Karachi, Pakistan – Over a few breezy winter weeks in Karachi, boxing coach Younus Qambrani sent a steady stream of WhatsApp messages from his neighbourhood of Lyari – videos, photos, old newspaper clippings that together formed an extensive archive of how he teaches girls to throw a punch.

In one of the videos, the bearded and skullcap-clad Qambrani, 60, uses the palms of his hands and ducks as his young students practice throwing their punches. The thuds of the colliding boxing gloves and the scuff of the sneakers against the concrete floor of Qambrani’s Pak-Shaheen boxing club mask the din on the street.

Outside, motorcycles speed and sputter on narrow, labyrinthine roads, past omelettes sizzling on outdoor skillets in the many kebab bun stalls that pepper the neighbourhood of nearly 950,000 people: that is the population of Amsterdam packed into about three percent of the Dutch city’s land area.

To millions of followers of Bollywood, the Indian film industry across the border, Lyari is synonymous with brutal gang warfare waged against a perpetually grey background. It is where Bollywood’s highest grossing film of all time, Dhurandhar and its recently released sequel, Dhurandhar The Revenge are set.

The films — about a fictionalised covert mission conducted by India’s Research and Analysis Wing (R&AW) on Pakistani soil — have each earned more than $100m. In the first film, an Indian spy infiltrates Lyari’s criminal underworld and neutralises threats to India’s national security. In the sequel, the same agent continues his deep-cover operation inside Pakistan’s crime networks, again moving through Lyari’s streets.

But to Lyari locals, the neighbourhood is much more than the backdrop to blood and gore: It is a melting pot of cultures and tradition, rooted in history far deeper than Bollywood has dared to explore. It has an emerging rap and hip-hop scene, launching acts such as hip hop group, Lyari Underground, and masked rapper, Eva B, onto the national stage. The neighbourhood has also earned the nickname of Mini Brazil for being Pakistan’s mecca of football.

To be sure, Lyari has had a past rife with gang violence and unrest. Armed groups held significant influence from the mid‑2000s into the early 2010s, when battles between rival syndicates were at their peak. Gangs led by figures such as Rehman Dakait and, later, Uzair Baloch – both depicted in the Dhurandhar film and its sequel – turned parts of the neighbourhood into a militarised conflict zone. At the height of the violence, human rights groups reported about 800 people killed in Karachi in a single year, many of them in and around Lyari.

In 2012, the government launched what became known as Operation Lyari, a major crackdown in which police, backed by the Sindh Rangers paramilitary force, moved against armed groups in the area. The operation, and subsequent security campaigns, dismantled the main gang hierarchies and largely ended the era of open, large‑scale gang warfare in Lyari, even if other forms of crime persisted.

But Lyari, said social anthropologist Adeem Suhail, has always been about much more than that period of violence.

“Think of Naples or Sicily in Italy, which are among the major cultural hubs of the country (food, literature, music, etc) despite having long been associated with Mafia violence,” Suhail, an assistant professor at Pennsylvania-based Franklin and Marshall College, told Al Jazeera.

‘Preparing for war’ — of a different kind

Qambrani has been boxing alongside his brothers for as long as he can remember. He began when he was five years old, and was introduced to the sport by his father, uncles and brothers — all boxers. Throughout his childhood, Qambrani says he was a sick and frail child. But he was determined to build muscle and throw punches like the men who had inspired him as he was growing up.

Boxing is so popular in Lyari that in 1989 boxing legend Muhammad Ali visited the neighbourhood, when he was a special guest at the Asian Games in the capital, Islamabad.

Qambrani’s high school, Haji Abdullah Haroon Government College, opened its own boxing club while he was there. He joined, but the club shut down in a few years. So he found another club a little further away and began cycling there to train.

After honing his skills there, Qambrani founded Pak Shaheen Boxing Club in 1992. “I wanted to open a club in my own area,” Qambrani said. At Pak Shaheen, he started out by teaching young boys, aged seven to 16, how to box.

A sports enthusiast, Qambrani built friendships with coaches across the city, often visiting their training centres. At a friend’s karate classes at the YMCA (Young Men’s Christian Association) in central Karachi, he noticed young girls practicing kicks and elbow strikes shoulder-to-shoulder with boys. “If girls can do karate, why not boxing?” he wondered.

Soon he began voicing this question to his peers in the local boxing community, saying he wanted to start training young girls. One of them told him that “little girls have weak brains” — a remark that left Qambrani silent.

Then he went home and began looking through news reports featuring stories of girls and women boxing internationally. He would cut out the news clippings and paste them into a notebook. “My eyes were on the whole world,” he recalled. “Girls are boxing in the outside world, why not here?” he would wonder.

So he started at home: when his daughter Anum turned three, he began playfully sparring with her. She would gaze at the many photos of her father and uncles at boxing championships, slip on his medals, and traipse into the living room, mimicking the victorious poses he struck in those pictures. “She couldn’t even run properly, but she would box,” Qambrani said.

Then, in 2013, he opened the doors of his club to young girls. Anum was 16 at the time, and became its first female member.

In 2015, several of Qambrani’s students participated in the South Asian Games, the biennial multi-sport event where athletes from Bangladesh, Bhutan, India, Maldives, Nepal, Pakistan and Sri Lanka compete against each other.

A year later, Anum won a district level championship called the Jinnah First Ever Karachi Women Boxing Championship held at a Lyari stadium. In the same year, she attended a training camp for women organised by the Sindh Boxing Association. Local media reports described this camp as the country’s first government-supported boxing event held for women.

