Diljit Dosanjh’s Latest Stunt Sparks National Outrage – Here’s Why India’s Furious
Diljit Dosanjh, once a beacon of Punjabi pride, has increasingly revealed himself as an artist whose ambitions outweigh his loyalty to India. The controversy surrounding his upcoming film Sardaar Ji 3, coupled with a troubling history of provocative actions, paints a damning picture of a man who prioritizes global fame and personal agendas over the sentiments of his nation.
Diljit Dosanjh’s Sardaar Ji 3: A Slap in the Face
The decision to cast Hania Aamir in Sardaar Ji 3, set for an overseas release on June 27, 2025, is indefensible. India is still reeling from the April 22, 2025, Pahalgam terror attack, which killed 26 Indians, followed by Operation Sindoor on May 7, 2025, targeting Pakistan-based terror camps. The wounds are raw, and anti-Pakistan sentiment is palpable. Yet, Dosanjh, as a producer, chose to proceed with a film featuring a Pakistani actress, fully aware of the geopolitical climate.
His defense—that the film was shot before the attack—rings hollow. The announcement of Aamir’s casting came after Pahalgam, and the decision to push for an overseas release, with the trailer geo-blocked in India, shows he anticipated backlash but pressed on anyway.
This isn’t ignorance; it’s arrogance. Dosanjh could have shelved the project or recast the role to respect India’s grief, as was done after the 2016 Uri attack when Pakistani artists were banned from Indian films. Instead, his cryptic Instagram story—“Censored before release?”—mocks the outrage, positioning himself as a victim of censorship rather than a perpetrator of insensitivity. The Federation of Western India Cine Employees (FWICE) and All Indian Cine Workers Association (AICWA) have rightly called for a boycott, with FWICE President BN Tiwari vowing to block Dosanjh’s work in India. This isn’t cancel culture; it’s a response to betrayal.
A History of Provocation
Dosanjh’s actions in Sardaar Ji 3 aren’t an isolated misstep but part of a pattern. In 2012, his unreleased song “15 Saal” from the scrapped album Urban Pendu glorified underage partying and drug use, earning public scorn. He apologized and canceled the project, but the incident revealed a willingness to court controversy for attention.
Fast forward to 2024, during his Dil-Luminati tour in Manchester, Dosanjh told a Pakistani fan, “Hindustan and Pakistan are the same for me. Punjabis have love for all in their hearts. The borders are drawn by politicians.” This statement, delivered in traditional Punjabi attire to a cheering crowd, dismisses the sacrifices of Indian soldiers and the pain of families affected by cross-border terrorism. It’s not a call for peace; it’s a calculated bid for international adoration, trampling on India’s realities.
His film choices further expose this agenda. Punjab 1984, depicting Sikh struggles during the 1984 riots, and Punjab 95, about human rights activist Jaswant Singh Khalra, tackle sensitive chapters of Punjab’s history. Punjab 95 faced 120 cuts demanded by the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) for its portrayal of the militancy era, was removed from the Toronto International Film Festival, and is unavailable on YouTube in India. Dosanjh’s insistence on releasing it uncut suggests he’s more interested in championing narratives that challenge India’s establishment than in fostering unity. While these stories deserve telling, their timing and framing, especially alongside his other actions, feed perceptions of alignment with divisive or separatist causes.
His 2020 spat with Kangana Ranaut during the farmers’ protests cements this view. Dosanjh called out Ranaut for misidentifying a protester, earning applause from some but accusations of being unpatriotic from others. His vocal support for the protests, while popular in Punjab, positioned him against mainstream Indian narratives, reinforcing the image of an artist who thrives on confrontation rather than cohesion.
The Verdict: Fame Over Fidelity
Dosanjh’s supporters might argue he’s an artist pushing creative boundaries or promoting cultural unity. But this defense crumbles under scrutiny. His Sardaar Ji 3 decision wasn’t about art; it was about profit and global appeal, consequences be damned. His Manchester comments weren’t about unity; they were about pandering to a diaspora audience while ignoring India’s security concerns. Posts on X accusing Dosanjh of ties to separatist figures like Gurpatwant Pannu or seeking revenge for Operation Blue Star lack hard evidence but reflect a growing distrust fueled by his own actions. His strategic temple visits, juxtaposed with politically charged statements, reek of image management, not sincerity.
Dosanjh’s talent is undeniable—his Billboard Social 50 ranking, Coachella performances, and hits like Amar Singh Chamkila prove his global reach. But talent doesn’t excuse betrayal. By repeatedly prioritizing fame over sensitivity, he has alienated a nation that once adored him. India deserves artists who respect its struggles, not those who exploit them for clout. Dosanjh’s actions speak louder than his apologies, and they scream of a man who has chosen the world’s stage over his country’s heart.
