copyright 2025, Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media,
Jump Cut, No. 63, summer 2025

Identity, encounters and representation:
Understanding the masala hero-cops of New Bollywood 

by Ajay Pateer and Soumik Hazra 

Numerous scholars have written in the last few years on the representation of Dalit and other marginalized identities in mainstream Hindi cinema. Coming from varied disciplines such as political science and sociology, this first wave of anti-caste scholarship on Hindi cinema, if it may be addressed as such, has largely approached issues of representation; notable in this vein are works by Harish Wankhede, Amit Kumar, Vishal Chauhan and Vidushi (Wankhede 17-31, 76) (Kumar) (Chauhan 327-336) (Vidushi 123-135). 

Apart from these, many other scholarly works and PhDs have followed similar lines of thought and have had an important impact on academia in at least two ways. First, media scholars have pointed to, and called out, casteism in Hindi cinematic representation both on and off screen, demanding more inclusive films and industry. Second, this kind of interpretation has created an analytic lens or perspective along with a strong lexicon to study and theorize not only Hindi cinema but moving images in general from an anti-caste perspective. In this kind of work, scholarly attention has been directed predominantly towards representations of marginalized communities, particularly the Dalits. 

However, the pivotal role of the dominant caste identities has not been challenged or addressed. That is, there is a layered and complex tapestry of caste dynamics in Indian cinema that has yet to be dealt with in a nuanced and analytical way. Several terms commonly appear in film scholarship to address such caste groups i.e. Upper Castes, Caste Hindus, Parjivi (parasites) and so on—these emerged out of unique social and political contexts. Here we use the term ‘Oppressor Caste’ to denote those castes that are dominant, hegemonic and beneficiaries of the caste system within the narrative-world of the film because caste dominance is also subject to local socio-political configuration. The category of ‘Oppressor Caste’ is flexible enough to encompass caste collectives locally or regionally involved in acts of oppression and injustice regardless of their ranks in the varna system. 

Oppressor castes are not discriminated against. Instead, they can use the caste system to their benefit or be agnostic about it. Caste, in essence, as an issue is an issue of oppression, is not just a Dalit issue. To incorporate such a more nuanced perspective within film scholarship, a comprehensive understanding of caste in Hindi cinema demands a paradigm shift in scholarly focus from the oppressed to the oppressors. Taking a step in this direction, for example, Tanya Singh analyzes Rajpoot identity in Padmaavat (2018). As Singh explains it, 

“The nomenclature of caste has come to acquire a synonymity with the Dalits whereas the oppressor castes continue to define the more acceptable, generic identity of ‘Indian,’ [so] it is necessary to probe into the cultural monolith of upper castes.” (Singh 340).

By delving into the overrepresented ‘Upper Castes,’ a study of identity can attain a more nuanced understanding of caste, Indian cinema, and the hegemon’s narrative-building by extension (ibid). An exemplary case study focusing on oppressor classes in Hindi cinema would be masala cop films of late 2010’s, given their extreme popularity and stylized violence. For one thing, these films prominently invoke Brahmanical myths. Also, in this genre, the script relies on the performativity of the cop figure through a spectacle of oppression. In a way, the cop figure gets deified through public mobilization and celebration of valiant police violence.

For instance, in Singham (2011), Dabangg (2010) and Policegiri (2013), the protagonists are delineated as having an absurd moral authority to commit violence as well as a legal obligation to curb crime. Thus, in a fight sequence outside a cinema hall in Singham, the villain refuses to engage with the policeman and challenges cop to fight personally as an ordinary citizen. The cop, Bajirao Singham, removes his uniform shirt and weapon without any second thought to accept the challenge, going against standard police protocol. Tellingly, in several close-ups, he is wearing many rings in the fingers and threads on the right hand wrist, tell-tale signs of a Hindu believer. The fight scene is a chaotic and spectacular display of police violence. It has background music from a Maharashtrian Ganesh Utsav festival—i.e. a predominantly regional Hindu festival which asserts the dominance of a specific cultural identity i.e. Marathi caste identity. In the end of the fight scene, the hero cop unbuckles his uniform belt and uses it as a weapon to beat the criminal before a crowd. Similarly, in Gangajal (2003), the policemen stab criminals in their eyes with a spoke and pour acid into them as a grotesque display of custodial violence and call it gangajal (holy water). 

These cinematic incidents draw on increasing disregard for legal procedure and they legitimate and celebrate extrajudicial police violence in both Hindi cinema and society. In the paper to follow, we will look at masala cop films and how their almost ritualistic performance of extrajudicial violence, embodied by the figure of a supercop, garners justification through the incorporation of predominantly Brahminical myths and icons. By taking this approach, we hope to demystify such narrative authority and entitlement to violence and to deconstruct the myth of the oppressor-caste, supercop-saviour figure as popularized by mainstream Hindi cinema.  

Myth and the masala films: an overview

Masala, as a quintessential Indian form, exemplifies the basic skeleton of how a Hindi film is put together.  In this section, we argue, via the example of masala cop films, that the Masala form in Indian cinema and its narrative tropes are significantly influenced by Brahmanical myths, especially the narrative of Ramayana. To begin a conversation on Oppressor Caste identities and representation in Indian (specifically Hindi) cinema, we need to address that larger narrative formation. Masala films are a distinct cinematic form where different moods and tones co-exist, the Aristotelian unities are never given much significance, and exaggeration is regarded as a virtue (Singh). The films do not adhere to any single western genre structure, rather have semblance to multiple genres. The earliest examples of masala in Hindi cinema can be traced to films like Yaadon ki Baraat (1973) and Sholay (1975) among others, which gets solidified through Manmohan Desai’s successful films like Amar Akbar Anthony (1977), Parvarish ( 1977), Suhaag (1979), Naseeb (1981) etc. and gets carried forward in the ‘80s and the ‘90s through films like Himmatwala (1983), Phool aur Kaante (1991), Mohra (1994), Main Khiladi Tu Anari (1994). There are some obvious affinities between the masala films and Hollywood genres such as musicals and westerns. However, every element that can be traced back to Hollywood cinema is reimagined in the masala form according to local Indian sensibilities. As noted by Jyotika Virdi regarding the national features of Hindi cinema, 

“Though Hindi films embrace Hollywood-style elements of linear narrative, …  they are adapted to a local sensibility, are topical, and, most importantly, are connected with an indigenous star system and genre expectations from the Indian audience that will always exclude Hollywood” (Virdi 19). 

