. In later years, tragedy followed him, and before his death, he was said to have only two wishes — his son’s freedom and to see Brazil lift the World Cup once more. That wish still echoes through Lyari every four years.

The Communities That Built Lyari’s Football Soul

Lyari’s football culture is inseparable from its people. The neighbourhood has long been home to the Sheedi community — descendants of East Africans brought to the subcontinent through Indian Ocean trade routes centuries ago. Marginalised but fiercely proud, the Sheedis preserved music, tradition and identity against all odds. Resistance runs deep in this history. General Hosh Sheedi’s defiance against British forces in 1843 remains a powerful symbol in Sindh. Football became a modern expression of that same spirit — a refusal to disappear.

Dhurandhar’s Dark Turn: Crime, Power and Uzair Baloch

While football tells Lyari’s hopeful story, Dhurandhar focuses on its darkest chapter. The film draws inspiration from real figures who dominated the area during the height of gang warfare, including Uzair Baloch. Born in Lyari, Baloch’s transformation from local political aspirant to feared underworld figure followed a personal tragedy — the murder of his father. What followed was a spiral of revenge, power and extreme violence that reshaped Karachi’s criminal landscape between 2008 and 2013. Dhurandhar does not shy away from showing how brutality became spectacle, and how fear was used as control. In the film, these scenes are unsettling — and they should be. They stand in sharp contrast to Lyari’s football fields, where the same streets produced dreams instead of dread.

When Cinema Meets Reality

What makes Dhurandhar intriguing is not just its performances, but its subtext. In between its crime arcs and power struggles lies a neighbourhood full of contradictions — the same place that bred ruthless gang leaders also raised children who worshipped Pelé and Neymar. That tension is Lyari’s truth.

Lyari Today: Where the Ball Still Rolls

Lyari is far from healed. Poverty, neglect and broken systems remain. But football continues to offer structure where institutions failed. The area reportedly houses hundreds of amateur football clubs, many running without funding, sponsorship or formal backing. They survive because the community refuses to let the game fade. Children still chase balls down alleys. Old men still argue over Brazil’s greatest XI. And every World Cup, Lyari becomes unrecognisable — louder, brighter, briefly lighter.

Beyond Dhurandhar: The Story That Deserves the Spotlight

Dhurandhar may have reopened the conversation, but Lyari’s story deserves more than passing frames. It is not just a tale of violence or survival. It is about culture, identity and a sport that outlived chaos. In Lyari, football was never a distraction from reality. It was the reason reality didn’t completely win.