Bhojpuri cinema is expanding rapidly. Songs from new films are eagerly awaited, and the industry is hailed for its booming business. Yet, big money and mass popularity do not automatically translate into quality cinema or meaningful content. The market has compelled us to celebrate numbers, even when what is being produced is deeply troubling.
A recent incident at a live show in Lucknow highlights this crisis. A Bhojpuri superstar was seen inappropriately touching a co-artist on stage and making outrageous remarks. The woman, left with no choice, smiled awkwardly. Later, once back in Haryana, she blamed the industry and announced she would no longer work in Bhojpuri cinema. Actor Pawan Singh eventually apologised, but this was not the first such episode.
Bhojpuri stars often enjoy not just celebrity status but also community iconhood. Pawan Singh is not an isolated case. His contemporary Khesari Lal Yadav is known for double-meaning dialogues that, if uttered by an ordinary person, could invite jail. Other leading names—Manoj Tiwari, Ravi Kishan, and Dinesh Lal Yadav—have delivered similar content before moving into politics, with some now serving as Members of Parliament. One wonders whether they themselves could watch their own films and songs with their families.
The obsession with “reach” has corrupted artistic values. Everything is now measured by likes, views, and viral clips. But reach alone cannot be the measure of quality. When democracy itself begins to bow before this logic, it sets a dangerous precedent.
It is also telling that many heroines and vamps in Bhojpuri cinema come from outside the region—Assam, Bengal, Haryana, Delhi—reflecting a patriarchal social order. Local women are expected to adhere to cultural restrictions while men exercise unchecked freedom.
The larger cultural crisis of Bhojpuri cinema and literature cannot be ignored. It is time people in Eastern Uttar Pradesh and Bihar speak out against the vulgarity flooding their screens. The reels and songs being circulated are, in many cases, shameful distortions of the Bhojpuri identity. One cannot dismiss this simply as entertainment—it is shaping a generation’s attitudes towards women and society.
We must also remember that resistance to this vulgarity is not new. Subhash Chandra Kushwaha began an important initiative in Kushinagar through Lokrang, an annual festival celebrating Bhojpuri folk culture and literature. Such efforts need to be multiplied across Uttar Pradesh and Bihar to counter the current degradation. Bhojpuri cinema should be a source of pride, not embarrassment.
There is much to learn from the Bhojpuri-speaking diaspora in Mauritius, Suriname, Fiji, Guyana, and Africa, where people have held on to their cultural values with dignity. Listening to Raj Mohan sing in Sarnami reminds us of the beauty and depth of this language—sweet, warm, and profound.
But in India, the social climate makes it difficult to demand accountability. Even when a star apologises, as Pawan Singh did, his supporters insist he did nothing wrong. For them, such behaviour is “normal,” and therein lies the problem. Bhojpuri cinema, tied to caste-based popularity and male-centric audiences, ends up reinforcing patriarchy. Its dialogues and songs hand new tools of domination to men while normalising the insult of women.
The real question is not whether one star or another is guilty—it is how society has failed by letting such content thrive. Cinema has the power to bring social change. Instead, Bhojpuri cinema has largely reinforced Brahmanical patriarchy and anti-woman, anti-Dalit values. Unless people rise and question these so-called stars, the vulgarity will only deepen.
The Bhojpuri language deserves better. Its speakers deserve better. And the younger generation deserves a cinema that uplifts rather than degrades. The choice lies with us: will we challenge this trend, or continue to cheer for its decline into vulgarity?
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*Human rights defender
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