It was Qambrani’s club where Aliya Soomro, Pakistan’s first woman to win a world boxing title, began her training. Last year, Soomro took a mere 45 seconds to knock out her opponent from Thailand to win the WBA (World Boxing Association) Asia 105-pound category.

For Qambrani, though, boxing is about more than medals and trophies. To him, it’s a vital defensive skill.

“Whoever is prepared for war is prepared for peace,” he told Al Jazeera, adding that the defenceless are the ones most likely to be attacked.

With its legion of young boxers, Lyari’s not defenceless. As its reputation and image are mangled by Bollywood, those who know the neighbourhood also turn to its history for support.

Lyari’s colonial history

It is not just the Dhurandhar films and Bollywood that Suhail, the social anthropologist, blames for what he describes as “terrible and exploitative” representations of Lyari. Journalistic and scholarly literature have been guilty too, he said.

Lyari is Karachi’s oldest recorded settlement — the earliest inhabitants of the neighbourhood came in 1728. The neighbourhood has survived British colonialism, the partition of the subcontinent, and nearly eight decades in independent Pakistan.

Suhail said Lyari had been a diverse working-class cultural hub since before the 1947 partition of British India.

Some of those working class communities were Baloch and Sindhi, because Karachi is at the tip of the southern Sindh province, which neighbours Balochistan province. Others were Marathi, Gujarati, Afghan and Siraiki migrants from labouring and artisan classes.

“This was because the British required labourers and artisans to develop Karachi into a burgeoning Indian Ocean port city.”

Suhail said that most of these labourers settled on the unplanned sides of the Lyari river, a small 50km-long seasonal river originating in the hills of Sindh, which flows through Lyari before emptying into the Arabian Sea.

“These cosmopolitan working class populations brought with them culinary traditions, dances, religious practices (multi-religious, multi-caste), songs, sports and more,” Suhail said.

He added that Lyari has a “strong cultural memory of East Africa and the Arabian Gulf, which adds to its uniqueness.” The neighbourhood is home to both Baloch and Afro-Baloch communities—people of African ancestry living in Balochistan.

Suhail explained that Lyari’s long history as a cultural hub of Karachi is often forgotten “because, after partition, the city’s demographics shifted drastically and Karachi became an Urdu-speaking Muhajir-majority city.” Muhajirs are Urdu‑speaking Muslims who migrated to Pakistan from India during and after the 1947 partition.

Sarwat Viqar, a professor of humanities at John Abbott College in Montreal, Canada, echoed Suhail’s views.

“Because Lyari has been represented one-dimensionally in the media as only a hotbed of criminality, drugs and the gang wars, what has been overlooked are the rich cultural practices that have always been part of life here,” Viqar told Al Jazeera.

Suhail added that Lyari had also consistently been at the heart of labour movements, and a base of support for reformers, anti-colonial activists and later campaigns for the rights of Pakistan’s various ethnic groups, including the Baloch, Sindhi and Pashtun communities.

“Lyari — because it was the first, most diverse, and most vibrant working-class zone as Karachi was becoming a city — also became the hub of working-class politics,” he told Al Jazeera.

But the neighbourhood’s own fortunes have also oscillated over the years.

“The degree of ‘development’ in Lyari has always been a function of how strong the working-class movement in Karachi was,” Suhail said. “When it was strong—such as in the 1930s and again in the 1970s—Lyari saw development. When ruling elites were strong, it did not.”

What Dhurandhar gets wrong

In the film, Lyari first comes into focus when a long-haired Ranveer Singh, playing undercover Indian RAW [Research and Analysis Wing] agent Jaskirat Singh Rangi, eyes the “Welcome to Lyari town” gate.

The gate looks very similar to the real one in Karachi. Other elements on screen ring familiar too: juice shop owners chanting idiosyncrasies to cajole customers; quick and garbled salams; and the somewhat unkempt colonial era architecture of old Karachi.

But then, the three-hour film’s dusty colour grading seems to wash out Lyari’s cultural depth and its vibrant subcultures.

“We can see how the obscene fetishisation of Lyari and the Baloch with violence and criminality is evident” in the film, Suhail said.

Describing Dhurandhar as “mediocre”, he said it lacks the depth of other Indian gangster films.

For example, in Ram Gopal Varma’s Satya 1998 and Anurag Kashyap’s Gangs of Wasseypur 2012, we see “culturally dense but non-apologetic depictions of Mumbaikar or Bihari gangs that understand the political economy of colonial and post-colonial state formation and how it crystallises in the gangsters portrayed,” Suhail opined.

Satya unpacks the criminal underworld of India’s metropolis Mumbai, following the titular character who arrives in Mumbai seeking a job but is falsely imprisoned and subsequently introduced to the underworld. Gangs of Wasseypur is set in a time before India’s independence in 1947 and follows power struggles, mafias and generational cycles of revenge in India’s eastern state of Jharkand.

In contrast to these films, Dhurandhar, has “heavy-handed homophobic, Islamophobic, hyper-masculine jingoism” and “the characters themselves appear to have no history at all,” Suhail added.

Unlike Lyari

Back at Qambrani’s club, 10 girls aged eight to 16 gather for an hour of sparring every day except Sunday, training for city tournaments that they compete in every two months.

Qambrani is looking to buy a folding, portable boxing ring to take school to school. His dream: to make boxing accessible to as many girls in the neighbourhood as possible. His challenge: he is struggling to find a portable ring in Pakistan and needs funding.

Dhurandhar and Bollywood do not matter at his Lyari club. Qambrani has a new generation of girl boxers to train.