Five years later, Dhadak, the film that was dismissed as 'just a glossy remake', might have been ahead of its time after all.
A boy with a bowl cut. A girl with a smirk that could burn down dynasties. A world that didn't want them together. When Dhadak hit theatres in July 2018, it was sold as a launchpad for two star kids, Janhvi Kapoor and Ishaan Khatter.
It had Karan Johar's name on it, Dharma's polish over it, and Zingaat's bass booming beneath it. But behind the gloss, the chiffon, the lake views of Udaipur and the Marwari inflexions, lay a story far grimmer than many expected.
Now, with Dhadak 2's trailer making waves and the promise of a new chapter in the franchise, there's one truth we must acknowledge: Dhadak, for all its imperfections, dared to show us the brutality of caste-based violence and the social rot of honour killings within the framework of a mainstream Bollywood romance. In many ways, it was ahead of its time.
A still from Dhadak 2
Why Touching Sairat Was Always Going To Hurt
Let's not pretend Dhadak was born in a vacuum. Its DNA can be traced back to Sairat, Nagraj Manjule's 2016 Marathi-language masterpiece.
A story of two teenagers, Archie (Rinku Rajguru) and Parshya (Akash Thosar), whose tender love is shattered by the violent realities of casteism, Sairat became the highest-grossing Marathi film of all time.
Its rawness, realism and political courage sent ripples across the country. Naturally, any remake would invite comparisons. Brutal ones.
Dhadak, helmed by Humpty Sharma Ki Dulhania director Shashank Khaitan, took the same skeleton: a lower-caste boy falls in love with an upper-caste girl, they run away, build a life and are murdered in the name of "honour."
But Khaitan transported the story from the dusty fields of rural Maharashtra to the tourist-laden palaces of Udaipur. Archie became Parthavi. Parshya became Madhukar. And with them, realism became romanticism.
Or so it seemed.
Caste, Class, And That Sudden Ending
Dhadak doesn't wear its politics on its sleeve. In fact, that was its biggest criticism. It tiptoes around the word "jaat" (caste), replaces brutal silences with montages and serves heartbreak with a side of designer outfits.
But then, the ending comes. Unflinching. Merciless. The "star kids" you spent two hours watching in soft light are slaughtered. A baby toddles into a bloodbath.
And just like that, Dhadak stops being a glossed-up remake and becomes a Trojan horse.
It introduced the reality of honour killings to multiplex audiences who'd never otherwise watch a film on caste. It sparked dinner-table conversations, however surface-level, about whether caste violence "still happens" in modern India.
It did the unthinkable: it brought Sairat's climax to a pan-India crowd, even those who never saw Sairat.
Karan Johar Did What No One Expected
It's easy to associate Karan Johar with chiffon saris, Pali Hill brunches, and nepotism discourse. But Dhadak was a different kind of risk for the filmmaker. He didn't just acquire the remake rights, he backed a story that punched upwards.
"When you adapt a film from brilliant source material, you always know that comparisons are inevitable," Johar said at the press conference. "But all you can do is pay homage," he added.
This was also a moment of genre expansion for Dharma Productions. Known for lavish love stories (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham), urban angst (Ae Dil Hai Mushkil) and youth dramas (Student Of The Year), Dharma had never taken on a story about inter-caste romance and honour killings.
Johar may have softened the edges, but his choice to greenlight such a story, while still launching Janhvi Kapoor was a balancing act only someone like him could attempt.
How Janhvi And Ishaan Proved They Were Here to Stay
Let's address the elephant in the room: Janhvi Kapoor and Ishaan Khatter came from privilege. She was Sridevi's daughter, he was Shahid Kapoor's brother. But in Dhadak, they didn't phone it in.
Ishaan, all nervous energy and expressive eyes, brought vulnerability to Madhukar. Janhvi, though less assured, displayed a gentleness that suited Parthavi's arc.
Their performances weren't revolutionary, but they were real. They didn't try to be Rinku and Akash. Instead, they made Madhukar and Parthavi their own. The chemistry was delicate, tentative, the kind that feels believable in a world where love itself is a risk.
As Johar put it, "We keep using the word nepotism. But people are not here because of that word but because of their talent."
How Dhadak Quietly Changed The Conversation
When Dhadak released, it wasn't embraced by critics and fans alike. Many saw it as a watered-down version of Sairat. Others accused it of glamourising caste violence without addressing it head-on.
And yes, those arguments weren't unfounded. But as time passed, Dhadak quietly entered the cultural bloodstream.
It became a conversation starter. It made "honour killing" a searchable term on Google for a new generation. It dared to not give its love story a happy ending.
And today, as Dhadak 2 promises to explore themes of "identity, power and the emotional price of love," we can finally look back and admit: Dhadak walked, so this sequel could run.
Five Years On, Dhadak Deserves A Second Look
Dhadak may not be flawless. It may not even be close to Sairat in terms of cinematic urgency. But it cracked open a space in Bollywood that didn't exist before, a space where caste-based stories could exist in multiplexes, not just film festivals.
Where tragedy didn't need to look grainy to be taken seriously. Where a filmmaker like Karan Johar, known for everything but realism, chose to engage with one of India's most uncomfortable truths.
It wasn't just a love story. It was a love story marked for death. And perhaps now, five years and one sequel later, we are finally ready to see it for what it really was.