“I thought it only happened years ago… in villages.” That’s the most common reaction I’ve heard from the privileged when confronted with Dalit violence. In Dhadak 2, Neelesh (Siddhant Chaturvedi) quickly corrects his girlfriend Vidhi (Triptii Dimri): “People who haven’t gone through it are the ones who believe that.”
Caste in India remains a grey area. In cities, the lines blur, but the complexity deepens. In villages and small towns, the discrimination is often blunt and visible. Words like Chamaar, Bhangi, Pulayan, and Paniyan are casually used. In urban, educated circles, the system hides behind civility. Dhadak 2, directed by Shazia Iqbal, throws a sharp question at its predominantly urban target audience.
Based on Mari Selvaraj’s Pariyerum Perumal, this is a surprising entry from Dharma Productions. Shazia’s frames aren’t as raw as the Tamil original, but neither do they fall into Dharma’s signature gloss. For once, people look real. Vidhi’s kurtis could be from Fab India, and Neelesh’s shirts might be street buys. This everyday look is Dhadak 2‘s first win. Even Neelesh’s light tan and lip colour contrast sharply with the glow on Vidhi’s face. The glow is perhaps not from makeup, but from security and ignorance.
Though the love story takes a bit more space in the Bollywood adaptation, Dhadak 2 never wants to be a Veer-Zaara. It has bigger issues to fight than the ache of two hearts.
Neelesh, enrolled in law school via reservation, is not good with the English language. While Vidhi pushes him to aim for the High Court, he only dreams of the District Court. When Shekhar (Priyank Tiwari, superb) asks him to join the cause, Neelesh refuses. He is unsure what politics even means. Shekhar’s arc may be predictable, but it transforms Neelesh’s inner world.
“If there’s a choice between dying and fighting, fight,” Neelesh is told by a former victim who is now in a position of power. Neelesh also gets asked why he isn’t proud of his identity. We know that after years of insult and bullying, in small and big ways, a youngster like him would want to blend in, not stand out. On the other hand, Vidhi becomes a metaphor for savarna oblivion. She represents the ilk that feels bad for beggars at traffic signals, leading to comments like, “The government should end reservations and do something for these poor people.”
Through Ronnie (Saad Bilgrami), Dhadak 2 captures the casual cruelty of privilege, an area where the film falls a little short of being creative. To Ronnie’s aggression, Vidhi’s innocence, and her father’s helplessness, it suggests a simpler philosophy through Neelesh: treat people like people. Dhadak 2 also features a dog named Birju, who becomes symbolic. The popular Hindi threat “Kutte ki maut marega” resonates when the film equates a Dalit’s worth with that of an animal through multiple scenes staged around railway tracks.
The supporting characters, especially the women, are carefully sketched. Be it Neelesh’s mother or Vidhi’s relatives, all are shaped by the same flawed system. Neelesh’s friend Vasu (Aditya Thakare) could’ve been just a comic relief, but instead, he offers a vision of a savarna ally without obvious bias. The ending diverges from Dhadak, and it works. It completes a hero’s journey, even if the destination feels like a dream.
The camerawork by Sylvester Fonseca flaunts a dull tint, creating a lived-in ambience that extends to the production design. You almost question if this is a Dharma film. A notable drawback is the music, which fails to linger, especially given how much Shazia focuses on the love story in Dhadak 2. The unmemorable songs weaken the narrative, though Tanuj Tiku’s original score elevates the drama. The operatic nature of the score (particularly at the interval point and key emotional scenes) renders a “big Bollywood drama” grandness to the film.
Siddhant Chaturvedi delivers his most intense performance yet, in a part that requires internalization before execution. In the final sequence, his seething rage makes the role’s emotional and physical weight unmistakable. Now, I imagine all daggers getting pointed at him, a Brahmin actor essaying a Dalit character in a mainstream film. It circles back to the central issue here: where are the Dalit actors? The blame isn’t Dharma’s or any movie studio’s in particular. It lies with a system that blocks access altogether to any sphere of work.
Triptii Dimri, who nearly becomes the conscience of Dhadak 2, shines in several key sequences. Vidhi’s naivete and sunshine-like presence contrast sharply with Neelesh’s rough realities, amplifying the actors’ natural screen chemistry. Saurabh Sachdeva owns the screen as a quiet but lethal assailant. Saad Bilgrami gets a breakout big-screen outing as Ronnie, whose very presence is exasperating. Another knockout act comes from Vipin Sharma as Neelesh’s father, who, at one point, asks his son, “I fought for what I wanted. What are you fighting for?” Manjari Pupala, Aditya Thakare, Harish Khanna, Deeksha Joshi, and Anubha Fatehpura all shine in good, memorable parts. Only Zakir Hussain’s character falters. It is written with an ambiguity that fails to land, and by the time we understand his stance, it’s too late.
Shazia’s film allows for multiple interpretations. Some may mistake caste violence for communal or class issues. While the film simplifies realities for clarity, some parts feel a bit too softened. Perhaps the censor board’s hand softened the message. But what more can we expect in a country where the privileged deny that caste exists? Visit a government office and look at the nameplates. You would spot a Tripathi, a Trivedi, and a Chaturvedi. That’s not inherently wrong, until you ask: where are the others?
So, Dhadak 2 won’t cause a revolution, but it does more than just scratch the surface. It reminds us that caste isn’t a niche or distant concern. It’s woven into the way life operates in Indian society. Dalits are rarely allowed pride, let alone autonomy. As for Shazia Iqbal’s film, it doesn’t always go as deep as it wishes to, but it still makes space for a conversation mainstream cinema often sidesteps.
Rating: ★★★ 1/2
