The good, bad and ugly in a Diljit Dosanjh concert

When tickets for Diljit Dosanjh’s concerts sold out in minutes, the internet erupted with a collective cry - some of joy, others of despair. “I tried so hard,” became a common refrain across social media platforms, as fans who couldn’t secure tickets shared their disappointment. Those who managed to get them celebrated as if they’d won the lottery. That’s the Diljit effect - a phenomenon that has earned him the rare distinction of being dubbed “an artiste with zero haters.”

Instagram was soon flooded with reels declaring: “It’s okay to not attend concerts, but Diljit’s is an exception.” This social media buzz piqued my curiosity. I’ll admit - I wasn’t particularly a fan of the Punjabi artiste. My knowledge of him was limited to his role as police officer Sartaj Singh in “Udta Punjab” and his heart-wrenching song “Ikk Kudi.” Did I end up shedding tears listening to him live on December 29 in Guwahati? Perhaps, but we’ll get to that.

As someone who regularly interviews musicians, I had hoped to sit down with Diljit. However, his team’s strict protocols and “tight schedule” made that impossible. But sometimes, experiencing an artiste live tells you more than any interview could.

Controversy and Conviction

The Dil-Luminati tour hasn’t been without its share of controversies. Government directives flew in from various quarters - Hyderabad authorities warned against promoting alcohol, drugs, and violence in his songs. The Chandigarh Commission for Protection of Child Rights went a step further, specifically naming songs like ‘Patiala Peg’, ‘5 Taara’, and ‘Case’ that couldn’t be performed, even in altered forms. They even advised against bringing children on stage during his December 14, 2024, concert.

But Diljit, true to his name (which means “winner of hearts”), handled it with characteristic grace and wit. He tweaked songs like ‘Lemonade’ and ‘5 Taara’ while calling out the apparent double standards. “There’s good news. I didn’t get any notice today,” he told the Ahmedabad crowd, taking a subtle dig at the Telangana government. “Even today I won’t sing any song about alcohol. It’s because Gujarat is a dry state,” he added, drawing knowing laughs.

The Guwahati venue maintained strict prohibition - no alcohol allowed in or sold inside. Instead, concertgoers faced the familiar markup of festival commerce: Coke cans usually priced at Rs 40 sold for Rs 200, later climbing to Rs 300, while Rs 20 water bottles commanded Rs 150. Standard concert economics in action.

Even Ludhiana, his hometown, wasn’t spared. The December 31 show faced similar restrictions, with authorities demanding he avoid even tweaked versions of certain songs. Yet Diljit, ever the people’s artiste, found a way to perform while respecting the guidelines.

Art Imitating Life

The timing felt peculiarly relevant - I watched “Amar Singh Chamkila” the day after his Guwahati concert, where Diljit portrays the titular character. Released in 2024, the film chronicles a humble singer whose provocative lyrics sparked both fame and fury across Punjab, leading to his tragic end. The parallel seemed stark - while Chamkila’s lyrics were intentionally provocative, Diljit’s music celebrates joy and love. Yet here he was, facing scrutiny over songs that are wedding playlist staples.

Even his spelling of “Panjab” drew criticism, to which he responded with characteristic wisdom: “The name originates from Persian and translates to ‘Land of the Five Rivers’ (panj meaning five and ab meaning water).” He pointed out that spelling differences in English, a colonial language, couldn’t alter Punjab’s essential identity.

Beyond Performance: The Human Touch

Diljit’s tour has been marked by thoughtful gestures. In Indore, he paid tribute to the late poet Rahat Indori. In Guwahati, he dedicated his concert to former Prime Minister Dr Manmohan Singh, who had passed away just three days prior. “Hazaro jawabo se meri khamoshi achchi, naa jaane kitni sawalo ki aabru rakhe,” he quoted Singh, adding, “The youth should learn it. Even if someone calls you bad, you need to be focused on your goal only.”

His pre-concert visit to Shillong revealed another side of him. While celebrities often struggle with public spaces, Diljit managed to walk freely through Khyndailad, though his hotel saw the usual fan gatherings. Some lucky trekkers at Nongriat on December 24 encountered him at the Living Root Bridge, where he later posted Instagram videos of himself doing pull-ups on a tree trunk, his white sweatshirt, black trousers, and vibrant red turban standing out against the green forest.

The Guwahati Experience

The concert venue switch from inside Sarusajai stadium to its exterior grounds might have rattled another artiste, but Diljit maintained his infectious smile throughout. That smile - it’s not just his lips, but his eyes that light up, spreading joy to everyone watching. No wonder fans insist he has zero haters.

