New Delhi: Singer Yo Yo Honey Singh wasn’t just India’s first pop star; he was the blueprint. The ‘X factor’ in Bollywood blockbusters; genius who made Punjabi music mainstream. First, fame came knocking, and soon the controversies followed.
The rollercoaster life of the pop star gets an 80-minute spotlight in Netflix’s latest offering, Yo Yo Honey Singh: Famous, directed by Mozez Singh.
In many ways, Honey Singh truly represents the rise-rise-ruckus trajectory of Punjabi popular rap that draws an insane fan following but is never free of its share of scandals.
Honey Singh once ruled as the undisputed king of the Punjabi music scene. He was the ring master behind the careers of Raftaar, Badshah, Ikka and Lil Golu whom he introduced to the mainstream under his Mafiya Mundeer, a band credited for releasing songs like Main Hu Balatkari (I am a rapist)’ and ‘C*** Volume 1. Although he denies it now.
Punjabi rap lyrics, including Honey Singh’s, often glamorised guns, sex, and violence, drawing ire for their audacity. Critics accused him of corrupting youth culture, while fans celebrated his rawness. Love him or hate him, Honey Singh didn’t just lead the Punjabi pop revolution—he detonated it.
“When you are famous, people are quick to blame and criticise you at the drop of a hat,” said Mozez, who spent a year and a half piecing the documentary together.
“My goal with this documentary was to deliver truth and only truth.”
‘Girls, guns, gangs’
The Punjabi music industry has traveled from Surinder Kaur’s folk melodies to Gurdas Maan’s storytelling of love, loss, and cultural pride. In recent years, Punjabi pop thrives on anthems of daru, weed, nasha, vodka, whisky, and ahata parties. Lyrics glorify guns, from Glock to rifles and AK-47s, normalising violence as swagger and recklessness as cool.
Honey Singh’s rise to fame not only made Punjabi music commercially viable but also gave rise to a new wave of artists like Mankirt Aulakh, Deep Kahlon, and Sidhu Moosewala, who adopted his formula while portraying Punjab as a gang-infested region.
Aulakh’s Gangland boasts 214 million views, Moosewala’s 295 hits 630 million, and So High skyrockets to 826 million, solidifying the genre’s dominance in the digital age.
This transformation is often pinned on Honey Singh, as he swapped soul for swagger, injecting Punjabi music with themes of girls, guns, gangs, and a hyper-sexualised lifestyle.
Honey Singh’s arrival onto the scene with Glassy (2006) alongside Ashok Mastie, was followed by his debut as a music producer in 2010 with the Punjabi film Punjaban. Chartbusters like Brown Rang and Dope Shope, Blue Eyes fused urban hip-hop with Punjabi beats, creating a sound both addictive and polarising.
His meteoric rise—fueled by hits like Shah Rukh Khan’s Lungi Dance (Chennai Express) and Akshay Kumar’s Party All Night (Boss)—cemented him as Bollywood’s go-to rapper.
Yet, traditionalists mourned the shift, accusing the pop star of diluting Punjabi music’s soul with crass anthems.
Honey Singh, in the Netflix documentary, candidly admitted that his inspiration came from nightclub culture, where even women enthusiastically danced to Western songs glorifying themes like money and objectification.
According to him, his music was a reflection of those times, a sentiment Mozez defended as well.
“His journey and his hits were shaped by the culture of that era. I had to showcase the highs of his music career and how people—including women—embraced it over the years,” Mozez said.
It was in 2012 that his career truly soared. But, what started as a dream year for Honey Singh with chartbusters like Party On My Mind, Breakup Party, Main Sharabi, and High Heels, turned into a nightmare by the end.
Following the gang rape and murder of Nirbhaya in Delhi, Honey Singh faced intense backlash, for the controversial song Main Hun Balatkari (I Am a Rapist) and C*** Volume 1. The tracks stirred outrage on social media, and the rapper was heavily criticised for his offensive lyrics.
In the documentary, Honey Singh made it clear that the controversial songs weren’t his doing—neither written nor performed by him.
“That was his story, and he stuck to it till the very end. Now, it’s up to the audience to draw their conclusions after watching the documentary,” said Mozez.
Acknowledging that tracks like C** Volume 1 crossed certain lines, Mozez refrained from passing judgement without exploring the full story.
“As a filmmaker, it’s not my job to impose my beliefs on the audience,” he explained. “But, dragging him into the gangrape situation was very vicious and mean.”
Notably, it was only Honey Singh, out of the Mafiya Mundeer crew, who faced the wrath of the public and activists.
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Ugly dispute
The feud between Honey Singh, Badshah, and Raftaar has become legendary in the Punjabi music industry, marked by ego clashes and public disses.
But, Mafiya Mundeer didn’t even find a minute-long mention in the documentary.
“Honey, on camera, had said, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ So I didn’t even keep this response because then it would have defied the whole purpose,” said Mozez.
Honey Singh went on Lallantop and spoke about Badshah. That prompted the latter to counter with his own interview with Saurabh Dwivedi where he accused Singh of using talent and money without giving credit.
The explosive breakup of the Mafiya Mundeer crew in 2012 marked the end of an era that delivered hits like Khol Botal, Get Up Jawani, Haye Mera Dil, and Delhi Ke Deewane.
