**5. Dance, Masculinity, Resistance**

Celebratory narratives of bhangra's acquisition of the status of the ethnocultural signifier of South Asian, Punjabi, or Sikh identity and its emancipatory potential were undercut by grave academic anxieties about its a ffirmation of traditional Punjabi/Sikh/Jat patriarchies through its gendered discursive and performative space (Housee and Dar 1996). Concerns about bhangra's perpetuation of traditional hypermasculinity and heteronormativity voiced by some producers and scholars were relegated to the background in the emancipating possibilities it o ffered for the consolidation of resistant Asian subjectivities. In addition to the fact that *giddha*, the traditional dance performed by women in Punjab remained invisible in contrast to the visibility and appropriation of bhangra in diasporic identity formation (Purewal and Kalra 2010), the conspicuous female absence in bhangra production shows that bhangra's resistance to racism did not unsettle gender hierarchies.<sup>6</sup> Although young South Asian women's convergence on bhangra performance in resisting hegemonies of race and gender was synchronous with those of their male counterparts, bhangra's emancipatory e ffects in their lived experience were restricted to the consumption of music and performance of dance. Several interviews, essays, and studies have examined the resistance by young women to the gendered narrative of bhangra by insinuating their way into the hypermasculine space of bhangra production and consumption and challenging gender stereotypes (Gopinath 1995; Bakrania 2013). The early work of Gayatri Gopinath

<sup>6</sup> Invisible or marginalized as producers, women are conspicuously visible in the bhangra music videos as the reified objects of the Jat's desire. The fetishization of the female body in traditional bhangra lyrics is accentuated in the visual genre as the camera's lascivious gaze lingers on the exposed female body to sate global voyeuristic pleasures (Gera Roy 2010). In particular, the misogynist male gaze of bhangra rap videos fixed on sexualized female bodies represents women as promiscuous temptresses who may be exploited with impunity. As Gera Roy points out, "the Jat space is represented in Bhangra texts as an exclusively male space from which the woman must be banished or controlled and invited to play the role of the machista by admiring their manliness (Gera Roy 2015, p. 178)."

looks at bhangra's complex negotiation of race, nation, and gender. Gopinath argues that, bhangra, "as a performance of diaspora becomes complicit in Hindu hegemonic projects to the extent that it reinforces dominant articulations of gender in its construction of a (male) diasporic subject" and of the woman as an embodiment of a pure, unsullied tradition and homeland (Gopinath 1995, p. 316).

Falu Bakrania's *Bhangra and the Asian Underground* focuses on the club-going activities of a group of educated, professional women that interrogate the construction of the Punjabi/Sikh/Asian woman as the guardians of tradition through their visiting clubs in London, an activity that would be considered taboo for 'good' girls (Bakrania 2013). Yet, the clubgoers in Bakrania's book construct themselves as 'good' girls by di fferentiating themselves from promiscuous 'bad' girls. Clubgoing could be viewed as constituting a resistant gesture that replies to traditional patriarchal injunctions against partying and clubbing through which female conduct and sexuality are regulated. In their responses to ethnographers, female clubgoers confess to enjoying the freedom that the mere act of stepping out of the house, wearing certain kind of attire, consuming alcohol, or dancing in mixed gender space signifies with respect to the breaking of patriarchal taboos (Bakrania 2013). However, although female clubgoers' challenging Punjabi/Sikh patriarchy through the forbidden act of clubbing, drinking, and dancing is perceived as emancipatory, they paradoxically identify with the sexualized, reified object of the male desire in the bhangra text through their pleasure in the consumption of bhangra. Thus, the female clubgoers, in their rejection of the patriarchal stereotype of the coy, vulnerable, virginal Sikh woman, unwittingly succumb to the risk of auto-objectification.

Sandeep Bakshi's uncovering of "the availability of queer infra-politics in Giddha performances" reveals that "a critique of heteropatriarchy" could be located "within traditional Punjabi female genres" (Bakshi 2016, p. 13). However, resistance to the gender hierarchies governing the space of bhangra production and consumption have largely been addressed by the interrogation of bhangra's sexist, hypermasculinist, patriarchal ethos through women's usurpation of positions traditionally assigned to men. If female bhangra DJs like Radical Sista and Ritu in Britain, Rekha in New York, or Ameeta in Canada were the first to challenge the gendered norms of Punjabi performative traditions (Ballantyne 2006, p. 153), UK's first female drummer Parv Kaur formed her dhol band 'Eternal Taal' to deconstruct the stereotype of the male dhol player through demonstrating that women's physical di fference was no barrier to their ability to handle heavy instruments that required strength and stamina.

