Punjab is undergoing an indie film revolution. Challenging the Jatt Sikh domination in cinema
Jalandhar: About 200 km from Jalandhar, a cameraman trots behind an actor who is pushing a handcart on a dirt road cutting across wheat and mustard fields. Another crew member runs ahead, waving his arms at passersby, tractors and bikes to get them to step aside. Everybody is dripping with sweat. But in this jugaad, director Shashank Walia has found a way to tell Punjab’s untold stories.
Walia’s Hanere Di Panchi or Birds of Darkness will be the latest addition to a new crop of Punjabi-language indie films that are interrogating the Jatt Sikh-ruled commercial film industry. The gritty realism of hit OTT films and shows like Kohrra (2023) and Tabbar (2021), far-removed from the rose-tinted Yash Chopra fantasies, has given the local film industry a much-needed fillip.
Indie filmmakers are riding this wave of interest in ‘real’ Punjab. They are making movies that are tearing down ideals of honour and masculine pride. They are subverting mainstream blockbuster tropes of heroes leaving their homes for Canada, New Zealand and Australia, while finding love along the way. And they are putting Dalits and women in the forefront.
“Hanere di Panchi is a very bold project, and one of its kind because it shows two Dalit characters who are queer. The film also features strong Dalit female characters,” says Mauli Singh, who is one of the actors in this bootstrap venture.
Within the state, indie filmmakers are pushing against an industry that prefers casting singers as heroes and producing rom-coms and comedies.
“In commercial movies, you do not find anyone apart from Jatt Sikhs as actors, and all the stories are about them,” says director Gurvinder Singh, one of the flag bearers of Punjab’s parallel cinema.
“But there has to be an alternate voice and films that speak of Punjab beyond its mustard fields, comedy, romance and singers-turned-actors playing the lead,” says Shashank Walia.
What’s more, these homegrown films are receiving critical acclaim abroad. Ivan Ayr’s Punjabi-Hindi movie, Milestone (2020), or Meel Patthar, about a truck driver coping with loss was streamed on Netflix and screened at international film festivals in Venice, China and South Korea. The critically-acclaimed Adh Chanani Raat (2022), directed by Gurvinder Singh, was showcased at the International Film Festival Rotterdam. And Anmol Sidhu’s 2022 debut, Jaggi, on sexual abuse in rural Punjab, was nominated in the Best Youth Feature Film category at the Asia Pacific Screen Awards. Last year, the first international film festival of Chandigarh, titled Cinévesture, featured four Punjabi-language indie films.
A scene from Adh Chanani Raat | Content Flow
A scene from Adh Chanani Raat | Content Flow
This has spurred filmmakers like Walia, who along with his wife Reema Kaur, have exhausted almost all their savings to make Hanere Di Panchi.
“But there has to be an alternate voice and films that speak of Punjab beyond its mustard fields, comedy, romance and singers-turned-actors playing the lead,” says Walia.
A scene of Hanere Di Panchi being shot at Champa Kalan, near Jalandhar in Punjab | Tina Das, ThePrint
A scene of Hanere Di Panchi being shot at Champa Kalan, near Jalandhar in Punjab | Tina Das, ThePrint
Subverting tropes
“You do not really find a wide variety of female characters in the commercial films. So having Dalit female characters in them is a near-impossibility,” says Mauli.
This urgency to tell real stories is what drives Anmol Sidhu as well. The indie filmmaker is fighting against Punjab’s addiction to comedies, and rom-coms that make up the chunk of commercial films. The rest are gangster dramas and action movies.
“In Punjab, even action films don’t really work. It is either comedy, or rom-coms that get in the money, and no one in the industry is willing to experiment beyond that,” says Sidhu. His film, Jaggi, explores the themes of sexual repression through a young man who is being sexually abused by his male friends.
In one scene, the protagonist asks, “Mummy, do you know why I don’t want to get married.” And then he answers his own question: “Lust is blind. A man doesn’t even spare an animal to satiate it.” It’s a low-budget film with no heroes or known faces.
For indie filmmakers, getting people who’ve grown up on rom-coms like Jatt & Juliet (2012) and offerings like Carry on Jatta 3 (2023), Shadaa (2019) and Honsla Rakh (2021), to watch their gritty, realistic movies is a huge ask. Most of these films are headlined by big stars like singer-actor Diljit Dosanjh, Neeru Bajwa and Sonam Bajwa.
A scene from Carry on Jatta 3 | Sonam Bajwa, Instagram
A scene from Carry on Jatta 3 | Sonam Bajwa, Instagram
According to Sidhu, even Punjabi comedy and rom-com movies are no longer pushing the envelope. “We did have really good movies earlier, but now even the comedy is not great. We barely have anything new in terms of content,” he says.
Jaggi jolts the viewer from their complacency, forcing them to look at the repercussions of repression in a patriarchal society. Walia is doing this in Hanere Di Panchi with its cast of Dalit women characters.
