(With inputs from Chandana Nagaraju)
As Pride Month began this June, conversations around LGBTQIA+ representation and inclusion took centre stage online. Among them was a debate surrounding Punjabi singer-actor Diljit Dosanjh’s song Aroma, which drew criticism from members of the queer community over the alleged use of a derogatory term for transgender people. The controversy quickly expanded, sparking discussions on the impact of language in popular culture, the responsibility of artistes with large platforms, and whether social media outrage helps or hinders meaningful conversations about discrimination. While opinions remain divided, the incident has once again brought questions of representation, accountability, and the lived realities of queer and trans communities into public focus.
The conversation has unfortunately shifted. What began as queer and trans people expressing genuine hurt has now become another debate about ‘cancel culture’. The focus should remain on understanding why people were offended and addressing the harm caused, rather than reducing it to a question of whether someone is being unfairly targeted. As someone involved in both queer advocacy and public life, I believe accountability is an act of care. A meaningful response from him would begin with acknowledging that the language used was harmful. Not an ‘I’m sorry if you were offended,’ but an understanding of why the criticism exists. Condemning harmful language is necessary. But the goal should not simply be punishment – it should be growth, understanding, and ensuring that our cultural spaces become safer and more respectful for everyone.
As an entertainment lawyer, I don’t believe in exercising creative control over an artiste’s work, but I do believe artists must be accountable for the social impact of their art. Art reflects society, but it also shapes public perception. When a work reinforces negative stereotypes about an already marginalised community, accountability becomes important because such representations can deepen existing biases. The debate around separating art from the artiste is ultimately subjective and often depends on the nature of the offence. In situations like these, there is no one-size-fits-all response, but artistes should be willing to listen to criticism and acknowledge the influence they hold. Ultimately, how audiences engage with an artiste’s work depends on the nature of the issue and the values they choose to prioritise. At the same time, today, almost everyone gets ‘cancelled’ online, turning it into a temporary public relations crisis rather than a meaningful form of accountability, as collective attention quickly moves on to the next controversy.
The focus on Diljit Dosanjh risks overshadowing a much larger issue. What matters more are the anti-trans laws being passed across the world and the lives lost to discrimination and marginalisation. His song may have added fuel to that fire, but the problem itself runs much deeper than one artiste. That is why I don’t think even a response or apology is the most important thing here. As a wealthy global performer in his 40s, he should already understand the impact of language and representation. What is needed is a change in the kind of art and messaging being normalised. I also don’t believe in separating art from the artiste. Artistes actively promote their work and the values embedded within it. When harmful ideas are reflected in that work, audiences have every right to question, criticise and hold them accountable rather than placing public figures on a pedestal.
Outside of certain social media circles and news outlets, most people are unaware of the issue. Diljit’s music is largely consumed as party music, and many listeners are not paying close attention to the lyrics, especially since a large section of his audience does not speak Punjabi. That said, the debate does highlight a larger issue around LGBTQIA+ representation in Indian media. Greater representation could help challenge the idea that queerness is a foreign or Western concept rather than something that has always existed in Indian society.
While there has been progress in recent years with more queer-affirmative stories, incidents like this reveal how deeply entrenched certain ideas about gender and masculinity remain. The issue is not just the use of a slur, but the broader notion of masculinity that the lyrics appear to celebrate, where courage and worth are tied to a narrow, heteronormative idea of being a man. Representation in popular culture matters because it shapes how society understands and engages with marginalised communities. That is why artistes should be accountable for the messages their work sends. While I would like to hear a response from Dosanjh, I am more interested in an explanation and acknowledgement of the concerns raised than in simply labelling him as a transphobic individual. Public criticism of influential art is both necessary and legitimate.