Initially, Honey Singh was a mentor to both Badshah and Raftaar, introducing them to the music scene. However, as both artists gained popularity, tensions grew, and each began to seek individual success, leading to a fallout.
Badshah publicly dissed Honey Singh in 2013, in his track The Punchline, where he rapped, “You can’t handle this heat; now you’re done.” This was a direct jab at the singer’s fading influence in the industry. Honey Singh fired back, calling Badshah “just a copycat” in various interviews.
Raftaar also dissed Honey Singh in his song Main Wahi Hoon (2015), where he mentioned how some people act as “kings” only when supported by others but struggle solo. The lyrics were clearly aimed at the singer, highlighting issues of authenticity and loyalty.
In a revealing conversation with Saurabh Dwivedi, Badshah opened up about his fallout with Honey Singh. Honey Singh reportedly took Rs 10 lakh from Badshah to produce an English album—but the project never materialised.
Badshah also claimed that he wasn’t getting the recognition he deserved.
Bipolar disorder
A wave of controversies, feuds, overwork, and burnout ultimately removed Honey Singh from the music scene for more than six years.
In a candid moment in the documentary, Singh opened up about his battle with bipolar disorder and psychotic symptoms, offering the public an intimate look at the silent struggles that sidelined his career.
Just as controversies around him began to settle, his mental health took a devastating turn.
“For his family, it was the perfect storm. Everything collided, and it was unbearable,” said Mozez.
Honey Singh recalled being invited by Shah Rukh Khan to join a US tour—he was on board despite already being overworked. On tour, his condition worsened.
“I wasn’t in the state to perform, but I was forced to. Slowly, paranoia set in. I started imagining things—like someone would frame me or file a case against me. I didn’t know what was happening to me or why I was feeling this way,” he said.
He also shared that the heavy toll of mental illness was such that he wanted to end his life.
“It’s like your mind is in overdrive, and you spiral out of control. You start living your dreams in real life. I was terrified—even of my maid. I thought she was laughing at me or cleaning blood off the floor. I thought I’d never see my parents again. I wished for death every single day. I saw hell,” he revealed.
Despite the chaos, his family managed to pull him back from the brink.
According to Mozez Singh, the controversies did enough damage but Honey Singh’s family never gave up on him. In fact, the parents have been featured in the documentary. They openly discuss the emotional torment they endured during the difficult years.
His sister, Sneha Singh, became the voice of their collective pain and resilience.
Breaking down during the interview, she shared how media reports falsely accused Honey Singh of creating songs that glorified rape, fueling an endless cycle of blame and shame.
“I was at work when I read this news that my brother made a song glorifying rape. The media didn’t even care to verify if the song was actually his. That one news story changed everything,” she said.
Struggling to come back?
For the past four years, Honey Singh has been striving to reclaim his spot in the music industry. Tracks like Makhna, First Kiss, Saiyaan Ji, and Desi Kalakaar marked his attempted resurgence, according to him.
While Makhna gained some traction, most of his work failed to recapture the magic of his early hits.
Badshah during one of his concerts even took a jibe at Honey Singh. Directing to a bunch of fans who were chanting ‘Yo Yo Honey Singh’, Badshah said, “kuch lyrics likh ke de deta hu, papa ka comeback ho jayega tumhare (I’ll write some lyrics and give it you, your father will finally be able to make a comeback).”
Critics argue that Honey Singh’s newer songs lacked the originality and punch that once defined his style. Audiences, too, seemed indifferent, often dismissing his music.
Mozez Singh has managed to capture this sentiment with a quick vox pop of fans who said that Honey Singh’s new songs aren’t that good.
But, the pop star continues to hustle.
Mozez describes Honey Singh as a relentless force, someone defined by an unbreakable will.
“He exudes this lion-like energy that’s incredibly inspiring,” he said.
“Honey Singh is a mix of strength and vulnerability—an immensely powerful personality but also a soft, loving son and brother.”
Yet, Mozez emphasises he is not someone you’d want to cross; he has an unforgiving edge.
“A decade ago, my audience was young, wild, and free-spirited. Back then, I wrote about alcohol and weed, they loved it,” said Honey Singh in the documentary, adding that his fans probably wouldn’t let their kids anywhere near his hit tracks.
“I’ve outgrown that gangster-vibe too; I had my panga days when I was young. But, that’s still all they seem to want from me. I don’t feel like going back to that. If my experiments don’t work, I will write and sing those songs only. Now, if that’s all they want to hear from me,” Honey Singh said as his silhouette disappeared into the narrow, gritty lanes.
(Edited by Ratan Priya)
Please be specific, Mr. Director. Only north-Indian women “embraced” Honey Singh’s songs. The usual Delhi-Chandigarh type girls.
Nobody else (I am speaking strictly of women here) “embraced” anything related to Honey Singh. In fact, women cursed him all the time, holding him up as an example of societal misogyny and oppressive patriarchy. Nobody ever accepted, let alone embrace, Honey Singh’s songs.
But yes, the Delhi-Chandigarh types did not have much of an issue with him. The women carelessly grooved to his raunchy and misogynistic numbers – blissfully oblivious that they are furthering this utterly patriarchal and misogynistic nonsense masquerading as music, But then again, nobody has ever had much expectations from these D-C types.