His approach to fan interaction sets him apart. When a viral video showed an emotional fan crying at his Delhi concert, social media critics called it excessive. Diljit responded with a video compilation of crying fans, saying, “It’s ok, it’s ok to cry. Music is an emotion.” He added in Punjabi, “There is smile, dance, bhangra, gidda and even crying in it. I myself have cried several times after listening to music. Only those people who have emotions can cry.”

The Guwahati show demonstrated this connection repeatedly. He gave away personal items to fans, including his jacket to someone holding a sign requesting a memento. A young boy dressed as Diljit’s “mini-me” got to dance on stage. Perhaps most touching was when he invited up a girl whose placard read, “My mother is a big fan of yours. She is in Ludhiana and wants to meet you.” Her emotional reaction wasn’t idol worship - it was the vulnerability that comes from feeling truly seen.

Political Resonance

Even Prime Minister Narendra Modi couldn’t resist Diljit’s charm. Their meeting produced a collaborative video on January 1, 2025, where Modi praised him as “a combination of talent and tradition.” Their exchange touched on India’s diversity, yoga, and personal journeys, with Diljit noting how Modi’s relationship with his mother and the Ganges resonated deeply with people.

This high-level endorsement seemed to nullify earlier restrictions, including Ludhiana’s attempts to limit his performance. The contrast highlighted the sometimes-arbitrary nature of such regulations.

The Concert Experience

The show kicked off at 7:30 pm with screens flashing montages of Diljit’s global journey. The AI emcee’s voice boomed through the speakers, sending chills down spines: “THE BIGGEST PUNJABI ARTIST ON THE PLANET.” Even for non-fans like me, the energy was electric.

“G.O.A.T” exploded onto the stage with Diljit’s crystal-clear voice:

“Diamond’an de naal tolda

Jinna tera bhaar, goriye

Gabhru taan vairi nu vi mittha bolda

Ni tu taan phir jatt da pyaar, goriye”

That first note said everything - this man was here to SING. His powerful voice, hitting those high notes that make veteran singers sweat, filled the arena. At 40 (turning 41 on January 6), he moved and sounded like someone who’d just hit their twenties, explaining why fans of all ages connect with him so deeply.

The background dancers were a feast for the eyes, their costumes changing with each segment to match Diljit’s evolving wardrobe. He smoothly transitioned between traditional Sikh attire with his signature turban to modern jackets (one of which found a new home with a lucky fan).

From my spot in the back of the gold zone (note to self: arrive earlier next time), Diljit appeared tiny on stage. But the massive screens and my phone’s camera helped capture every move. The distance didn’t matter - his energy reached every corner.

“Do you know?” had everyone shouting the hook, even those who mumbled through the verses.

The appearance of Sia’s animated figure on screen during “Hass Hass” sparked confusion and excitement - “Is that Sia?” echoed through the crowd.

The audience’s linguistic diversity didn’t matter - even those who didn’t understand Punjabi were caught up in the music’s emotion. When he performed “Lover,” the crowd erupted, many remembering his viral duet with Ed Sheeran in Mumbai earlier that year.

“Ikk Kudi” provided the night’s most powerful moment - no autotune, no lip syncing, no backing vocals, just Diljit and later, a single guitarist. The audience fell silent, many visibly moved. It proved what I’d realised throughout the night: there are no bad seats at a Diljit concert.

Between songs, he’d chat with the audience in a mix of Punjabi, Hindi, and English, making everyone feel included. “How many of you remember my old songs? The old Diljit songs?” he’d ask, before diving into beloved classics that had even security guards nodding along.

The setlist was carefully crafted to keep the energy flowing - up-tempo numbers got people dancing, while slower songs offered moments to catch your breath and feel the music. Even those who came for “Instagram stories” found themselves putting their phones down, caught up in the moment.

More than Music

Walking out that night, past groups still dancing in the parking lot, past families taking last-minute photos, past teenagers teaching their parents Punjabi phrases, something became clear. Music doesn’t need translation when it makes you feel this alive.

It raised a fundamental question: Who decides what music is “good” or “bad” when it can make people feel loved, free, and temporarily forget their troubles?

The politics, the controversies, the “legal notices” - they all seem small compared to thousands of people finding joy together. Maybe that’s why Diljit keeps winning hearts. In a world quick to judge and divide, he simply shows up and shares his love for music. No pretense, no preaching, just pure connection.

From the die-hard fans who knew every word to first timers like me who came out of curiosity, everyone left with stories to tell. And isn’t that what great music does? It gives us moments worth remembering, worth sharing, worth living again through the telling.

In an era of divisive discourse and moral panics about popular culture, Diljit Dosanjh represents something rare - an artiste who brings people together through joy rather than controversy, even when controversy comes looking for him. His Dil-Luminati is evident to music’s power to transcend boundaries, whether they’re linguistic, cultural, or bureaucratic.