Villagers in Punjab are turning Sikh temple courtyards and village halls into makeshift cinemas after Indian officials blocked “Satluj,” a film about human rights activist Jaswant Singh Khalra, then pulled it from a streaming platform in India two days after its debut.
The screenings have spread across the state as Sikh organizations, local activists and residents circulate copies online and show the movie anyway. That’s the basic shape of the fight here: people at the bottom sharing a banned film in communal spaces, while the state and its gatekeepers try to decide what can be seen, remembered, and discussed.
Who Gets to Watch
The film, originally titled “Punjab 95,” tells the true story of Khalra, whose investigation into alleged extrajudicial killings exposed one of the darkest episodes of Punjab’s insurgency in the 1980s and early 1990s. The conflict pitted Sikh militant groups seeking an independent Khalistan against Indian security forces and claimed thousands of civilian, militant and police lives. Rights groups documented allegations of enforced disappearances, custodial killings and secret cremations during the insurgency.
Khalra’s investigation alleged that thousands of people who had disappeared were cremated anonymously by police without informing their families or keeping official records. Khalra was abducted in 1995 and later killed, and several police officers were convicted in connection with his murder. The film’s subject matter alone explains why the authorities would rather keep it boxed up and out of public view.
The movie was stalled for three years after India’s censor board demanded more than 120 cuts. After failing to secure a theatrical release, it debuted on the ZEE5 streaming platform last week, but was removed in India two days later. Officials have not publicly explained why the film was removed, though local media were told it was taken down on security grounds. ZEE5 said in a statement that the film would no longer be available for viewing in India “in light of current developments” and said it would explore “every appropriate avenue through due process” to restore it.
What People Did Instead
Residents didn’t wait for permission. They arranged projectors, audio speakers and power generators, while volunteers spread the word from one household to the next. In Gurdaspur district, Inderjeet Singh Bains helps coordinate the screenings and said the effort is meant to create spaces where people can watch together and reflect on a period of Punjab’s history that still resonates across generations.
“When we screen the film, we see our elders and mothers, many of them 60 or 70 years old, crying because they have lost their sons. Our people have endured immense suffering,” Bains said.
That’s the part the official channels can’t sterilize. The screenings have turned temple compounds and village spaces into shared rooms of memory, with people gathering around a story the state tried to bury under censorship demands and a quiet removal from a platform.
Gurmukh Singh, who attended a screening, said the film gave voice to stories the young in Punjab had heard only in fragments. “After watching the movie, there is a feeling of the grief our earlier generations had to bear,” he said. Balwinder Singh, a Sikh religious leader, said, “Everything happened right before our eyes, so what is there to oppose? The truth is coming to light, and people should be allowed to see it.”
What the Gatekeepers Say
Diljit Dosanjh, who plays Khalra, said he was unconcerned about whether the film remained online because once audiences had seen it, “it cannot be erased.” Pawan Deep Kaur said, “It made us cry endlessly.” Those reactions land harder than any official statement, because they come from the people actually carrying the memory.
The screenings have also reopened debate over artistic freedom in India, where films have increasingly run into censorship battles under Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Hindu nationalist government. Critics say such cases have become more frequent and accuse Modi’s government of promoting films that align with its nationalist narrative. The government says movie certification decisions are made independently under the law.
That’s the familiar script: a board demands more than 120 cuts, a platform removes the film “in light of current developments,” officials hide behind security language, and the public is told the machinery is neutral. Meanwhile, villagers keep building their own spaces to watch, remember and speak together. The state can pull a title from a platform. It can’t so easily pull a story from a courtyard full of people who lived the aftermath.