New Delhi: Towards the end of Diljit Dosanjh’s recent concert in Delhi last weekend, the Punjabi superstar appeared on stage draped in the Indian national flag. He went on to talk about how he respects all the different languages spoken in India but since his mother speaks Punjabi, he too speaks Punjabi. Strains from his song “Main Hoon Punjab” then rang in the background, with Dosanjh singing along as he waved the Indian flag across the stage.
Through the nearly two-hour concert, Diljit Dosanjh was indeed Punjab. Dressed in typical Punjabi attire, surrounded by bhangra dancers, speaking only Punjabi, Dosanjh’s show was a celebration of Punjabi music, culture and language. His now famous line “Punjabi aa gaye oye!” (Punjabis have arrived!) literally signalled the arrival of Punjab (in the way that Dosanjh embodies it) to the capital city.
Perhaps it is this salute to his home state that made the presence of the Indian flag seem a bit incongruous. Nationalism is inseparable from India’s obsession with cricket, but it felt odd that a pop star needed to end his performance with such an exaggerated nod to Indian nationalism. Perhaps an explanation for this bizarre act can be found in prevailing perceptions of his relationship with Indian nationalism.
In 2020-21, during the peak of the Covid-19 pandemic in India, farmers from different states gathered at Delhi’s borders and staged a months-long protest against the central government’s anti-farmer agriculture laws. While most celebrities, famous actors and singers stayed mum, Diljit Dosanjh’s voice cut through the silence and loudly expressed solidarity with the protesting farmers.
Even as most were afraid to speak up against the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party government led by Narendra Modi, Dosanjh, like many other Punjabi artists, used his social media platforms to popularise the farmers’ message and lend his support to voices critical of the government. Needless to say, he faced intense hate and harassment, with nameless, faceless internet trolls calling him ‘anti-national’ and ‘Khalistani’ (someone who believes in the idea of a separate state for Sikhs).
For a Sikh, the accusation of being a Khalistani can place you firmly outside the realm of nationhood. Right-wing television channels and dubious online portals were quick to label him an anti-state element and proclaim his alleged connections with separatist groups. Actor-politician Kangana Ranaut even got into a Twitter-spat with Dosanjh after she called him and Priyanka Chopra “desh-vidrohi” (anti-national) for instigating farmers.
Dosanjh replied saying, “Naley Kon Desh Premi Te Kon Desh Virodhi Eh Decide Karn Da Hakk Ehnu Kiney De Ta?” (Who gave her the right to decide who is anti-national and who is a patriot?)
It is this dichotomy and a tension around which category Diljit Dosanjh falls into that possibly prompted him to parade around the stage with the national flag draped around his shoulders.
It was his attempt to reclaim his nationhood and simultaneously fix Punjab within the temporal and imaginative contours of India. Given his unapologetic willingness to call out the failures of the Indian state, this act was perhaps intended to reiterate his devotion to both Punjab and India.
In addition to supporting farmers during the protest, Dosanjh has also never shied away from speaking on political issues or working in politically sensitive films. His first Hindi film Udta Punjab dealt with the issue of rampant drug use in Punjab. In 2014, he starred in the film Punjab 1984 that was based on the insurgency years.
In fact, at one press interview he insisted a journalist refer to the 1984 massacre of Sikhs in Delhi as a ‘genocide’. Clearly, he has never been afraid to speak his mind, even if it has meant confronting the limits of nationalism. After all, where exactly does the anti-Sikh massacre and the storming of the Golden Temple fit within the mythology of Indian nationhood? Both these events are seen by Sikhs and political activists as serious breaches of a community’s right to life, freedom, and autonomy.
Does this limited conception of nationalism also drive Dosanjh’s motivation to reinvent himself as a global artist and not simply a mainstream Indian star? Having become the first Punjabi artist to perform at Coachella and at the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, Dosanjh has already carved out a niche for himself in the global and diasporic market.
If we are to take his song lyrics at face value, this turn towards Bollywood and the West is a well thought out desire to represent Punjab on a bigger stage. “Dekh Bollywood vich jinne Khan ne, Ohna vich behnda sardar goriye,” he sings in one of his most popular songs G.O.A.T, implying that he is equal to the mighty Khans of Bollywood. “Dekh moam de statue ch vi taur Singh di,” he goes on, referring to his impressive wax statue at Madame Tussauds.
There is also a motivation to free Sikh identity from its stereotypes and introduce the idea of a stylish, globe-trotting, confident Punjabi who is still rooted to his village. In a recent interview, he said: “they said sardars can’t be fashionable, and I said, ‘I will show you.’ They said sardars can’t star in films, so I showed them. They said Punjabis can’t thrive in Mumbai, and I showed them.”
With plenty of references to Teslas, Impalas, ‘goriyan meman’ (white women), and the hood, Dosanjh has created in his musical universe a global village. “Cali vich rehan te punjab di padaish ae (I live in Cali but I was born in Punjab),” he declares in Welcome to My Hood, its music video appropriating Black culture and aesthetic liberally. Could the video and Dosanjh’s attempts at bringing together western rap and hip hop with Punjabi beats and lyrics be seen as a way to bridge cultures and transcend national boundaries?
His recent brush with success and fame would suggest so. Dosanjh is not only a star in India but has become a rage in the United States, Canada, the UK and Australia where he performs to sold out venues. As he takes Punjab all over the world, making Punjabi culture globally aspirational, when he comes home, he also makes sure to remind his audience that he and his home state are still very much integral to the idea of India and its performative nationalisms.
That a Sikh performer must express his commitment to the idea of India again and again publicly, only goes on to show how fragile and tenuous minority communities’ place within Indian nationalism really is. It’s unlikely that a Sonu Nigam or Shreya Ghosal would ever have to parade their nationalism in a similar way. But if you happen to sport a turban and speak only a regional language, the nation will demand allegiance especially at a packed stadium at the national capital.
Tanushree Bhasin is an independent writer and photographer based in New Delhi.
