If you follow me on Instagram, you already know I went to Diljit Dosanjh’s concert on April 27, and I haven’t stopped talking about it since.

Diljit announced his Dil-luminati tour in the fall of 2023, and I bought my ticket in the pre-sale. Like every fan, I diligently waited six months to witness Diljit making history. The whole night was so surreal, and it felt like a dream.

As the audience gathered and the stadium filled, anticipation rose in the atmosphere. Everyone was waiting for the man of the hour to arrive and captivate us with his energy.

So, when the moment arrived, I had goosebumps, teary eyes, shaking hands, and trembling legs—as if I had been transported to a different zone for a minute. I had to remind myself that this was happening in reality; it was the reality that a single man managed to bring 54,000 people together under one roof and cheer for Punjabi music.

There is no question about Diljit’s capability as a performer, singer, or artist. He is at the top of his game, and we can always expect him to deliver his A-game. Therefore, as expected, the night was nothing but phenomenal. He opened the show with the title track of his hit album G.O.A.T. from 2020, ending with a Chauffeur and Mai Hoon Panjab remix. The man performed for 2.5 hours, and there was not even one second when the crowd was not singing, dancing, and cheering along with him. I doubt if anyone sat in their seats; the energy was so electrifying that even the non-dancers like me were dancing to the beats of Diljit.

I can continue about his amazing performance, but here I want to explore why this win, this history written by Diljit, feels so personal. Why does it feel like our own win? Why is everyone so proud of what he did?

He has elevated Punjabi music, culture, and Punjabiat to an international level. People worldwide are now recognizing Punjabi music, and his collaborations with international artists are breaking several records and norms. He has made Punjab the centre of attention.

Punjabi culture and community have always been the first ones to show up whenever the society has needed something, but they have not received the respect that they deserve.

The harsh truth is that they are looked down upon, generalized, and stereotyped. A Punjabi person has been confined to the boundaries of loud clothes, high-pitched voices, alcohol, party-sharty, and butter chicken for a long time.

It took long enough for the world to realize that they are humans like everyone else and are much more than Bollywood represents them to be.

They are spiritual, hardworking people who enjoy and live with Seva-bhav.

So, when Diljit, a middle-class guy from Dosanjh Kalan, sells a stadium with 54,000 capacity outside of Punjab and outside of India, he puts Pujabiat on the world stage and makes every Punjabi believe they belong.

As Diljit stated in his recent interview with Anubhav Singh Bassi, he is on a mission to show the world that Punjabis are much more than the world perceives them to be. He is quite literally proving that every day, that too, without pulling anyone else down. His hard work shines through, and as he says, “Karan wala mai nahi han, eh sab kuch oh rabb karwa rhea hai mere kolo .”

I am extremely vocal about my love for Sikhi, Punjab, Punjabi people and Punjabiat, but the reality is that I am not a Punjabi. I feel connected to the community(maybe from a past life), but technically, I am not one of them.

So, when it was repeatedly stated that 54,000 Punjabis came together to support Diljit and create history together, I felt a bit sad; it pinched a little when Diljit said, “Punjabi veerey kuch vi kar sake han” because, by birth, I am not a Punjabi. I was born into a Hindu family, so does that make me an imposter among those 54,000 people? Does that make me less part of the history? Does that make me less proud? Does that mean that Diljit does not acknowledge his fans from other communities, or do we not matter as much as Punjabi fans?

I thought a lot about it and realized that it is not about being Punjabi or not; it is about giving credit where it is due and claiming what is theirs, as Harpo would say, proudly taking as much space as they need to fit in.

We all know how much the people of Punjab have gone through; the wounds from the 1984 genocide are still fresh for so many families. Being labelled terrorists, anti-nationals, etc., is not normal. I recently watched Gippy Grewal’s interview on Chai with T, where he shared how his brother had to cut his hair because when he used to wear a turban, he was abducted a few times.

So, for a community that is always at the forefront of helping others but has faced so much themselves, it is natural for them to feel the need and urge to prove themselves, to take space, and to claim that all those 54,000 thousand people were, in fact, Punjabis.

But why do I still feel proud even after feeling left out for a bit? Why does Diljit’s win still feel like my own?

I am proud because, even though he is Punjabi, he is a human first, and I love him with all my heart. I have been listening to him for about 20 years, and witnessing his journey has been nothing less than a privilege.

I am proud of his resilience, determination, perseverance to do better, and persistence to uplift his community. I am proud of his groundedness despite the fame he has achieved. I am proud of his humbleness in crediting his success to his fans. I am proud of his spiritual journey while enjoying his presence in his human form. I am proud of the wit with which he handles the people who try to pull him down.

He has shown ordinary people that it is okay to dream big. He has taught us that our karma is to work hard toward achieving our dreams without worrying about the outcome. After all, as he said, “eh tan majak majak ch hi stadium bharta.”

Diljit has shown us not to take hate seriously and to live an intentional life with love and kindness, which is why his win feels so personal. He is one of us, just another man working hard to make his family and community proud.

His journey inspires people like me who want to dare to dream big and work towards those dreams. He is the one who has made persistence hot and hard work cool for me.

When I was going to the concert, I remembered when Diljit performed at P.N.E. in 2019; his tickets were around $100, and I could not afford them. I was a student then, and $100 felt like a lot. So, when I could not go, I was extremely sad and disappointed.

Then, in 2022, when Diljit performed at Rogers Arena, I purchased a ticket for $185. I was a little close to the stage, but not a lot. That night, I promised myself to see him up close next time. So, when the tickets were released for April 27, 2024, I got myself a floor seat right next to the stage and paid $500 for it.

I mentioned the pricing because I was reflecting on how, years ago, $100 was unaffordable for me, and now, years later, I could afford a ticket for $500 without breaking my bank to fulfil my dream of seeing Diljit from up close.

My hard work made me reach this point in my life, which is another reason why Diljit’s win feels personal to me. He made me realize how I am slowly building a life for myself where I am and pursuing and living my dreams.

It reminded me of Diljit’s intro from his album G.O.A.T., where he says, “Mehnat Karni he paine ae.
Jene swarg lena Onu Marna he paina
Mar koi hor jaave, Swarg kise hor nu mil jaave
Edda ni hunda
Gallan karan naal ni Kaka kam karan naal hunda
Kar k dikhao koi dunia te kam mushkil ni ae Karna.”

While thinking of that, I put out another manifestation that night. When Diljit comes back with his new tour in 2026, Inshallah, I will be doing something that will give me an opportunity to talk to him so that I can complete my journey of not being able to afford his ticket to meet him and use that as a reminder in my remaining life that perseverance and belief are all I need.