Watch 'Jodi' For Diljit Dosanjh, Watch it to Know About the Power of Chamkila

Despite some rough edges, Diljit Dosanjh-starrer Jodi is a fine film.

When Amar Singh ‘Chamkila’ was gunned down in 1988, the singer was just 27 years old, but already a cult figure. His audio cassettes surpassed the sales of all other singers, his public shows or ‘akharas’ drawing huge crowds. I should know. I was 16 then.

At the height of the militancy in Punjab, the ‘Jodi’ of Chamkila and his famous duets with Amarjot Kaur, were the one bright spot for us college students.

Thirty five years later, I am at the same college in Nabha, (near Patiala) Punjab, except now I teach English here. But I’m still fascinated by popular culture, and so, along with my fellow lecturers Ms Neeru, Ms Poonam, and my brother Anubhav (who was 14 back then), I went to see Diljit Dosanjh and Nimrat Khaira in and as Jodi, at Nabha’s ‘eklauta’ Balraj cinema hall.

It’s the story of Amar Singh ‘Chamkila’ and Amarjot Kaur, but with character names changed. So Diljit, (playing Chamkila) is called ‘Sitaara’ in the film, and Nimrat (playing Amarjot) is called Kamaljot.

So, I saw Jodi and I loved it. And I use ‘loved it’ responsibly. I loved it, because I ‘lived’ it. Before I get to the movie, I would love to share some personal anecdotes.

While watching the film, suddenly my colleagues and I must have surprised the audience, because we all went, “Oye!! It’s Vijay Yamla!!” Our colleague from the Punjab University in Patiala, was IN THE FILM! We were overjoyed, but we should have been less surprised because Vijay Yamla is an accomplished musician, who has been involved in quite a few film projects. And he is the grandson of Punjab’s legendary singer Lal Chand Yamla Jatt.

Vijay plays one of Sitaara’s band members and he is in several scenes, including the most important climax. I spoke to Vijay and he said that all the instruments that are seen being played through the film – be it the iconic ‘tumbi’ (or ‘ektara’) which we see Sitaara use, or the harmonium and ‘dholak’ – all of these were actually played by him. He has acted pretty well too. I just wish the director had, at least, given his character a name.

Another nugget I dug out from Vijay was that his nephew Riyaz, great grandson of Yamla Jatt, is the voice of the young Sitaara, whose pet-name as a kid was Rania. Rania is wonderfully enacted by Gurvinder Mattoo, who injects young Sitaara’s character with all the wit, optimism and singing skills that we see Diljit carry forward.

There's another personal boast – apart from the tumbi, the other wonderful instrument that we hear right through the film, bringing to life the simple rustic Punjabi music of the ‘70s and ‘80s, is the flute. And playing the flute is Simran Singh – who is a former student of mine from Government Ripudaman College, Nabha. More power to filmmakers like Amberdeep Singh for choosing to work with talent from Punjab.

Now, coming to Jodi. The film gets the story of Chamkila right. It gets the flavour of his music right. It gets the sense behind his controversial lyrics right. It stays true to the essence of his musical and personal relationship with Amarjot Kaur. It also gets the tense militancy-dominated atmosphere of Punjab in the 1980s right.

The credit goes to director and writer Amberdeep Singh, who is behind other acclaimed Punjabi films like Lahoriye and Angrej.

Nimrat Khaira as Kamaljot is very convincing. The supporting cast is also good – particularly Hardeep Gill as Sitaara’s ustaad and Ravinder Mand as Sitaara’s childhood friend and manager, Bhola.

But the film belongs to Diljit, who gets the part of Amar Singh Sitaara (Chamkila) so right. Despite losing his mother at the age of 8, giving up school to raise his younger siblings, working as a labourer to make ends meet, Sitaara remains a total optimist. Diljit gives us a Sitaara who is simple, yet resourceful and quick-witted. Diljit’s Sitaara has an ever-ready disarming and positive smile. Diljit portrays a Sitaara who just loves to sing, loves to write and compose songs. Whenever and wherever inspiration strikes, be it at a sharaab ki dukaan or in the middle of his sister’s wedding pheras, out comes a song. And Diljit delivers on every one of these nuances.

The other star of the movie is its script. Amberdeep weaves typical Punjabi humour into every situation, no matter how serious. Sitaara and Kamaljot’s initial collaboration hits a series of jinxes, which are humorously handled. They also tell us about Punjab’s ‘akhara’ tradition of local singers performing in villages on makeshift stages, even tractor trolleys, and travelling for shows in buses and tangas.

Also well-scripted is Sitaara and Kamaljot’s love story – the rough ride before they became popular and finally being there for each other even in the face of death threats. The script helps the excellent chemistry between Diljit and Nimrat on screen.

Nimrat as Kamaljot, who is otherwise demure, saying little, but comes alive when she’s on stage with Sitaara, is good. She is understated, which contrasts well with Sitaara’s effervescent personality.

The other ‘character’ in the film that shines is its music. Chamkila’s honest lyrics about the real life in Punjab - patriarchy, drug use, dowry, child labour, extra-marital relationships, gun culture – were a change from the romantic songs that other local singers preferred. Chamkila's songs made him a cult figure but also created enemies. As his popularity grew, other performers grew jealous and we see a glimpse of that in the film. We see his rivals using the media to spin controversies around his lyrics. That led to Sikh militants noticing him. We see Sitaara meeting Sikh militants, offering to cut a few religious albums, but still choosing to stick the songs that defined him. It seems one of his last tapes, 'Bhukki Vich Andar Ho Gaya' (‘Jailed For Peddling Opium’), was particularly disliked by the militants, who were pushing for a more ‘puritan’ lifestyle across Punjab in the ‘80s. We see Sitaara, Kamaljot and two members of their band being mowed down by bullets as they were headed for an ‘akhara’ performance – the killers were never identified or caught.

Some are comparing Indo-Canadian rapper Sidhu Moosewala with Chamkila, since Moosewala too was shot dead by unknown assailants just a year ago, and was known for his controversial lyrics. But the comparison ends there. Unlike Chamkila, Moosewala did lionise gun culture in some of his songs. Chamkila also stayed well away from politics, while Moosewala did venture into politics. 

That said, Jodi does show the influence that Sikh militancy had on life in Punjab in the ‘80s, so much so that even a popular singer had to think twice about the songs he sang. And when he didn’t toe the line, it seems he paid with his life, though it has never been proven that Sikh militants were responsible for Chamkila’s killing. I believe that even today, by retaining that reference and strongly hinting at the role of Sikh militants, Amberdeep has shown courage.     

 I’d like to end with Sitaara’s last line in the film, as he realises that his band members and his beloved Kamaljot have been shot dead - he turns to the assassin who hesitated in firing at him and says – “Maar de veere, Jodi tutni nahi chahidi! (Kill me brother, a jodi should not be broken)."

Despite some rough edges, Jodi is a fine film. Unfortunately, some uncertainty about its release has dented audience numbers, but even now you could go and watch Pollywood’s ‘coming of age’ movie. You will like it.

(Dr Geeta Sharma is a Professor at Govt. Ripudaman College, in Nabha, Punjab, where she teaches English Literature. She has a keen interest in Punjabi popular culture, and how it intersects with society and politics.)