In this regard, masala cinema comes into play as an all-encompassing genre. The masala films therefore operate with a sense of plurality that conjoins seemingly disparate elements to provide an exhilaratingly escapist and affective experience for the audience. In addition, this kind of experience projects an aspirational wish-fulfilment. Formulae of masala films are drawn from various facets of Indian performance cultures such as Parsi theatre and Ramlila and are then inculcated into a cohesive whole (Joughin 129).[1] [open endnotes in new window] For example, as Chidananda Dasgupta points out about folk and Parsi theatre, melodrama dominates the situation instead of minute instances of logicality. Often a resultant ‘suspension of disbelief’ occurs in the terms of symbol and myths instead of factual basis.  The fullness of ‘pre-determined stimuli’ drawn from mythic culture depends on the fidelity of the performance enacting generic conventions (Dasgupta 16). 

Elements from Hindu culture and mythology were incorporated into the visual language of Hindi cinema early on to further cultural nationalism at a time of anti-colonial movements. Although Hindi cinema has produced fewer direct adaptations of myths in the post-independence milieu, their influence, visual icons, and narrative tropes can be observed throughout Indian film’s hundred years of history. 

As noted by Vijay Mishra in his work Bollywood Cinema: Temples of Desire (2001), at any particular historical moment in the nation, on the command of a particular (Brahmanical) class, the myth of Rama has been taken up by a majoritarian collective to achieve certain political goals. In his work, Mishra enquires into the historical conditions when there is a return to the particular mythical past of Ramayana; for example, it is seen now in the neoliberal landscape of the nation. Bombay cinema or ‘masala cinema’ by extension is a form homologous to a narrative form already established by ancient Sanskrit epic texts, specifically Ramayana and Mahabharata. Stylistically, this form was adapted to cinema primarily through repeating individual moments in the narrative; such repetition is a tactic which validates a ‘pre-existent totality, a confirmation’, so to speak (Mishra 33). Through this style, every form of Hindi cinema becomes affected by the ‘absolutist norms of Hindu Culture’ which are the norms of the law and also of individual action; this constitutes the realm of a higher moral order (Mishra 583). 

For a critical understanding of policing, the topic at hand, and to avoid a vague or superficial understanding of Hindu culture and its norms of law and individual action, it is essential to look at B.R. Ambedkar’s critique of Hindu society:

“Hindu society as such does not exist. It is only a collection of castes. Each caste is conscious of its existence (Ambedkar 50).” 

This postulate implies that in any rendition of the Hindu society, be it in myths or films, the order postulated in caste must find its way. The order of caste, developed from the order of four varna, is in fact the ordering of Hindu society. It is omnipresent in all Indian narrative forms yet tacit in cinema. Therefore, an inquiry into a narrative's mythological elements should lead us to the embedded caste order that gets adapted to cinema along with other narrative elements. In other words, the caste and gender dynamics of Ramayana and other Brahmanical myths are reiterated in film's masala form precisely because cultural products are heavily influenced by the said myths. 

Tracing the cop figures in Hindi cinema

Before delving into the supercop figure, we offer a brief overview of the cop figure in Hindi masala films to trace this character in Hindi cinema since the post-independence period. As the filmmakers, actors and their cop characters largely come from particular caste groups, it can be argued that the films represent the consciousness of that particular caste group (Kumar, Wankhede). In that context, the cop figure quintessentially embodies relations between oppressor-caste consciousness and the Indian welfare state along with its legal system, especially the symbolic order of law. 

In this light, certain traits of the cop figures emerge. First, the cop figures of earlier Hindi cinema, from post-independence until the 1960s, are merely extensions of the state apparatus, as seen in films like Awara (1951) and Shree 420 (1955). These films’ narratives trust in the legal system to resolve the issues facing the protagonists, where an officer usually comes from the Kayastha caste. Later, in the 1970s, if a policeman is a protagonist, he would be confronted with a moral dilemma between the symbolic order of the law and that of the family (Rankawat 165-180). As law cannot always deliver him justice, the protagonist has to contemplate extralegal means. This is shown most prominently in a film like Zanjeer (1973).  

Such films rely on the figure of the angry young man. Distrust and a conflict of interest develop between the state and the policeman. For example, in Deewar (1975) Sub-Inspector Ravi Verma has to shoot his brother Vijay in the climax to keep the order of law; and in Sholay (1975) ex-Inspector Thakur Baldev Singh has to hire two outlaws, Jai and Veeru, to secure justice (read revenge) against a Daku named Gabbar Singh, whom the state fails to capture. In both films’ climax, the order of law prevails. In terms of historical context, these plots coincide with erstwhile political developments in the country. This was a time when Indira Gandhi caused a split in the Congress Party, which also saw a diminishing influence of the wealthiest Zamindars’ ‘syndicate’ (Jaffrelot 115-143). Later, the angry young man of the 80s, played by the likes of Dharmendra and Mithun, is oppressed by dominant Thakurs, Zamindars and local politicians. Significantly, one of the very few anti-caste films that Hindi cinema has produced was made in this political backdrop; in Ghulami (1985) the thakur policeman and his influential family members are villains, perhaps for the first time so boldly in Hindi Cinema. 

In the late 1980s and ‘90s and into the ‘00s, the protagonist‘s anguish was the most remarkable feature of Hindi cinema, be it directed towards the system or tradition. In the ‘90s and the ‘00s specifically, many masala films featured a protagonist who felt powerless, restrained by a labyrinthine system, and thus oscillating between dilemmas of duty and morality. Such a character usually had a cynical world view towards the system and is seen in films like Tiranga (1993), Ab tak Chappan 2 (2015), Chandaal (1998), Ansh (2002), Vinashak (1998), Muqabla (1993) etc.

Further, in the context of the ‘80s and the ‘90s, Hindi cinema reproduces the Ram Janmabhoomi mo(ve)ment in its films even as films are critiquing it, mostly by putting a sense of ambiguity in the films (Mishra 533). In practice, the erstwhile Bombay Cinema was not complicit in promoting fundamentalist practices, but rather the films conformed to a set of ‘spectatorial identifications’ with a specific need for a ‘redemptive history’ (ibid). In particular, that history stands against everything deemed demonic (including the Muslims) and against representing other repressed traumas, including Partition. Although this approach went against the secular ideals of Bombay cinema, nevertheless Hindi cinema not only chose to conceal caste relations, oppression and discrimination but also denied acknowledging oppressed-caste consciousness. Therefore, when we see the prevailing oppressor-caste consciousness in Hindi cinema, it cannot be entirely blamed on the Hindutva and Ram Mandir movement. These events in the ‘90s, such as the implication of the Mandal Commission report only pushed the ongoing distrust further.[2] 

With the rise of Hindutva politics in the 1990s, Hindi cinema focused more on the issues and the anguish of an oppressor-caste male cop figure, as a substitute for their collective anguish against rising Other Backward Classes’ (O.B.C.) politics. Thereafter, the oppressor-caste cop protagonist of Hindi cinema can never trust the legal apparatus of the state because it provides him too little and too late support. The character is filled with ultimate moral and professional dilemmas as he serves a state run by diverse (read unruly and corrupt) politicians upon whom he and his co-workers cannot rely. This tension is apparent in films like Shool (1999) and Gangaajal (2003). The cop’s dilemma also comes to a certain kind of conclusion in these films. That is, the cop finally decides to ditch legal procedures, constitutional morality and his professional duties, and to embrace vigilantism, extralegal violence and his social (caste) identity. This might explain why the cops of later films are clear and assertive about their violent means. 

