When Brazil scored a stoppage time winner against Japan at the World Cup, thousands of miles away, in the narrow lanes of Lyari in Pakistan’s Karachi, there was something closer to catharsis.
Brazil survived. Barely.
For almost an hour in Houston on a tense Monday, Japan looked ready to deliver one of the great shocks of this FIFA World Cup. Kaishu Sano’s first-half strike silenced Brazil, the five-time champions stumbling through long stretches of the match as the Japanese players frustrated one of football’s greatest powers. Then came a familiar revival. Casemiro rose to head in the equaliser before Gabriel Martinelli struck deep into stoppage time to send Brazil into the last 16 with a dramatic 2-1 victory. Somewhere in Brazil, there was relief. Thousands of miles away, in the narrow lanes of Lyari in Pakistan’s Karachi, there was something closer to catharsis.
For one more night, the self-proclaimed “Brazil of Pakistan” remained emotionally invested in a team that has become woven into its own identity over the last few decades.
I have not watched the film Dhurandhar. But it is very difficult to ignore the fact that in India, millions have recently discovered Lyari through the Ranveer Singh-starrer movie, a blockbuster that thrust Karachi’s oldest neighbourhood back into popular imagination through its heavily fictionalised portrayal of spies, gang wars, and criminal empires. The film borrows heavily from one of the bloodiest chapters in Lyari’s history.
But away from cinema screens lies another Lyari. One where football occupies conversations more than gang wars. Where children still dribble balls through cramped alleyways. Where World Cup nights transform entire neighbourhoods into open-air stadiums. Where yellow Brazil flags outnumber almost every other colour. Even the dark green of the Pakistani flag.
It is this Lyari that its residents wish the world, and to an extension also Bollywood to know.
“For us, the World Cup is much more than a football tournament. It’s a celebration of our identity,” Mir Rizwan Baloch, who grew up amid Lyari’s football culture, told NDTV. “The streets come alive with flags, murals, jerseys and friendly debates. Families, friends and neighbours gather around screens to watch matches together. During the World Cup, Lyari feels connected to the rest of the football-loving world.”
That description bears little resemblance to the cinematic landscape audiences have recently encountered in the Aditya Dhar-directed Dhurandhar and its sequel. Independent Pakistani journalist Sameera Fazal believes Dhurandhar captures only one chapter of a far longer story.
“As someone from Pakistan, I think the movie gets one thing right: Lyari did experience gang wars and violence during a certain period,” Sameera Fazal told NDTV. “However, I feel the film exaggerates that aspect and presents it as the whole identity of Lyari. It does not show the other side of Lyari, its rich football culture, diverse communities, talented youth and vibrant local culture.”
Those who know Lyari insist football arrived long before notoriety. Across Pakistan, cricket may dominate television ratings and public imagination, but in these streets football has survived across generations almost as an inheritance. Parents introduce children to the game before they are old enough to understand the names of clubs or countries. Heroes are measured not in cricket runs but in goals, tricks and impossible dribbles.
Brazil became the neighbourhood’s adopted nation.
“Brazil represents the kind of football people in Lyari love, creative, joyful, fearless and full of flair,” Rizwan Baloch told NDTV. “Older generations passed that passion down to their children. Players like Pele, Romário, Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Neymar and now Vinícius Júnior have inspired kids here. Supporting Brazil has almost become a family tradition.”
The devotion becomes visible every four years.
As the 2026 FIFA World Cup is underway in Mexico, Canada and the United States, children of Lyari can be seen wearing replica yellow jerseys. Walls filled with murals. Flags hung from balconies. Families rearranging dinner around kick-off times. Rival supporters teasing one another before returning to share tea and snacks after the final whistle.
“If someone watched a World Cup match in Lyari tonight,” Rizwan Baloch said, “they would probably think they were somewhere in South America rather than Pakistan.”
Pakistan itself remains absent from football’s biggest stage. Every World Cup therefore becomes both celebration and reminder.
