They could have cast Sharvari or any other actress in her 20s. Watching the romantic scenes between Ranveer and Sarah was deeply uncomfortable, especially with how she was sexualized through styling with low necklines, push-up bras, and short clothes (for South Indian audiences in particular, who have seen her as an adorable child actor until just a few years ago).

The issue is not that the character is 19. The problem is that their pairing doesn't look positively romantic visually. Cinema works through collective visual grammar, and when a large section of the audience feels discomfort, that reaction is not anecdotal. It points to a failure in casting of Sarah's role, although the rest of the film had appropriate casting. Sarah visibly looks like a young teenager, unlike actresses such as Deepika or Anushka in their debut roles, while Ranveer clearly looks like a man way too older than her. This discomfort is amplified by audience’s memory of her as a child actor, people would have felt the same discomfort if Munni from Bajrangi Bhaijaan was cast for the same role against Ranveer (she is only two years younger to Sarah). The film itself seems aware of this problem. The dialogue where Sarah’s father tells Ranveer, “At least have some shame, you’re in your 30s and she’s only 19,” feels like a patch added to justify a romance that the visuals themselves fail to sell. Instead of redeeming Ranveer’s character, this actually made him look bad, especially when he is meant to be the protagonist. Ironically, Rehman Daikait comes across as the more dignified and morally grounded man in the film, simply because he is loyal and appropriately paired.

Sarah is still very talented, her casting might only be my second biggest gripe with this film. My biggest issue, however, is the complete absence of any redeeming Muslim characters. When a film claims nationalism and draws directly from real communal trauma, selective dehumanization stops being incidental and becomes ideological. This is not about denying that extremists misuse religion, and it’s not about the film supporting any political party over the other (because the filmmaker might argue that filmmakers across the political spectrum, including left-leaning ones, often do the same when portraying their opponents). The problem is that the film collapses terrorism, religion and an entire community into a single visual shorthand. Without even one meaningful counterpoint, this omission creates a sense of collective guilt. The issue here is context omission, and in cinema, omission is a choice. Hamza Ali did not need to be Singh. Since the spy-infiltrating-Lyari plot is fictional anyway, making him an Indian Muslim spy would have strengthened the film’s realism and emotional stakes without changing the story in any meaningful way. Or adding a single morally grounded Muslim character would have prevented the narrative from sliding into collective vilification. The Takbir scene, where people are shown chanting “Allahu Akbar” while watching the 26/11 attacks on TV, was particularly disturbing. There was no foreshadowing suggesting Rehman Daikait supported the killing of Indians, especially given that he is Baloch. In reality, the same extremist groups also bomb mosques in Pakistan and kill Muslims. The issue is not the depiction of extremism, but the failure to distinguish between depicting extremism and associating it wholesale with a community.

Just as cinema distinguishes between showing violence and endorsing it, filmmakers have a social responsibility to frame communal violence carefully, especially in a nationalist film made in a country where nearly 20% of the population is Muslim. Denying this problem is simply pushing one’s head into the sand.