Imtiaz Ali’s film doesn’t capture Chamkila’s real energy. It puts the Dalit singer in a box

Anyone who has seen him perform would agree that the real Chamkila was more vibrant and aggressive on stage than Diljit Dosanjh portrays him to be.

Parineeti Chopra and Diljit Dosanjh in Imtiaz Ali's Amar Singh Chamkila | YouTube screenshot

I was not aware of the greatness of Punjabi singer-songwriter Amar Singh Chamkila until I watched Imtiaz Ali’s recent movie on Netflix, named after the singer. His name had only come up once or twice in a passing reference to the revolutionary poet Avtar Singh Pash when I was reading and editing news articles on Punjab militancy in the 1980s—both were killed in the separatist violence. But after watching the film, I checked out Chamkila’s original songs on YouTube and a Punjabi movie titled 22 Chamkila Forever (2022), and some literature about him, including the ground reports filed by ThePrint reporter Tina Das.

The entire cast and crew of the movie, especially Ali, music director AR Rahman, and lead actors Diljit Dosanjh and Parineeti Chopra, deserve applause for bringing Chamkila’s almost-forgotten story to the mainstream. He remains one of the most popular singers of Punjab to date, and without this movie, we wouldn’t be talking about him.

However, after watching hours and hours of grainy-old videos of Chamkila, Surinder Sonia, and Amarjot and their akhadas (rural and town-level concerts), I can say that the movie failed to capture the mood and essence of these singers. Anyone who has seen him perform would agree that the real Chamkila was more vibrant, aggressive, and assertive on stage—he used to cast a magic spell that stayed with the listeners. In Punjabi lingo, I would say that he was more ‘gabru’ than the role Dosanjh played in the movie.

Stereotyping marginalised community

Chamkila was a well-built man, and one could sense his energy oozing out. His mesmerising youthful persona is missing from the Netflix film. It must be noted that at the time of his killing, Chamkila was only 27 years old, whereas Dosanjh is now more than 40 years old.

It’s not that Dosanjh can’t be dynamic. We can sense that side of the Punjabi pop-star in the movies and music videos where he plays the role of Jatt or Jaat. One can watch his videos, Jatt Da Pyar or Jatt Da Pajama. Now compare the persona Dosanjh carries with the role he plays in Amar Singh Chamkila (2024) and you can easily understand what I am inferring here. It’s not about the opulence shown in the videos but the energy.   

Now, one may argue that these are two different genres of music. However, there is more to it than what is visible on the surface. Delve deeper, and the unstated subtext will emerge—Dosanjh plays the role of a Jatt in his music videos, whereas in the movie, he is portraying a Dalit singer. And this changes so many things; the problem of representation, stereotyping, boxing a community into a certain image, cultural hegemony, and among other issues come into play.

In movies and literature alike, the phenomenon of stereotyping intersects with the notion of representation, shaping narratives and imagery, often oversimplifying stories of a certain community.

The portrayal of Chamkila in the movie is a case study in stereotyping, where a rigid characteristic was attributed to him based on his Dalit identity. His biased and one-dimensional character can be understood only in this framework. Such representation, rooted in cultural hegemony of the Jatt community, contributes to the process of othering, depicting marginalised groups as fundamentally different or inferior. This is nothing but essentialist depictions of an underprivileged community. In the movie, Chamkila is shown as dark-skinned, docile and submissive, which defies his image as seen in his original videos.

Hollywood to Bollywood, race to caste

This resembles the issue of blackface, which has largely been phased out. Blackface in Hollywood movies refers to the practice of non-Black actors darkening their skin with makeup to portray African-American characters, often reinforcing harmful stereotypes and perpetuating racial discrimination. This offensive practice dates back to the early days of cinema and was commonly used to mock and dehumanise Black people. 

One notable example is the film The Birth of a Nation (1915), where white actors portrayed Black characters in a derogatory manner. Another example is the character of Mr. Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961), where Mickey Rooney, a white actor, wore yellowface makeup to portray a stereotypical Japanese character, showcasing how racial caricatures extended beyond blackface.

Earlier I wrote about the character of Kachra in Lagaan (2001), which is again a case of stereotyping and confining a group to certain physical and behavioural characteristics. Noted filmmaker Satyajit Ray did a similar thing in Aranyer Din Ratri (1970). In the movie, the fair-skinned Simi Garewal was actually painted black to depict the role of an Adivasi (tribal) village girl Duli, who was sexually exploited by urban bhadralok (genteel) men. 

Another example of stereotyping can be seen in Jolly LLB (2013) in which a judge with a Sonawane nameplate was shown in a stereotypical manner. In Bajrangi Bhaijaan (2015), Salman Khan’s character says that a girl must belong to Brahmin caste if she is of whitish complexion.

With passage of time, similar practices have almost stopped in Hollywood. The Indian film industry is yet to start that discussion. 

Dilip Mandal is the former managing editor of India Today Hindi Magazine, and has authored books on media and sociology. He tweets @Profdilipmandal. Views are personal.

This article is part of Dalit History Month series.

(Edited by Ratan Priya)