After the 2008 Mumbai attacks, the cop figure received a certain public sympathy against the organized criminals because of resurfacing stories about Mumbai’s underworld’s involvement in terror attacks and the role of specially equipped and trained squads like Mumbai Anti-Terrorism Squad in curbing this nexus. In the news, Vijay Salaskar, a revered encounter specialist in such a squad, and his colleagues Hemant Karkare and Ashok Kamte were killed in action in the 2008 Mumbai attacks and were all awarded Ashok Chakra posthumously. This event not only inspired the figure of the policeman hero in the Hindi cinema to be trigger happy but also set a precedent for the narrative itself to be approving of police violence. In addition, socially and in films, such approval seems to come from a divine authority, producing the myth of the supercop figure.

The supercop genre and myth

As noted by genre theorists like Thomas Schatz, Rick Altman et al, genres are essentially fluid/dynamic constructs which remain in a perpetual state of becoming and develop over time according to audience expectations and wider socio-political implications. Likewise, the masala cop genre in Hindi cinema can also be observed to be in a state of becoming. In this section we will observe how in addition to drawing from popular Hollywood genre cinema, the Indian Masala cop films are influenced by Brahmanical myths alongside narrative tropes from earlier iterations of Hindi commercial cinema like the angry young man of the 70s. 

Such films do not confine themselves to any one myth. Similar to the way the narrative incorporates various genre elements, the cinematic myth of the supercop is also constructed by mixing together various apparently disparate elements. Scripts amalgamate myths from Brahmanical texts alongside narrative tropes such as the angry young man. Furthermore, the myths get superimposed visually, with an overtly stylized action choreography borrowed liberally from U.S action films like The Matrix (1999) trilogy, the Mission Impossible (1996) franchise, and Marvel superhero films. For instance, the cop Singham from the eponymous 2011 film is portrayed as a re-imagination of the myth of Narsimha, an Avatar of Vishnu, while the chants heard in the background during the action sequences are Shaivite. Further, the villain in Singham, as in most other films of the genre, is a local criminal/political figure who has an influence over the area’s jurisdiction like a king, here evoking the myth of Ravana from the Indian epic Ramayana. 

To argue that the supercop is another take on the figure of the angry young man might be valid, but the two tropes also differ from each other. While the angry young man figure from films like Deewar (1975), Zanjeer (1973) etc is a disillusioned male, fueled primarily by childhood trauma, and is overtly secular, the supercop on the other hand does not have a traumatic youth and believes in Brahmanical gods and rituals. In fact, according to the narrative logic of Hindi commercial cinema, that’s why the supercop is not punished in the end. He comes with a divine authority to inflict violence. Or in other words, such violence is justified cinematically through a film’s evoking Brahmanical myths, rituals, chants and icons. 

As noted by scholars like Vijay Mishra, Madhava Prasad, Ashish Rajadakshya et al, the heterogeneous form of Hindi masala cinema is derived from an amalgamation of diverse elements: 

1. Parsi Theatre (from which the narrative structure, the exaggerated form of performance, along with song and  dance sequences were borrowed), 
2. Muslim culture (which provided the usage of poetry, courtly language and figure of the dancer/courtesan among other things), 
3. English melodrama (which provided tropes of love’s longing and loss) and 
4. Brahmanical cultural practices. 

Since the 2010’s, Brahmanical cultural practices such as Puja, Ramlila and other rituals have become a predominant mode of address within commercially successful masala action films.[3] Explicitly presenting these rituals is symptomatic of the predominant subjectivity of the Hindu oppressor castes in the films' content. Since 2014, with the rise of Hindutva politics and evocative claims of Hindu Rashtra by the right-leaning Bharatiya Janata Party, the conflicts between the Oppressor-Caste‘s personal interests and the law have been revoked.[4] In a way, Hindutva ideology now allows the cop to carry out unruly and corrupt actions in cinema with a divine validation. Eamples include the police violence in Singham and the police casually shooting criminals in Policegiri, as discussed in the beginning of the paper. This ideological inflection of police power, visible in society, gets reflected in the portrayal of Oppressor-Caste Cops in masala films, especially through their infliction of police brutality.

With such popular and relevant narrative resources such as the cinematic myths of the angry young man, etc., it is crucial to understand the reason behind also the films’ citing Brahminical myths. For example, in the first extrajudicial killing scene of Policegiri (2013), the protagonist puts a vermilion tilak on his forehead and breaks a coconut and then kills a criminal before a sculpture of a Hindu deity. Here, the dead body drops at the feet of this huge overshadowing figure of the deity to establish its divine acknowledgement and approval. In addition, on the soundtrack throughout the film, any act of ‘purification’ by the police force—be it closing of illegal liquor shops or killing genocidal goons—is accompanied by chants from Geeta in voice off, attributing a divine authorization to characters’ actions. 

Similarly, in Singham, chants from Shiv Tandav Stotram are used as a background score when the protagonist cop, after long having suffered abuse from a local politician, Jayakant Shikre, finally breaks loose and ‘punishes’ the politician’s goons. The act of violence by the police unfolds in broad daylight in a spectacle using slow motion shots and chants in the background. The spectacle depicts his heroic valor, validated through public witness, and gives the character almost divine glory. This violence cannot be legally justified. The narrative offers no psychological pathos behind the violence, it is righteous, normative and ritualistic. It seems god-sent. 