“We don’t just watch other countries,” Rizwan Baloch said. “We imagine what it would feel like to see Pakistan standing among them one day.”
Those dreams persist despite the realities surrounding them.
At the entrance to Lyari stands People’s Football Stadium, built in 1995 during the Pakistan Peoples Party government. It remains Pakistan’s only purpose-built floodlit football stadium, capable of accommodating around 40,000 spectators. Spread across ten acres, it contains changing rooms, a boxing arena, gymnasium, commentary facilities, conference rooms and training areas. It has hosted both domestic competitions and international fixtures.
Lyari, a neighbourhood overflowing with football passion still struggles with facilities worthy of that strong passion for the sport.
“The biggest challenges are the lack of modern facilities, consistent coaching, professional leagues, financial support and organised youth development,” Rizwan Baloch told NDTV. “There are many talented players, but too often they don’t get the opportunities or exposure needed.”
But Pakistan’s football story stretches far beyond Lyari. Nearly 1,200 kilometres away, Sialkot quietly occupies a unique place in World Cup history.
In 1982, manufacturers there produced Adidas’s Tango Espana, becoming the first Pakistani-made official World Cup ball. Every official World Cup ball since the 2014 tournament has also been manufactured in Sialkot. While factories assemble the official match balls, thousands of hand-stitched training and souvenir balls are produced through a network of more than 1,400 registered stitching centres, creating employment that expands with every World Cup.
Pakistan has made footballs for champions. Yet it has never sent a team to football’s biggest tournament. That contradiction remains painful for many in Lyari.
“If FIFA officials visited Lyari today,” Rizwan Baloch said, “I would want them to see that Lyari is full of natural football talent. We need proper pitches, coaching, youth development programmes and pathways that connect our players to professional opportunities.”
Football, residents say, has also offered something more valuable than trophies. It has provided an alternative.
“Football gives young people discipline, purpose and something positive to focus on,” Rizwan Baloch said. “It teaches teamwork, respect and resilience. While football alone can’t solve every social problem, it has helped many young people choose a better path.”
Lyari spent years appearing in headlines for entirely different reasons. During the 2000s and early 2010s, gang warfare transformed the neighbourhood into one of Pakistan’s most feared urban battlegrounds. Armed groups fought for territory. Political interests intertwined with criminal networks. Police officers became targets. Residents lived through violence that came to define Lyari for outsiders.
That turbulent period forms much of the emotional backdrop of Dhurandhar. NDTV’s Hardika Gupta believes the film succeeds because it turns Lyari into more than just a location.
“I think the biggest achievement of the film is that it turned Lyari into a character rather than just a backdrop,” she said. “Even people in India who had never heard of Lyari before the film came away feeling like they knew the place.”
According to Gupta, the film draws authenticity from real events involving figures such as Rehman Dakait, Arshad Pappu, Uzair Baloch and police officer Chaudhry Aslam, while fictionalising timelines and characters.
“The cinematic Lyari is heightened for dramatic effect,” she said, “but its emotional truth comes from real events and real people. The real Lyari is obviously much richer than the image popular culture often creates.”
That view is echoed across Karachi.
Sameera Fazal said the Lyari of today is fundamentally different from the one remembered through old headlines.
“The large-scale gang wars that made Lyari infamous during the 2000s and early 2010s have largely ended following extensive law-enforcement operations,” she told NDTV. “Daily life today is far safer than it was during that period.”
In Lyari, the infrastructure is ageing. Unemployment continues to trouble many families. Municipal services remain inadequate. Residents still campaign for improved housing, sanitation, education and economic opportunities.
The Sindh government had recently announced the 25.28 billion Pakistani rupees-worth Lyari Transformation Project, promising upgraded roads, improved sewerage and drainage, expanded water supply, beautification projects and infrastructure rehabilitation. But many residents remain cautiously optimistic, remembering earlier promises that were delayed or only partially fulfilled.