'Sardaar Ji 3': Diljit Dosanjh banks on art, Punjabi cinema on jokes

Saturday evening, Cineworld Wandsworth, London. My daughter had flown in from Toronto, and the first thing she did was book us for "Sardaar Ji 3".

Screen 12 wasn’t filled with Sikh families, as you might expect. Instead, most seats were taken by Pakistani Punjabis. The controversy around Hania Aamir’s casting had sparked a buzz across the diaspora, especially among those with roots in West Punjab.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: Diljit Dosanjh doesn’t need an introduction. The man who made Coachella dance now stands at the peak of global Punjabi stardom — an artist whose every move feels instinctively fresh. In "Sardaar Ji 3", he does what he does best: making audiences watch him, his laugh, his effortless switch from comic timing to an action-hero’s simmering glare.

But while Diljit keeps evolving, the cinema around him remains trapped. Punjabi films, unlike other Indian entertainment daring to experiment on OTT or the big screen, still see comedy as their last refuge. "Sardaar Ji 3" is no exception: a horror-comedy that leans heavily on Diljit’s charisma rather than cinematic craft.

Flashback to 1981. "Chann Pardesi" — Raj Babbar, Rama Vij, Om Puri, Amrish Puri, Kulbhushan Kharbanda — gave us layered storytelling, memorable performances, and a plot that could stand anywhere, in any language. Decades later, "Jodi" starring Diljit and Nimrat Khaira briefly reignited hope. It drew from Punjab’s rich folk duet tradition, showing that our stories can move beyond jokes and slapstick, into love, music, and tragedy.

Watching "Jodi" back then felt like Punjab looking itself in the mirror — seeing its own complexities and contradictions. "Sardaar Ji 3", in contrast, feels like Punjab ducking that mirror altogether.

Yes, the film has reportedly smashed box-office records in Pakistan. That’s worth noting. But it also opened abroad only — not in India — because of the political backlash over Hania Aamir’s casting. Diljit has addressed it candidly: the film was shot before tensions flared, and the producers chose an overseas-only release to avoid fanning flames.

Inside the hall in London, Hania’s presence was met with cheers. Pakistani Punjabis saw a reflection of themselves on the big screen, a story that, at least superficially, crosses Radcliffe’s line.

But cinema isn’t just measured by packed or half-packed halls. It’s measured by how far it dares to go. And Punjabi cinema — even when led by an artist as adventurous as Diljit — still hesitates. The jokes are funny, the action is okay, the songs routine. But storytelling feels boxed in, afraid to wander into complexity or discomfort.

Diljit himself has moved far beyond these boundaries. He’s on Fallon, at Coachella, collaborating with Sia and getting Ed Sheeran to sing Punjabi. His Instagram reels reach millions, but it’s his versatility that keeps him relevant: the singer, the actor, the quietly strategic professional who can crack jokes about himself and still stay two steps ahead.

Yet in "Sardaar Ji 3", even Diljit can’t lift the script into something bolder. That isn’t on him. It’s on an industry still clinging to formulas that worked a decade ago, even as audiences — both in Punjab and abroad — are ready for more.

Jodi proved that stories rooted in Punjab’s soil, with craft and courage, can resonate anywhere. "Chann Pardesi" proved it more than four decades ago. What’s stopping us now?

As credits rolled in Wandsworth, my daughter and son — Diljit Dosanjh loyalists — laughed. But a part of me kept wishing for the next Punjabi film that would do what "Chann Pardesi" or "Jodi" did: stir us Punjabis, in both parts of Punjab.

(The writer is a career journalist currently serving as Communications and Advocacy Director at UNITED SIKHS (UK), a charity registered in England and Wales)