Earlier use of such motifs of divinity to sanction violence occurred in a custodial violence scene in Gangajaal (2003), where a group of policemen pour acid in the criminals’ eyes and refer to it as “holy Gangajaal” (holy water from the Ganges river). Such is the working logic of Brahmanical myths, now found in popular narratives and cinema. The most gruesome and nerve-wracking violence done by an Oppressor Caste protagonist gets morally justified by claiming it as a brand of divine justice. In the battle of good vs evil, the oppressor’s self is authorized to commit horrendous violence and the Oppressed Other is dehumanized and demonized—to the extent that violent oppression is revered as cathartic justice and triumph of virtue. Likewise, the Oppressor Caste supercop is hailed and portrayed as a godsend who eradicates evil. Categories of legal and illegal are suspended to make way for Brahmanical categories of purity vs. pollution or good vs. evil as apparent in repetitive motifs of purification in Gangaajal and in Policegiri.

The supercop’s body

The figure of Hanuman, a monkey god who commands an army, is an interesting anchor here for the sub-genre because the de facto supercop film director Rohit Shetty shares an image for his upcoming Singham Again (2024) on Instagram wherein red muscular Hanuman is shown behind ‘the notorious Simmba’. Evocation of this mythical figure is thus not subtle at all; it is bold and deliberate to signify religiously sanctioned violence, as the myth of Lanka Dahan proves him to be the ultimate Brahmanical agent of first hand chaos and destruction. Such is the case of the infamous right wing organisation Bajrang Dal, named after this deity. This outfit has been marked as a militant organisation by Human Rights Watch before the B.J.P. came into power. Notably, the right wing outfits and the masala cop films both use the motif of a Hanuman figure to signify the same tenacity for religious violence. Hindutva’s new iconic images of Hanuman are seen as an intimidating face pasted onto the rear windshield of ‘Hindu’ cars on Indian roads and as an ape with chiseled physique circulating on the Internet like a superhero body. The exaggerated steroid physique is another feature of the supercop figure, something he shares with the superheroes and with the latest versions of Hanuman as well.

Such a physique is mythical even from a human anatomical perspective. On one hand, this sculpted hairless body is argued to produce a kind of democratisation that this metrosexual body can belong to anyone.On the other hand, this grotesque display of unreal musculature produces a mythical and violent Oppressor Caste supercop. In action sequences, it is this mythical body that the camera focuses on for the spectator to identify with and to be in awe of, dehumanising the antagonist ‘Other’.

Further, the body of the supercop and by extension that of the Bollywood star figures becomes crucial. In a recent essay in Jump Cut, Paromita Vohra has shown how the working class male body— sculpted, chiseled and hairless—became a staple in Hindi mainstream cinema from the ‘90s through actors like Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt etc.. It hascontinued in the new millennium with actors like Varun Dhawan, Hrithik Roshan etc. to the point where such a body became a norm in the industry to signify one’s tenacity towards the job (Vohra). 

Vohra’s ‘automatic body’ signifies an impression of uniformity, fluidity and mobility which  is not possible for a lower caste cop to attain, however valorous he might be. The uniformity also brings into focus the hierarchy of the upper caste since they can only afford a casteless existence in the country. This automatic, casteless body is featured in all its glory in the masala cop films to further signify the mythic stature of the cop and make him the ‘hero’ that a spectator can identify with, and it also adds to the divine attribute of the figure.

As is seen in Singham (2011), the hero's introduction shot, which is a staple of every masala film, begins with a shot of a temple coupled with chants in the background and is intercut with a mid-shot depicting a bare-chested, chiseled upper body of the star, Ajay Devgn, taking bath in holy water. The following shot shows his hairless body in full display and his passage to a mainstream Hindi film hero is complete. This shot is followed by a song which glorifies his valour and proffers mythic connotations with the Hindu deity Narasimha. The introductory shot coupled with the song further solidify Vohra’s argument regarding the erasure of caste/class from the body of the hero as well as from Hindi commercial cinema as a whole. However, this erasure as well as his professional status brings into foreground his upper caste belonging, although it is never pronounced in the film. As the film progresses, Singham is shown to be the messiah of his village Sivgarh with an inherent power of mobilising the masses to support him, but the power comes from a caste and class hierarchy coupled with the power of the symbolic order instilled in him. As noted by retired police officer S.R. Darapuri in a 2020 article reminiscing his times in U.P. Police as a Dalit police officer in the 1970’s and by multiple news articles found even today, especially in the village and small towns of the country, caste is a governing principle of segregation (Frayer & Kumar).

A supercop’s mythical jurisdiction

Here we want to address the space that supercops in Hindi masala films professionally inhabit and how that helps to shape the narrative in their favor. Interestingly, in both Dabangg and Singham the protagonist police officers are posted in their hometown and village respectively. In fact, Indian government protocols generally refrain from posting an officer in their home district, much less in their own village. This convenient fictionalization reminds us of the colonial history of policing as the film scripts produce a mythical jurisdiction. As Nikita Sonavane has noted, 

“The British had previously experimented with a police system … This further culminated in the adoption of a system that involved policing through village headmen or ‘respectable members of the community’, according to the Indian Police Commission Report of 1902 prepared by the Fraser Commission constituted by the colonial government to recommend police reforms (the ‘Fraser Commission Report’). These ‘respectable members’ were invariably landed individuals of dominant castes.” ( Sonavane 56)

Consider Singham in this context. He is a native of the fictional town of Shivgarh. He is  a practicing Hindu as is regally depicted in the the title song itself. His father commissions Puja rituals at home wherethe young man meets his fiancé-to-be Kavya. His position in the village is that of a son of a respectable village headman, and villagers loyal to the family militantly support him in his first confrontation with the villain. In fact he claims it to be his village in a fiery monologue. In the course of the film, he uses the villagers’ support to threaten the arrogant criminal and to break the man’s ego. Not only does he solve crimes but also people call him for help in all kinds of matters. 

He represents his village more than he represents the law. In an example of this kind of support, an old man confronts the teasing criminals prior to the fight and warns them of retaliation from the village people. But here the old man reaches out to Singham’s father as a village headman, rather than reaching out to Singham as a police officer. Singham’s response to the situation is then as a custodian or muscle of the village rather than as a law-keeper. As Sonavane has argued, the colonial model of policing was aimed at keeping ‘law and order’ where order is prioritized over law. Since the colonial administration used and strengthened the existing caste order to extract labor and resources and because the village headman police happened to be dominant-caste landlords, the order with colonial support is essentially caste order. To this purpose, the police are granted discretionary power to determine what and who are a threat to the order. Through this discretion, which is at the very center of colonial police work, the oppressor-caste cops worked in the interest of their caste brethren (ibid). In this film, Singham’s police work provides a glorious display of using ‘discretion’ to keep order rather than law. 