The examples of pioneering DJs like Radical Sista, Ritu, Rekha, and Ameeta, dhol players like Parv Kaur and all-female bhangra teams demonstrate that resistance to gendered hierarchies can be performed in innumerable ways. The image of the salwar kameez clad Radical Sista who was the only female DJ in the 1990s and felt isolated but resolutely refused to "dress up and play a role" or "take any crap" from the male clubgoers suggests that resistance to patriarchy could take place without women having to adopt aggressive masculine behavior (quoted in Kalia 2019). In sharp contrast to Radical Sista, Rekha, who has successfully challenged the masculinist stereotype through hosting a very successful Bhangra night in New York City, does so through a complete rejection of stereotyped Punjabi female attire or conduct. On the other hand, Parv Kaur, who began to play the dhol at the tender age of 12, disengaged the conventional signification of the dhol as a masculine instrument through co-opting the masculine characteristics of strength, energy, and stamina in her feminine ensemble. The all-female bhangra teams claim to be motivated by the desire to disprove that its strong, masculinist movements are impossible or inappropriate for female performers and to dissolve the segregated boundaries of Punjabi dance.

The discursive construction of the woman as an embodiment of tradition in the bhangra text through the figures of the self-abnegating mother and the virginal beloved is inverted in the lived space of performance through the resistive acts performed by female DJs, musicians, or dancers. In their wresting of the right to indulge in vocations, activities, and conduct that is traditionally sanctioned by Punjabi/Sikh patriarchy for their male counterparts, female producers and consumers unwittingly assume a masculine or hypermasculine posture. This shattering of gender stereotypes is believed to be progressive and liberating and is celebrated in analyses of bhangra as providing agency, albeit limited, to women. However, these resistant acts are unable to demolish the patriarchal ideological structures underpinning bhangra texts that are glorified in the song lyrics or the gendered violence through which relations between male and female consumers are governed in the space of the club. The assumption of gender roles such as playing the dhol, deejaying at nightclubs, performing in bhangra teams, or visiting clubs could be perceived as an emancipatory act so far as it challenges Punjabi/Sikh patriarchy. None of these resistive gestures, however, question the hypermasculine, sexist, casteist aesthetic naturalized both in the bhangra text and performance.

#### **6. Hard Kaur: The first Asian Female Rapper**

In view of the fact that only an insignificant number of female singers with the exception of Rani Ranbir, Satwinder Bitti, Rajeshwari Sachdev, or Kamaljit Neeru were able to make a dent in the male bhangra monopoly in the 1990s, the emergence of the first female rapper on the hypermasculine arena of bhangra rap a decade and half later could be considered a major breakthrough. A revisiting of Taran Kaur Dhillon alias Hard Kaur's pathbreaking incursion into the hypermasculine, misogynist rap space reveals that grit, determination, and sheer bravado can, in fact, surmount any obstacles that a female performer might face in infiltrating the male dominated bhangra scenario. Born in Kanpur to Sikh parents, Hard Kaur migrated to UK in 1984 after her mother was turned out by her paternal grandparents following the death of Kaur's father and was coerced by her own parents into remarrying an older Sikh. It was Kaur's direct experience of racism, sexism, and classism in school and abuse at home that transformed her from a demure Sikh girl to a fighter, "They'd say stu ff like why've you go<sup>t</sup> two plaits? Did you live in a hut in India? Did you have a toilet? I used to cry when I came home (quoted in Sharma 2008)." When she returned from school one day to find her mother's face completely bruised after the battering she had go<sup>t</sup> from her stepfather, she beat up her stepfather and reported him to the police. "After the police took him away, I told my mom that she doesn't need a man. I said, 'I'll be your husband, your son, and your daughter (quoted in I for You Team 2019)." She recalls that it was her refusal to put up with bullying in school that won her the respect of her peers and led to her turning to hip hop, "I wasn't taking it from anyone anymore. In school, I stood up to a girl who was bullying me. Another group of girls were impressed and introduced me to Hip Hop (quoted in I for You Team 2019)."

Hard Kaur's struggle with race, class, and gender during her adolescent years toughened her and fueled her determination to break all barriers. Her explanation for assuming the name Hard Kaur was the beginning of her questioning of Sikh gendered norms that enjoin a Kaur to be gentle, demure, and obedient.

I was a 'soft' Kaur. I used to obey and follow everything, that people asked me to, which was not of worth I later realized. This world has made me Hard Kaur. And I am thankful to people who are an obstacle for me and created problems for me, which is where I developed my urge to succeed from. (quoted in Walia 2013)

