“Ground Zero,” directed by Tejas Prabha Vijay Deoskar, aspires to navigate the intricate layers of the Kashmir conflict through a grounded lens. With Emraan Hashmi stepping into the role of BSF officer Narendra Nath Dhar Dubey, the film draws its narrative inspiration from the real-life pursuit of the notorious terrorist Ghazi Baba in the wake of the 2001 Indian Parliament attack. It’s a film that sets out to combine political urgency with human vulnerability, and although it succeeds in certain moments, it struggles to maintain a consistently compelling rhythm.
Set in the politically volatile backdrop of early-2000s Kashmir, Ground Zero follows Dubey and his unit in their high-stakes mission to dismantle a terrorist network. While the premise is undoubtedly gripping, the film doesn’t always capitalize on the emotional and thematic weight of its subject matter. The attempt to blend procedural military drama with philosophical musings on duty and nationalism feels noble, yet uneven in execution.
What distinguishes the film from others in the same genre is its preference for introspection over aggression. Rather than deliver a barrage of fiery patriotism, it quietly unfolds the internal dilemmas faced by those on the frontlines. The subtle tension between the BSF and local civilians is delicately handled, portrayed not as a black-and-white standoff, but as a tragic, nuanced relationship scarred by decades of mistrust.
At the heart of this is Emraan Hashmi, delivering one of his most restrained and effective performances in recent memory. As Dubey, he embodies a man driven by duty yet burdened by conscience. His performance is stripped of flamboyance; instead, Hashmi lets silence, stillness, and subtle glances do the heavy lifting. It’s a portrayal that eschews heroics for honesty, making Dubey feel like a deeply human figure caught in the crosshairs of history.
The screenplay, co-written by Sanchit Gupta and Priyadarshee Srivastava, does offer several moving character moments—particularly Dubey’s evolving relationship with Husain (Mir Mehrooz), a conflicted young informant navigating a treacherous path between ideology and identity. These interactions lend the film a grounded, lived-in quality that enhances its emotional texture.
Sai Tamhankar, Zoya Hussain, and Mukesh Tiwari round out the supporting cast with understated but impactful performances. Tamhankar, in particular, shines as Dubey’s wife, bringing a quiet resilience that underscores the emotional cost of a soldier’s life off the battlefield.
The cinematography captures Kashmir’s rugged beauty with a melancholic grace. The haunting visuals of snow-capped mountains and crumbling homes echo the emotional dissonance of the region itself—a place of breathtaking serenity caught in a cycle of violence.
Despite its many strengths, Ground Zero isn’t without its missteps. The second half falters under the weight of its ambitions, occasionally losing momentum in a tangle of subplots and extended action sequences. The climax, while emotionally resonant, feels too rushed to tie together all the narrative threads laid out in the earlier acts. A tighter edit and deeper exploration of the socio-political undercurrents would have elevated the film’s overall impact.
Nevertheless, the film deserves credit for sidestepping nationalistic tropes and instead posing deeper, more uncomfortable questions. Who owns Kashmir—the land or its people? What does patriotism look like in a place where survival itself is political? And most importantly, how do you serve a nation without losing sight of its citizens?
In the end, Ground Zero emerges as an earnest but imperfect effort—brave in its intent, restrained in its delivery, but not always cohesive in its storytelling. Emraan Hashmi’s performance carries the emotional weight of the film, reminding us that even in the fog of conflict, individual conscience still matters.
It’s not the definitive Kashmir story, but it is a notable step in the direction of more reflective, human-centered war narratives.