In the mise-en-scene, the Shivgarh police station is too well lit and too opaque for a police station. All windows are open, so that the village is always in the background, visually establishing the space of the police station and the village as one. Strangely, there are no crimes in the jurisdiction, only happy and prosperous villagers. As a mythical jurisdiction in perfect order and harmony, it is comparable to Ramayan’s Ayodhya before the Vanvas (exile), which gets disrupted through Singham's subsequent transfer. 

Other kinds of spaces, especially in urban areas, are not so idyllic. In Policegiri, there is no such perfect jurisdiction because the protagonist is based on Hanuman and the space is a city full of crime (read evil) i.e. Lanka. Even the police station is involved in organized crime and the protagonist has to ‘purify' it. Going to a new police station after transfer or exile tends to mean entering a moral buffer zone for the Dharma-abiding, righteous policemen, a fortress of sorts that may not recognize departmental hierarchy. In Dabangg (2010), the protagonist supercop Chulbul Pandey is shown to be immoral and fits the angry young man trope. Interestingly, this film does not feature any sequence in a police station except for one that plays as a comic relief. In this scene, Chulbul detains the heroine Rajjo’s drunk father and falsely accuses him of petty offences, forcing her to show up at the station. This scene again reminds us of everyday harassment and brutality exerted in vulnerable communities by cops through their discretionary power as explained by Sonavane. ‘Discretion’ is not arbitrary in the masala cop films; it works on mythical premises precisely to maintain (caste) order(ibid).

Angry young dabangg as a precursor to the mythical supercop

Dabangg is different from the rest of the masala cop genre films in some crucial aspects, so much so that somewhere it might not fit very well into the genre template. In particular, the Brahmanical myths here are incorporated in the narrative in a much more subtle way than in the other films of this genre. The reason can be attributed to the very fact that this was one of the earliest films of the sub-genre and thereby it marks a sort of milestone in the development of the sub-genre still formulating into its characteristic structure. The film inclines towards the angry young man tropes more than its later counterparts.

For instance, Chulbul Pandey, unlike Singham and Rudra, has a childhood trauma associated with the loss of his father, a role that his step-father could not or did not play very well. This childhood trauma gives him an angry young man edge within the arena of his family melodrama. In that regard, he is mostly shown to be irritated and bitter in his home, he is not a temple-going person, and he has little to no respect for rituals and traditions as seen in the wedding sequence. Still, because of a lack of any revenge narrative unlike in usual angry young man films, Pandey’s anger is contained in the household until he finds out that the cause of his mother’s death was the villain, and that revelation comes only at the climax.

The angry young man's anger is thus cathartically purged in the climactic spectacle of a fistfight so that Pandey could finally be able to assimilate into the symbolic order of the patriarchal structure. Pandey’s extrajudicial violence is fueled by childhood trauma and a revenge narrative, rather than a direct authentication from the divine, as was the case in Policegiri and Singham. Although he has the typical super cop trajectory of turning righteous from mischievous, there is no obvious evocation of a Brahmanical myth in his favor. Owing to such differences, it is clear that the masala cop film genre was still developing in Dabangg and it had not completely taken on the task of reimagining the Brahmanical myths to build the myth of an oppressor caste super cop.

However, the caste dynamics and privilege are starkly visible in the film through multiple facets. First, the name of the film is Dabangg, a term used by vernacular newspapers to address, and to conceal caste identity of, oppressor caste criminals who committed caste-based crimes, atrocities and rapes against scheduled caste and tribe people. 

Second, all of Pandey’s fellow policemen are Brahmans except Kasturilal Vishwakarma who happens to be an alibi and a potential relative of the villain. A Vishwakarma surname is generally associated with Other Backward Castes (O.B.C.s) such as carpenters and blacksmiths. Then there are two more O.B.C. male characters in the film, a socially nonfunctional alcoholic father of the potter (belonging to the Kumhar caste) heroine Rajjo and her disabled brother. Both are killed suddenly, conveniently, and inconsequentially so that the heroine could become Mrs. Pandey with no strings attached to her working-caste background. Apart from Rajjo, there are no muslim and scheduled caste characters in the film. Third, Pandey flaunts his caste along with his police job while putting his marriage proposal to Rajjo’s father Haria. He also flaunts his surname Pandey while introducing himself to Kasturilal as Robinhood Pandey. He could not be just any Robinhood, he is Robinhood Pandey. He could not be just any Chulbul, he is Chulbul Pandey.

These caste connotations prove that the film is not only caste conscious, it is in fact a proud narrative of a Brahman policeman, from a perspective that makes a hero out of an unlawful cop. As the genre later progresses and evolves to more provincial settings and more importantly, South Indian film (specifically Tamil and Telugu mainstream film) aesthetics, the protagonists’ caste become less visible. Further, their provincial feudal mindset and entitlement to violence comes to the fore, which is morally legitimized by the evocation of Brahmanical myths and icons as discussed above with the example of Policegiri and Singham. 

The question of encounter and public mobilisation

Generally in cop films the question of encounter and extra judicial violence remains a crucial aspect. As noted by Anustup Basu, encounter is an intensely local practice that operates silently below the grand narratives of the nation, a neoliberal order and questions of human rights. The encounter is ‘an effectively executed theme of normalcy’ rather than a precise working of the law (Basu 178). As Basu further notes, the figure of the encounter specialist cannot be attributed a mythic dimension precisely because of the difficulty of distinguishing the larger-than-life image of the hero from a routine abuse of state power. The encounter specialist, as seen in films like Ab tak Chapaan ( 2004) and Kuruskhetra ( 2000) among others, becomes a raw manifestation of state power. He incorporates a form of sovereignty required in the name of terror, but it's a kind of sovereignity never overtly expressed as operational within the constitutional paradigm, which itself is in danger because of such extra-legal activities.

The public reception of encounter killing and other forms of vigilante justice is entangled with a sense of moral virtue attached to it. The police figure is projected as the much needed saviour from an all-powerful evil; he's one who is morally supported by the public to be allowed to commit to extralegal proceedings. As noted by Beatrice Jauregui in a 2016 study of the Indian nation-state and its vigilante practices, Indian public have a certain ambivalence regarding police vigilantism as their undersatanding is also constituted by a sense of religious interpretations which get transformed by mythological and historical experiences. Although also present in earlier films like Kuruskhetra (2000) or Ab Tak Chhappan (2004), where the issue of vigilantism or encounter killings are looked at from a self- reflexive lens, the supercop masala films almost unfold as a sort of wish- fulfilment. Even films like Shool (1999) or Khakee (2004) become a manifestation of such ambivalence because of the interspersing between public opinion and the symbolic order. The masala cop hero, in stark opposition to Basu's hypothesis, is a larger-than-life figure who seldom faces consequences while committing random acts of violence, primarily due to the power granted not by law but by his social identity. Further, the public is shown to be in awe of the police figure as an individua, and that awe throughout the course of the film gets transferred to the institution as a whole.