“You do not really find a wide variety of female characters in the commercial films. So having Dalit female characters in them is a near-impossibility,” says Mauli.
Kaur and Walia, who wanted the story and depiction to be as close to reality, cast residents of a Dalit village, the majority of whom are Christian daily wage labourers. They sought their inputs and requested their help during research, such as understanding how prayer meetings are conducted and the process of converting to Christianity.
“I am a practising Sikh who grew up in Delhi, and until the research for the film, I had no idea that the caste system is so strong and exploitative in Punjab that there are separate gurudwaras for different castes,” says Reema Kaur, co-producer of Hanere Di Panchi.
Struggle for funds
What hasn’t changed much over the years is money constraints. Budget is a constant struggle for indie and parallel cinema filmmakers, more so in the Punjab film industry with its heteronormative love stories and upper-caste Sikh characters.
Filmmakers are still struggling with funds, and their post-production journey is unsure at best. Producers are not lining up to help with distribution, and neither are mainstream actors.
Jaggi, which Sidhu made on a shoestring budget, was glued together mostly by passion. “I borrowed money from friends. My junior from theatre days played the lead, and we got a video person from my village, who shoots weddings, to be the cinematographer,” says Sidhu. The result was a dark, gloomy take on the rampant homophobia and abuse in Punjab.
“Without big stars or state support, it’s going to be difficult to keep the momentum going. There has to be an ecosystem, where art is not just created, but people also have the training to appreciate it,” says Gurvinder Singh. However, he acknowledges that he has been luckier than most. His first film was financed by the National Film Development Corporation of India (NFDC), and the second film was an India-French co-production.
“And with awards and so on, I managed to find a producer for the third. But most indie filmmakers have to use their own money,” says Singh, who is unanimously considered the prime architect of parallel cinema in Punjab through his trilogy of films, which started with Anhey Ghorhey Da Daan (2011). Based on the oppression of Dalit Sikhs, it was the first Punjabi-language film to be screened in international film festivals. The story unfolds between dawn to midnight on a single day, chronicling the life of a Dalit Sikh family on the outskirts of Bhatinda where landlords have sold off the village land to industrialists.
A scene from Anhey Ghorhey Da Daan | MUBI
A scene from Anhey Ghorhey Da Daan | MUBI
He followed it up with Chauthi Koot (2015), a portrait of Punjab at the height of militancy after Operation Blue Star in 1984. It’s based on two short stories by writer Waryam Singh Sandhu. With its unhurried pace, the film follows Joginder Singh (played by Suvinder Vicky) and his family, who are caught between militants and security forces. The absurdity of diktats issued by militants during this time is captured through the plight of the family dog. Militants instruct Joginder to kill his pet Tommy, as his barking alerts the security forces.
The main character doesn’t use violence, yet the tension is always present—whether it’s two Hindus boarding a train to Amritsar in a small compartment with several Sikh travellers or Tommy’s incessant barking, despite Joginder’s attempt to quiet him.
In Adh Chanani Raat, the director explores how honour and land ownership defines Jat Sikh society through the life of a convict who returns to his village after being released from jail.
Gurvinder Singh has a minimalist approach to making films—with limited dialogues, slow pace, and no tense background music. He captures the countryside and its many complexities beautifully.
What links his three films, is that they are all adaptations of Punjabi literary works and are an incisive exploration of village life.
“Since I had not lived and experienced life in Punjab, literature became a way of developing my cinematic language,” says Singh who was born in Mumbai. It was only in 2002 when he travelled extensively through the state for four years. Both Anhey Ghorhey Da Daan and Adh Chanani Raat are based on novels by Gurdial Singh, whose work he was introduced to while at the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII).
Taking on toxic masculinity
Indie filmmakers like Sidhu and Gurvinder Singh are not afraid to challenge the ideals of hyper-masculinity that dominates Punjab’s culture. In Adh Chanani Raat, the character Modan (played by Jatinder Mauhar), a Jatt Sikh, returns home from prison 15 years after killing his father’s tormenter. But the world has changed, as have allegiances. His brother now works for the very people who had exploited his father.
Relying on silence more than action, Singh uses the rebuilding of Modan’s ancestral house as a device to show how his life too needs to be rebuilt, and how economic exploitation continues unabated in the villages.
While the crux of Modan’s identity lies in embodying the hypermasculine role of an ‘avenger’, Singh also portrays the possibility of change and redemption through his marriage to a single mother, Sukhi (played by Mauli Singh).
However, this possibility of companionship is almost snatched away in Sidhu’s depiction of masculinity in Jaggi. Growing up in Kauloke, he saw a young village boy being sexually abused by older boys. According to Sidhu, such abuse is fairly common, but underreported in Punjab.
Through his association with the Alankar Theatre Group of Chandigarh, Sidhu roped in Ramnish Chaudhary to play the role of Jaggi, who is coping with assault, his parents’ disintegrating marriage and lack of support.
