A blockbuster can make millions of rupees—and still land in a courtroom. When Trimurti Films moved to sue Aditya Dhar’s B62 Studios over the use of “Tirchi Topiwale” in Dhurandhar 2, it wasn’t just a legal footnote. Personally, I think this is a classic collision between Bollywood’s habit of borrowing cultural memory and the modern legal reality of music rights as a tightly policed asset class.
At its heart, the dispute asks a deceptively simple question: how far can you go when you “reuse” a familiar track, remix it, and give it new vocals—without properly licensing what you’re actually taking. And what makes this particularly fascinating is that the case isn’t only about whether audiences can recognize the melody. It’s about whether the industry recognizes the difference between creative transformation and rights infringement.
A familiar tune, a newly weaponized boundary
The song in question, “Tirchi Topiwale,” originally comes from the 1989 film Tridev, composed by Kalyanji-Anandji with lyrics by Anand Bakshi. The newer Dhurandhar 2 track, “Rang De Lal,” reportedly incorporates portions of the original song, while swapping in new lyrics and fresh vocals credited to Shashwat Sachdev and newer performers.
From my perspective, the reason these cases repeatedly resurface in India (and globally) is that music “references” are not treated consistently like other forms of media borrowing. Many people assume remixing is automatically permissible if you change the lyrics or add a new vocal layer. What many people don’t realize is that copyright typically protects multiple elements—composition and sound recording—meaning “new lyrics” doesn’t necessarily cure the problem if the melody or substantial parts are reused.
This raises a deeper question I keep coming back to: why is Bollywood surprised when old songs don’t behave like public domain folklore? If you step back and think about it, the industry has been monetizing nostalgia for decades, but the legal infrastructure for rights clearance hasn’t always kept pace with the speed of modern production and release cycles.
Why “substantially similar” is the real battleground
According to reporting, Trimurti Films claims ownership and control over relevant rights tied to both the musical composition and the sound recording, alleging unauthorized reproduction and communication to the public. The suit reportedly seeks an injunction to stop further use, along with damages.
In my opinion, the most consequential word here is “substantially similar.” That phrase turns the case into an interpretation contest, not a checklist. Courts often have to weigh how close the new use is to the original—sometimes sounding subjective to outsiders, but actually reflecting a real-world need: copyright law has to protect the core creative “signature,” not just the exact notes written on paper.
This is where people frequently misunderstand what the law is doing. They imagine the system is merely trying to punish “copying,” as if infringement were only blatant theft. But the legal lens is usually broader: it looks at whether the new work appropriates protected expression in a way that harms the licensing ecosystem and the original rightsholders’ ability to monetize.
Personally, I think that’s why these disputes can feel emotionally charged. Audiences hear something they love and assume the remix is tribute. Rightsholders hear it as lost control over a valuable asset. The law sits between those two feelings.
Licences, incentives, and the economics of control
Trimurti Films’ concerns, as described in the report, extend beyond the song itself toward commercial exploitation—through theatrical release, streaming platforms, and promotional material. That’s an important angle because the “value” of the music isn’t limited to the soundtrack upload; it’s tied to the entire marketing engine of the film.
One thing that immediately stands out to me is how music rights become leverage at scale. If a film performs well, the incorporated song effectively rides along with that success, multiplying the economic value of whatever was licensed—or not licensed—in the first place. From my perspective, rightsholders sue not just for past usage, but to stop the normalization of “we’ll clear it later” thinking.
What this really suggests is that the industry is moving toward a more professionalized clearance culture—whether studios like it or not. The old practice of treating famous tunes as harmless shorthand is being replaced by a world where every recognizable component can be tracked, valued, and challenged.
Credits as camouflage—or transparency?
The “Rang De Lal” credits reportedly list Kalyanji-Anandji alongside Shashwat Sachdev, and Anand Bakshi alongside additional lyric credits. The lyric video on YouTube reportedly credits original composers and singers as well.
Personally, I think credits can be both a signal of transparency and a potential source of confusion. Audiences tend to treat on-screen or description credits as proof that “everything is approved.” But editorial credits don’t automatically equal proper licensing for every right involved. In many rights disputes, the question isn’t whether the original creators were acknowledged; it’s whether they were authorized for the specific uses, territories, formats, and layers of rights.
This is one of those details that feels especially interesting because it reveals a cultural habit: we often equate recognition with permission. Legally, recognition may be courtesy, while permission is contract.
The bigger pattern: nostalgia at speed, rights at scale
Dhurandhar 2’s commercial performance—crossing Rs 1,000 crore in net domestic collections and releasing across multiple languages—makes the case more than a niche dispute. Big release footprints increase the stakes because they expand how widely the music can be exploited, which in turn increases the potential damages and the urgency for an injunction.
From my perspective, this is part of a broader industry trend: content is global and fast, but rights clearance is still, in practice, bureaucratic and time-sensitive. When production schedules tighten, the temptation rises to rely on existing familiarity instead of investing in thorough clearances for every sample, interpolation, and recording right.
What many people don’t realize is that “multi-language releases” amplify complexity. Rights permissions aren’t always uniform across languages, platforms, and distribution channels. So even when a song appears in a new wrapper, the legal question remains: did the permission actually cover the way it’s being used?
Courtroom outcomes aren’t just about one song
Even if you don’t follow Indian music litigation, you can’t ignore the precedent-setting nature of these cases. Injunctions and damages send signals across the industry—signals that influence how future remixes are planned, budgeted, and documented.
In my opinion, the strategic value of the lawsuit is deterrence. Rightsholders want to discourage a casual remix culture where familiarity becomes a bargaining chip after the fact. Studios, meanwhile, want clarity on what counts as “safe transformation,” because ambiguity is expensive.
This raises a deeper question: are we training the market to respect music as intellectual property, or training it to treat law as a cost of doing business? If the outcome ends up favoring strict enforcement, it could push the industry toward better clearance workflows. If it becomes slow or inconsistent, it may encourage a risk-based approach where companies choose legal uncertainty when the upside is huge.
My take: the remix dream needs a rights reality check
Personally, I think Bollywood’s relationship with classic songs is emotionally understandable but legally risky. Nostalgia is a powerful storytelling tool, and “Rang De Lal” may genuinely aim to repackage affection for a generation of listeners. Yet affection doesn’t replace contracts.
What this really suggests is that the creative process now happens in a world of documentation, metadata, and ownership chains that audiences rarely see. Studios should treat rights clearance less like an administrative hurdle and more like part of the creative budget. Because the moment a film becomes a billion-rupee event, every shortcut becomes a headline.
If you take a step back and think about it, this case is less about one disputed track and more about the maturation of an industry learning—sometimes painfully—that culture is not free to reuse, even when it feels familiar enough to belong to everyone.
The takeaway I’d leave with is simple: remixes are art, but permission is infrastructure. And when that infrastructure fails, the courtroom becomes the stage where everyone finally learns what “unauthorized” really means.
Would you like the article to lean more toward legal explanation (how copyright infringement vs licensing typically gets decided) or more toward industry commentary (how Bollywood should modernize its clearance practices)?