In this regard, the climax of Singham is crucial. The villain, Jaykant Shikre, who previously had the entire police force under his control except for Singham and his colleagues, is shown to be tormented by the same police force. They get persuaded by their family to go against Jaykant and ‘do the right thing’. In this elaborate sequence, the entire police force of Goa is shown to be present in Jayakant’s  house, who is going to take his vows as a minister in the next morning. They reach a consensus to kill him before the oath-taking ceremony. The police commissioner, along with lesser rank officers, presided over by the righteous Singham, are shown to be bouncing around ideas regarding how to finish Jaykant. The sequence continues with a chase sequence in the dusk, where the police vehicles are chasing Jaykant in slow motion and he is asking for help from the public. However, the public themselves are also in accordance with the police force and Jaykant ends up in the police station where he is shot to death by Singham.

Singham's execution of Jaykant indicates the completed formation of a police state, with the towns' public and in turn the film's spectators bearing witness to such extra-legal practices. This involvemnt of public witness is in concurrence with a 2018 report, as published in CNN, where half of Indians who polled found nothing wrong with extrajudicial violence towards criminals. There are numerous incidents where the public in social media and various news channels' reports express support for encounter killings or ‘fake’ encounter killings for crimes they deem vicious and unpardonable. Popular discontent towards the legal and judicial order of the country gets validated by the police actions.

How these public attitudes have been shaped is well-express in the Dalit intellectual B.R. Ambedkar’s writings. In his Philosophy of Hinduism, Ambedkar points out, through various examples, that religion regulates the life of a Hindu at every strata of one's life. That is, every significant act of life is governed by the tenets of the religion, regardless of an individual's belief (Ambedkar 22-23). This tie between religion and social order is largely attributed to the fact, as per Ambedkar, that religion in India is a social force which operates on the scheme of ‘divine governance’ as an ideal to be followed (ibid). This ideal might be non-existent and a construct but its effect is very real as regious tenets are followed in nearly every operating field (ibid). Even a logical individual succumbs to the tenets of a religious ideal as opposed to a secular one whenever the two are in conflict. Thereby the religious ideal always has a significant grip over people, regardless of whether or not there's an earthly gain (ibid). It might be a stretch to say that the masala cop films influence the public’s tendency to justify extra-legal behavior. But these fictions certainly create that climate through their evocation of Brahminical iconography. And this iconography normalizes extrajudicial killings through its communal/masculine assertion of power. In that way, the consensual "law" of the land is followed, governed by a religious ideal and not the law of the constitution.

Further, public response to as well as police action about crime also observably respond to the caste of the victim. If the victim comes from a higher caste than the accused, they may receive instant justice by court if not by encounter. But that is not usually the case when the accused is of oppressor caste and the victim belongs to Scheduled Castes and Tribes. For instance, one can take a look at the 2012 Delhi Nirbhaya (pseudonym) rape case, which changed juvenile criminal law to punish the criminal, and the 2019 Hyderabad Disha (pseudonym) rape case, which resulted in encounter killing of all four accused (Patil) ( Nichenametla). They stand in sharp contrast. In contrast, if we take a look at  the 2020 Manisha Valmiki rape case, the victim's body was forcefully burned by the police, and the court acquitted all of the accused except one (Dixit). In this case of a Scheduled Caste Victim (ibid), the media did not even assign a pseudonym but published the real identity of the victim. In another incident in 2017 in Salempur, Gamri Haryana, a Dalit woman who was gang raped, accused the local police of inaction after she tried to register her case multiple times. She said that the police refused to take her complaint and also asked the victim and her family to settle the matter outside of legal jurisdiction. In another instance, on October 2020, a 15 year-old girl belonging to the Dalit community committed suicide in Bundelkhand, Uttar Pradesh, days after she was raped; the police refuse to take any action about her mother’s complaint (Sahay). There are numerous such instances constantly occurring along with reports from human rights activists and scholars that attest to such caste-based discrimination and urge prompt action from the police. But these get little to no media coverage (Sharma, Hamilton, Kalita).  Thereby, we argue that the Hindu social organization based on caste affects police action and elicits selective public outrage. Systematically, the religious heierarchy works to advantage the oppressor-caste parties in contests of justice.  

Encounter killings, also, have come before the legislatures. For example, when a Brahmin criminal Vikas Dubey was shot dead by the U.P. Police in Kanpur in 2020, the Yogi government was accused of targeting Brahmins, to which the government replied with official encounter data. According to the government's own data, out of the 124 individuals killed, 47 were Muslims, while 58 belonged to backward castes, Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, Vaishya, and Thakur communities. 11 Brahmins and eight Yadavs were killed. Police records indicate that a total of 13,837 individuals were arrested during these encounters, resulting in injuries to 2,419 accused persons (Jafri). The opposition Samajwadi party then released a list of 17 thakur criminals that the U.P. police, allegedly, cannot encounter under this government because the chief minister Ajay Bisht, A.K.A Yogi Adityanath, is also a Thakur. By 2024, the official encounter tally has crossed 200. The government still denies any castewise targeting of criminals (Singh 2024). Such is the  naked reality of police vigilantism in India, which further proves how the ruling governement subjugates the police. By characterizing policemen as mythical heroes and by justifying and normalizing police violence, filmmakers then inadvertently sharpen a tool already at the disposal of an oppressive sovereign.

Spectacle of oppression and the supercop 

The aura of supercop normalizes violence and bestows a certain kind of virtue on the institution of the police as a whole. Police fictions convey this ideology through a certain borrowing of superhero aesthetics in a mythical space that Hollywood creates with it own prevalent moral logic and narrative dilemmas. In addition, as noted by Dru Jeffries, a comic-book film style self-consciously puts stylistics as the constituting factor behind audience engagement even more than immersion into narrative (Jeffries). That is, a film style punctuated with visual effects, such as slow motion and freeze frame among other effects, codifies a particular moment as iconic and engages a viewer with the aesthetic pleasure derived from the apparatus. This stylistic choice disrupts time and creates an alternative temporality, and such a style often characterizes the masala cop films. This aesthetic preference prevents thematic dwelling on police brutality by making the film's ideological message tacit. The film's appeal lies in its imagery, i.e. bodies and vehicles in action. 