“It was not hard to convince Ramnish or any other male character really, because everyone knows that sexual abuse of men by other men due to lack of any healthy outlet and repression is as regular as it gets,” says Sidhu.
There are stereotypes associated with masculinity in Punjab, such as a muscular build and a beard. Sidhu’s Jaggi has wavy hair, which becomes ‘proof’ that he is gay—at least in the eyes of his assaulters. They are his school warden, seniors, a farm worker and classmates.
Hope flares for a few minutes when Jaggi finds Ramnik, the girl with whom his parents arrange his marriage, and who treats him as an equal. But Sidhu’s emphasis is on the cyclical nature of violence and how those who are exploited rarely have the chance to walk happily into the sunset.
Rejection from actors, theatres
For all the critical acclaim, not all indie films fare well in terms of release. Jaggi was recently acquired by streaming platform MUBI this year after a successful festival run, but it is not available to viewers yet. Despite his track record, and high praise from critics, the theatrical release of Singh’s Chauthi Koot was a disaster. People did not turn up to watch the film.
“I spent Rs 30 lakh, and I was saved by Netflix, which acquired it. Otherwise, it would just have been a massive financial loss,” says Singh.
OTT platforms have helped popularise a few Punjabi-language indie films. For example, Amazon Prime Video has a tie-up with Chaupal, a regional streaming platform showcasing films from Punjab and Haryana. For an additional payment, viewers can access Punjabi movies on Prime Video.
But indie and parallel filmmakers in the industry say it’s not enough, not when compared with the support and publicity their counterparts get in Kerala.
“Even though OTTs are buying indie films from other languages, there are not many takers for Punjabi films. Streaming platforms tend to also opt for the commercial movies with known faces,” says Singh.
Actors and producers are reluctant to be a part of such cinema.
Actors and producers are reluctant to be a part of such cinema.
“I approached a production company, where people didn’t even read my script. And one actor actually said that doing the kind of films I make might damage his reputation as a comic actor,” says Singh.
There are exceptions like Suvinder Vicky who has become a household name across India because of Kohrra. Unhappy with mainstream cinema, he started looking for meatier roles and heard about Anhey Ghodey Da Daan.
“I auditioned for it, but got a role in Chauthi Koot instead. After that, I ended up playing Ghalib in Ayr’s Milestone,” says Vicky. He credits the current ‘golden’ phase of his career to the roles he played in parallel cinema. “After Kohrra, people went back and watched Milestone, and many later told me that they could see the trajectory of my acting prowess,” he adds.
The character of the truck driver he plays is not a happy and boisterous stereotype, but a man in mourning who uses alcohol as a crutch to cope with tragedy and loneliness. Vicky trained for 10 days in Noida to learn how to drive a truck accurately and portray his character convincingly—from the manner of getting off a truck to even cracking his back in a scene.
“I found myself as an actor through indie, parallel films, and I will always choose to do them,” says Vicky.
Bridge between indie and commercial
“The audience wants singer-heroes,” says Gurvinder Singh.
For most directors, though, getting ‘recognisable’ faces to act in their films is an uphill battle. Filmmakers like Jatinder Mauhar are trying to bridge the gap one film at a time.
Mauhar, who made his acting debut with Adh Chanani Raat, is primarily known as a director and screenwriter. He has figured out how to straddle the chasm between indie and commercial.
A villager in conversation with producer of Hanere Di Panchi, Reema Kaur | Tina Das, ThePrint
A villager in conversation with producer of Hanere Di Panchi, Reema Kaur | Tina Das, ThePrint
He has worked with stars like the actor-activist Deep Sidhu and singer-actor Ammy Virk. His latest directorial venture, Maurh: Lehndi Rutt De Nayak (2023) starred Virk in the role of Kishna Maurh, a popular figure in Punjabi history, who had risen against the oppression of British and feudal landlords.
“I got the greenlight for Maurh because The Legend of Maula Jatt (2022) was a big hit in Pakistan, and the producers felt there could be a market for such popular historical figures in Punjab too,” he says.
Maurh falls somewhere between indie and commercial with a big star and a big budget, but a storyline that’s rooted in Punjab history.
Singer-actors bring money to Punjabi movies. But three movies bucked this formidable success formula last year. Kali Jotta, Buhe Bariyan and Godday Godday Chaa took on misogyny with stars like Neeru Bajwa and Sonam Bajwa.
“Neeru and Sonam are big stars, and bankable, which means producers will still take risks. The same is not true for a non-star film, even if it has a good plot,” says a director who did not want to be named. This is something both Mauli and Gurvinder Singh have learned the hard way.
“The audience wants singer-heroes,” says Singh.
Back in the fields near Jalandhar, Mauli is ready to start shooting the next scene. One of the cast members is the ‘traffic controller’ for the day, keeping motorcycles and tractors at bay until the scene is shot. A local resident thunders by on his Royal Enfield Bullet.
“Who is the singer-hero of this movie?” he demanded to know.
He wasn’t happy with the reply. He rode off disappointed.
(Edited by Ratan Priya)