Diljit Dosanjh, one of India’s most celebrated Punjabi singer-actors and perhaps its biggest global star, finds himself at the centre of a simulated storm over his film Sardaar Ji 3, which features Pakistani actress Hania Aamir in a supporting role. The film was completed in February 2025, well before the Pahalgam terror attack in April, which tragically escalated tensions between India and Pakistan. In the aftermath, the Modi government, backed by powerful film industry bodies, imposed sweeping restrictions on Pakistani artists, including a digital and professional ban on their participation in Indian projects.Despite these jingoistic developments, the producers of Sardaar Ji 3, citing significant financial stakes, decided to release the film exclusively overseas on June 27, foregoing an Indian release altogether. Dosanjh defended this pragmatic decision, pointing out that the film’s production predated the diplomatic rupture and that the subsequent backlash was entirely beyond their control. Javed Akhtar and Imtiaz Ali have made the same argument in his support. Yet, this reasonable defence fell on deaf ears.The Federation of Western India Cine Employees (FWICE) responded with characteristic hyperbole, denouncing Dosanjh’s collaboration with a Pakistani artist as a “blatant violation” of industry directives and an “affront to the sovereignty, dignity and security of India.” Their demands are draconian: Dosanjh’s removal from major upcoming projects like Border 2, and, from some quarters, even the revocation of his passport and citizenship because he was accused of putting personal gain above national sentiment. In the cacophony of outrage, the fundamental principle of defending Dosanjh’s artistic freedom and constitutional rights has been conspicuously absent from the Godi media’s discourse, which has instead amplified the most chauvinistic voices.Dosanjh’s success is rooted in his unapologetic embrace of Punjabi language and identity, proving that authenticity, not assimilation, is the true currency of global stardom. Last year, he was named the top Asian celebrity in the world, surpassing even Shah Rukh Khan.In a telling reflection of his stature, he began 2025 by meeting Modi at his official residence, a meeting that was widely publicised by the ruling establishment. Modi hailed Dosanjh as “truly multifaceted, blending talent and tradition,” while Dosanjh described the interaction as “fantastic” and “memorable”. Just weeks earlier, Dosanjh was at the Ambani pre-wedding extravaganza in Jamnagar, where he delivered an electrifying performance that became the talk of the country’s elite. He effortlessly commanded the stage alongside global icons like Rihanna, further cementing his place at the apex of India’s entertainment hierarchy.Dosanjh’s influence is not confined to the subcontinent. He is, by every measure, India’s first truly global music icon. From shutting down Coachella as the first Indian to headline the iconic festival, to selling out stadiums across North America and Europe with his record-breaking Dil-Luminati tour, Diljit has shattered every glass ceiling placed before Indian artists. His appearance on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, where he was introduced as “the biggest Punjabi performer on the planet,” and his collaborations with international stars like Ed Sheeran and Sia have propelled him into a league previously reserved for Western pop royalty.That Dosanjh, so recently feted by the prime minister and the country’s richest family, can be hounded as a traitor by the same establishment and media, is a damning indictment of the duplicity of India’s current political climate. His global journey, once a source of national pride, is now being weaponised against him by the very forces that celebrated and benefitted from his rise.§Dosanjh’s Sikh and Punjabi identity is not incidental to his global stardom. It is central, deliberate and powerfully visible. He has made it a point to represent Punjabi and Sikh culture on the world’s biggest stages, from his historic Met Gala appearance in 2025, where he wore a turban, kurta, tehmat and jewel-studded kirpan, declaring “Main Hoon Punjab” to his record-breaking concerts. His unapologetic embrace of Sikh symbols and language has made him a beacon for representation, especially for diasporic Sikh communities who rarely see their heritage celebrated at such heights.In his recent landmark interview with the Grammy President, Dosanjh delivered a quietly radical message that slices through the noise of divisive nationalism. “Music is a way to unite across nations,” he said. Dosanjh doesn’t agree with those who argue that “my country is [the] best” because “every country is best.” Even as the dominant political discourse in India demands that love for one’s country means elevating it above all others, Dosanjh’s Sikhism-inflected universalism reclaims the ancient Indian ideal of Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam but with a contemporary, borderless clarity.This controversy is not merely about one actor or one film. It is a symptom of a deeper malaise: the rise of a hyper-nationalist, punitive culture since 2014, where art, dialogue, and even the most basic decency are routinely sacrificed at the altar of majoritarian political expediency. The film industry’s knee-jerk response, which proposes boycotts, blacklists and loyalty tests, betrays a profound insecurity and a willingness to cannibalise its own for the sake of performative patriotism. The message is clear. In today’s India, the boundaries of artistic expression are not set by creativity or merit, but by the sharpening touchstones of unbridled political loyalty.The fact that a film completed months before a terror attack can be retroactively condemned, its star hounded, and its entire crew threatened with ruin, exposes the hollowness of India’s much-touted “soft power” and global cultural leadership. No WAVES summit, no parade of Bollywood stars in the service of the Modi government, can paper over the damage done by such episodes. Instead, this controversy reveals an influential section of Indian society, goaded by the ruling ideology, is increasingly intolerant of ambiguity and eager to police its biggest artists with the zeal of an inquisition.There is little direct evidence in the public discourse or official pronouncements that Dosanjh’s Sikh background is the explicit reason for the condemnation. In fact, some Sikh leaders of the BJP have come out in his support. Yet, to ignore the subtext would be naïve. In a political climate where Hindutva majoritarianism has become dominant, visible assertion of Sikh identity, especially one that is global, confident and not subservient to the ruling ideology, has to be viewed with suspicion or resentment by some quarters. Dosanjh’s rise as a Sikh icon, his vocal pride in Punjab and his refusal to dilute his cultural identity for mainstream approval has set him apart from the Bollywood establishment, which often displays conformity and obedience to the political masters.While the immediate trigger for the outrage is the Pakistan connection, the deeper discomfort with a globally celebrated, unapologetically Sikh artist operating outside the boundaries of state-sanctioned nationalism cannot be dismissed. In today’s India, the space for complex, layered identities, especially those that assert India’s diversity rather than majoritarian assimilation, is rapidly shrinking. The Dosanjh affair is as much about the policing of national loyalty as it is about the discomfort with visible, assertive minority identities in the public sphere.What is most damning is not the controversy itself, but the speed and ferocity with which admiration morphs into outrage, and the ease with which institutions and public figures capitulate to the loudest, most jingoistic voices. The consequences for creative work are chilling, and the message to the artistic community, particularly those proud of their non-majoritarian identity of language, culture and religion, is unmistakable. They are only one step away from being branded traitors by the ideological enforcers of Hindutva. The Dosanjh affair is a chilling reminder that in Modi’s India, the price of authenticity and minority pride is perpetual suspicion. And the only art that survives is that which bows to the will of the ruling regime.Sushant Singh is a lecturer at Yale University in the US, consulting editor of Caravan magazine and co-founder of The India Cable.This piece was first published on The India Cable – a premium newsletter from The Wire & Galileo Ideas – and has been updated and republished here. To subscribe to The India Cable, click here.