As pointed out by film scholars like Leon Hunt, David Bordwell, etc., a new form of attraction in Hollywood action films took precedence in the ‘90s with films like the Mission Impossible (1996) franchise and most importantly The Matrix (1999) franchise. The latter in particular used technologically innovative techniques like ‘bullet-time effect’ which adjusted speed of motion within a single shot during action sequences. It aslo developed innovative forms of action choreography, which had a rhythm to it as it borrowed liberally from Chinese Wuxia genre films here under the supervision of noted action choreographer Yeun Wo-Ping. This aesthetic utilized different forms of kinesis coupled with ‘vigorous, well-structured movement’ (Bordwell 154), and it was enhanced by implementing new forms of editing which allowed the spectator to get fully 'hooked' into the sequence and respond ‘kinesthetically’(ibid).

However, there is a certain key diference in the case of the masala cop films. Here the rhythm of the action gets interrupted significantly to focus on gestures of violence as well as on the body inflicting violence. Thus in the climactic fight sequence of Dabangg, the rhythm of violent action is significantly shot in slow motion to focus on the gestures of the upper caste body of Chulbul Pandey. The interruption of the fast action disrupts the flow within the editing and prompts the spectator to take notice of the oppressor-caste cop who can commit extralegal violence under the guise of a revenge narrative.

In Hollywood, extralegal violence in supercop films gets further normalized through aestheticizing a spectacle of oppression. Key action sequences take place in public spaces and ensure a public/viewer engagement with that violence. As Geoff King points out in his book on Hollywood spectacle, the moments of spectacle in narrative films offer ‘the illusion of a more direct emotional and experiential impact’(King 36). The spectacle in an action film is a staple of the genre. As Steve Neale notes, the shootouts in action films (and by extension, the elaborately staged action sequences) are moments when both voyeuristic and fetishistic gaze collide. That is, the function of the sequences is to allow the spectator to recognize the pleasure of display, but viewer pleasure gets displaced from dwelling on the male body to enjoying the overall components of a generally ritalso ualized sequence within the filmic space. In Indian supercop films, the pleasure of display includes seeing violence done to a subject of oppression, and it is oten inflicted onto the villain in order to provide illusory ‘justice’ for the spectator.

There is a difference between superhero and supercop films. In the M.C.U.-Marvel films like Captain America: Civil War (2016) and Avengers: The Age of Ultron (2015), an obvious inspiration behind the Indian supercop films, public acts of spectacular violence and destruction of property are addressed in some form, and the legitimacy of the superhero figure is questioned in a wider political spectrum. However, no such consequence is faced by the supercop figures. Further, take the example of another of popular superhero, Batman, who doesn’t possess any super heroic ability and is more akin to the supercop figures because of his super agility and technologically supreme gadgets and armory. Owing to a childhood trauma, he  is nearly psychotic in his obsession with cleansing Gotham city from crime. In many comics, his psychotic and obsessive nature is presented as a trauma response and is nearly indistinguishable from that of the rogues he is pursuing. However, what separates him from the criminals and makes him a hero is his conscious decision to not kill the criminals and instead rehabilitate them. This kind of superhero decision does not happen in the supercop films.

Further, in the Indian supercop films, the usage of slow motion and other forms of technically superior digital effects make them the desi equivalent of U.S. superheroes. In the Indian supercop films, though, the cop protgonists are not hesitant to take the law in their hands when necessary in a fit of masculine aggression. The dilemma between dharma (what is morally right) and karma (what is to be done) is never really a dilemma in these films. That choice is replaced with immaculately staged action sequences where there is destruction of vehicles, human bodies and property in spectacular slow motion. As Guy Debord mentions in The Society of Spectacle, the commodified world has created a world of images for the spectator, where the power is hidden within the images. A vast system of images holds the power. Here, the films in question bring forward the image of an upright and overtly masculine cop, with the interjection of Brahminical chants in the soundscape, who will never bend down in front of the law but will deliver justice and carry forward the narrative of oppression.  

In Indian films, a superhero aesthetics also brings into focus mythical paradigms for the star body and the cop figure in a dual register. In particular, slow motion is employed in an economical way, so that it makes the cop figure a messiah as well as absolves the police as aninstitution. It especially normalizes the violence that glorifies encounter killings.  In this regard, the masala films set up what Daniel Boorstin called 'pseudo-events’, a termhe applies to the mass mediated spectacles of visual culture (Boorstin 33). As Boorstein notes, ‘pseudo-events’ refer to the phenomena of creation and circulation of mass mediated images whose meanings, realities and truth are laden with ambiguity. They are created that way in order to create and sustain public interest. As is seen in India, there are multiple news stories about cops who are celebrated and given the badge of ‘Dabangg’ or ‘Singham.’ Interestingly, this accolade connotes excellence and valor but in most cases refers to encounters with criminals that provide only elusive justice in the process. In a way then, the logic of myths gets transferred into the domain of the mediated reality. There encounters are normalized and viewers rendered indifferent to the portrayal and consumption of violence. In India media, through the spawning of ‘pseudo events’(ibid), the killing of Shudras, Asuras and Rakshasas (all three of them belonging to the Oppressed Cast) gets normalized via a social structure based on Brahmanical scriptures. Thereby these films, in a way, are operating within an aesthetics of conformation where the public almost always conforms to the logics of the police state through the lens of the mythical. 

Further, the superheroic stature that the masala hero adapts brings in a sense of social mobility and sense of belonging for those in a suburban space. The pop cultural status of the cop figure serves a fantasy of creating legal order in the suburbs, and this is reinforced by fictional narratives that deal with his creating order in the countryside. As is seen in the case of both the Dabangg and Singham films, both titles became metaphors for both bravery and executing extra-legal acts. The Brahmanical television media commonly depicts trials and mob justice, and these pseudo events also establish common motifs for bolstering the public support that the hero cop receives as well as the entire police force. In these events, it is not enough to kill the villainous ‘Other’ but the killing has to be consented to by the majoritarian populace. Further, the killing has to be religiously sanctioned, justified and normalized through the depictions' reinforcing cyclical and epic myths to provide people with sense of a job well done.

Singham Again and the progression of the masala cop genre

With the 2024 film Singham Again, the latest entry in the Rohit Shetty Cop Universe, an epitomisation of the subgenre occurs due to the current socio-political context where myth has completely taken over the narrative. This section discusses how the third installment in the Singham franchise, Singham Again, is a direct continuation of Sooryavanshi (2021) and works as a culmination of the first phase of the Rohit Shetty Cop Universe. As mentioned earlier, the film was marketed in pre-release promotional materials as well as in interviews with the cast and crew as inspired by the epic Ramayana. So much so that the characters have direct parallels with the epic with explicit visual references. The film is laden with religious iconographies in names and on posters; however, the mythic crux comes with actual theater—a nine-day Ramlila performance conducted by Singham’s wife Avni on the behalf of the Cultural Ministry of India which runs in concurrence with the events of the film, the setting of which also parallels that of the epic. In addition, the trope of historicizing myths as is also evident in other Indian films in the second tenure of the Narendra Modi led BJP government like Raam Setu (2022), Aadipurush (2023), Hanu-man (2024)and Karthikeya 2 (2022) among others. Singham Again adds to this tradition with many visual parallels with Ramayana coupled with religious chants in background, as also used in Singham and Policegiri.

Now the subtle mythification of the previous films has been transformed into an overt exhibition of Hindu myths. However, the mythification unfolds in a dual register in Singham Again. The first register is that of Ramayana, where every central film character is equated with one from the epic. For instance, the character of Veer Suryavanshi is paralleled with Garuda, a mythical eagle-like bird. During his entrance, the voice of the narrator of Ramlila emphasizes the characteristic features of the valiant Garuda and his prowess so as to emphasize his importance in the scheme of events. 

The other register is that of the character of Singham himself and a remaking of his signature moves. This could be regarded as a post-modernist inclination towards self-reflexivity and intertextuality, but such an interpretation becomes layered when visual cues are considered. For example, the character of Shakti Shetty is introduced in a slow motion action sequence, as is staple in the franchise as well as the genre. When she fights the henchmen of Danger Lanka, her entrance is marked with her getting out of a moving vehicle much like Singham usually does. Further, in the sequence itself, Shakti’s moves are paralleled with that of Singham, echoling the first film, which mythifies the character even more. Such visual cues, coupled with real life references to 'Singham' cops around the country, makes the myth of supercops ever more pervasive and all-consuming, which is reinforced throughout the film.  

The film explicitly acknowledges Ramlila as its source material through the device of parallel editing. It highlights the hegemony of a certain section of society in the imaginary of a cultural nationalism. Singham Again also accentuates the regional pride that is laden in the other films of the franchise and through that solidifies nationalist discourse.

Finally, Singham Again achieves the successful mythification of the Oppressor Caste cops through its antagonists. This film, much like Sooryavanshi (2021) and other films preceding it, mostly 'otherises' Muslim characters and makes them the villains with terrorism as a primary motive. By making the antagonist Muslim and acknowledging his otherisation and existence, the film incorporates overtly Hindutva propaganda, as proclaimed by many reviewers (Mukherjee) ( Mavad). However, when it comes to the caste discourse, not only does it refuse to engage with caste as a structuring force but also denies its very existence since the script sets up a perfect jurisdiction policed by casteless bodies of oppressor caste cops.

Conclusion 

Hindi masala film—whether in its most secular form or in its most religious/polarizing form—attempts to conceal oppressed caste identities. This selective and careful concealment of caste in Hindu society is a characteristic feature of the masala form and by extension popular Hindi cinema as such. While pretending to be casteless, Hindi cinema nurtures an ignorance and stigma around caste, working on the premise of ‘protected ignorance’, as formulated by Y.S. Alone. When the sole objective of rationality is not to put an end to ignorance and instead to further it, this form of unrighteous rationalitybecomes ‘protected ignorance’ (Alone 140). As Alone describes it, among other things, making, inflicting  and legitimizing violence—as well as spreading hate and normalizing brutality—all fall under the paradigm of ‘protected ignorance’ (ibid). In Hindi masala cinema, the legitimization of violence by the oppressor caste cops with invocation of Hindu mythical iconographies can be read as an extension of ‘protected ignorance,’ which gets further validated through a film like Singham Again. Interestingly, both Shakti and Simbaa’s action-entry sequence in the film take place in the space of crowded religious festivals, with both the mob and their religious excess serving to validate violence.  

The masala cop films are a testament to the Indian oppressor castes’ disregard for constitutional morality and the rule of law. Ther films offer absolutely zero consideration of police procedures and criminal justice protocols. Criminals are otherized, dehumanized, brutalized, and killed on screen in a way that the spectators cheer for in cinema halls. This is happening at a time of the alarming rise of not just the Hindutva politics but also of vigilantism, media trials, mob lynchings, and encounters as actual ways to deliver selective justice. 

Overall, we look at the Masala cop films to explain how they justify varied forms of extra-legal atrocities through using Brahminical myths and icons embodied by the supercop figure. We seek to deconstruct the myth of the supercop and a religious authority ordained to it through films' overt usage of Brahminical iconographies and rituals. By doing a detailed analysis of stylistic and narrative techniques, we want to bring into focus the function as well as concealment of caste in masala cop cinema.

Notes

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Selected filmography

Ab Tak Chappan. Directed by Shimit Amin,performances by Nana Patekar, Mohan Agashe and Revathy, Ram Gopal Varma, 2004.

Dabangg. Directed by Abhinav Singh Kashyap, performances by Salman Khan, Sonakshi Sinha and Sonu Sood, Arbaaz Khan Productions and Shree Ashtavinayak Cine Vision, 2010.

Deewar. Directed by Yash Chopra, performances by Amitabh Bachchan, Sashi Kapoor and Parveen Babi, Gulshan Rai, 1975.

Gangaajal. Directed by Prakash Jha, performances by Ajay Devgan, Gracy Singh, Yashpal Sharma and Mohan Joshi, Praveen Nischol, 2003.

Kurukshetra. Directed by Mahesh Manjrekar, performances by Sanjay Dutt, Mahima Chowdhury and Om Puri, Pravin Shah, 2002.

Policegiri. Directed by K.S.Ravikumar, performances by Sanjay Dutt, Prachi Desai and Prakash Raj, T.P. Aggarwal and Ravi Aggarwal, 2013.

Singham. Directed by Rohit Shetty, performances by Ajay Devgn, Kajal Aggarwal and Prakash Raj, Reliance Entertainments, 2011.

Singham Again, Directed by Rohit Shetty, performances by Ajay Devgn, Kareena Kapoor, Ranveer Singh, Akshay Kumar and Deepika Padukone, Rohit Shetty Picturez, Jio Studios, Ajay Devgn Films  and Reliance Entertainment, 2024.

Shool. Directed by E. Niwas, performances by Manoj Bajpayee, Sayaji Shinde and Raveena Tandon, Ram Gopal Varma, 1999.

Sholay. Directed by Ramesh Sippy, performances by Sanjeev Kumar, Amjad Khan, Amitabh Bachchan and Dharmendra, G.P. Sippy, 1975.

Zanjeer. Directed by Prakash Mehra, performances by Amitabh Bachchan, Pran and Jaya Bhaduri, Prakash Mehra Productions, 1973.