Hard Kaur has been alternatively vilified and applauded for her willful transgression of Punjabi/Sikh patriarchal gender hierarchies and norms. Her daredevil image and unconventional behavior have been exploited by the press for its shock value even as her pioneering e fforts in the field of music have been commended. The juxtaposition of these twin opinions reveals that while her shattering of the stereotype of the Asian female musician or Hindi playback singer along with her innovative, original brand of music have been perceived as emancipating the Asian sonic space, her attire and conduct at live events has attracted the wrath of traditionalists. Her generalized subversion of Hindu and Sikh patriarchal strictures in her early albums was perceived as an empowering gesture for female singers not conforming to the stereotyped construction of the female voice quality, themes, and behavior in the Indian music industry. However, her turning up drunk at events, hurling expletives, and using disrespectful language at an event in Chandigarh o ffended the sensibilities of Sikhs present there (JSinghnz 2013). More recently, she was booked for her abusive social posts against Hindu

nationalist leaders like Yogi Adityanath, the Chief Minister of UP, and Mohan Bhagwat, the Chief of the Hindu nationalist organization Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), when she went a step further by challenging the Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi and right wing activists of the RSS to a one to one duel and extended her support to the pro-Khalistan movement by posing with separatist Khalistanis (Arya 2019). Whether her acts, speech, and conduct have been intentionally cultivated to approximate the stereotyped image of the rap singer or timed and calculated to boost her album sales or not, they are in complete opposition to the patriarchal construction of the Sikh woman.

An analysis of Hard Kaur's public image produced through visual, vocal, and kinetic signifiers reveals the extent to which it has been meticulously cultivated to fit into that of the female rap performer. Hard Kaur claims to have been introduced to rap and hip hop while she was in school and acknowledges the appeal that rap lyrics and style, which emerged from the privations, abuses, and violence faced by working-class black migrants in Britain, had for an Asian woman like her subjected to domestic violence and racism. She has also shared the possibilities that the musical genre, which naturalized both violence and resistance, o ffered her to articulate her experiential angs<sup>t</sup> emerging from the intersection of class, race, and gender in the oppression of black people in Britain. She has often spoken about how her induction into the rap scene through her schoolmates enabled her to cope with the domestic and professional pressures she was confronted with in her lived experience. She uses rap, a male-dominated black music characterized by its misogynist lyrics, violence, and gangland culture, as an e ffective tool for confronting Asian/Punjabi/Sikh hegemonic structures. The question whether the image was carefully cultivated as a strategy to break into the male dominated bhangra or rap scene or was a logical step propelled by a similar experience of domestic violence and racism shared by working class Punjabi/Sikh immigrants with black migrants remains unanswered. However, a rearrangemen<sup>t</sup> of her life story to match the life narratives of oppressed black women and doubly oppressed black women that would enable a Sikh young woman to enter the black rap scene cannot be completely ruled out.<sup>7</sup>

The music of female rappers reveals the diverse ways they respond to the five themes undergirding rap's misogynist lyrics: (a) Derogatory naming and shaming of women, (b) sexual objectification of women, (c) legitimization of violence against women, (d) distrust of women, and (e) celebration of prostitution and pimping, which have been identified by Ronald Weitzer and Charis E. Kubrin (Weitzer and Kubrin 2009). Female rap represents the female perspective on the experience of racial, class, and ethnic discrimination faced by working class black youth that supplements the male viewpoint with the neglected question of gender. Female black rappers, therefore, focus on the oppressive e ffects of racial violence faced by black males in the public space on the black domestic space in the form of domestic violence and sexual abuse. However, as Matthew Oware points out in "A 'Man's Woman?' Contradictory Messages in the Songs of Female Rappers, 1992–2000," there are very "high numbers of female self-objectification, self-exploitation, and derogatory and demeaning lyrics about women in general (Oware 2009, p. 787)" in female rap that apparently provides an emancipatory forum for the marginalized or oppressed such as women. In Oware's view, "these contradictory lyrics nullify the positive messages that are conveyed by female rap artists, consequently reproducing and upholding hegemonic, sexist notions of femininity, and serving to undermine and disempower women (Oware 2009, p. 787)." Taran Kaur Dhillon's transformation into the rapper Hard Kaur is contingent upon her adoption of the stance of black female rappers, who resist the hypermasculinist, misogynist, sexist, and violent language of male rappers through foraying into the misogynist field of rap and empowering messages but ironically convey and reproduce male hegemonic notions of femininity.

Shanara R. Reid-Brinkley argues "that black women construct an oppositional response to dominant representations of black femininity, while simultaneously engaging in the disciplining of

<sup>7</sup> For instance, although her father did not die in the 1984 anti-Sikh riots, she did not correct the press when it projected her as a victim of the anti-Sikh violence whose family had sought asylum in UK (Kaur 2006, personal communication).

black women's subjectivity (Reid-Brinkley 2008, p. 238)." Reid-Brinkley's analysis of internet responses to the sexual objectification of women in rap music in which she shows that the readers' responses unwittingly borrow the binary of the good and the bad black woman in dominant representations of black women in their upholding of the notion of 'the black queen' who represents traditional black values in order to reverse the sexualized image of the 'ho (whore)' in rap music. Reid-Brinkley points out that black women construct diverse subject positions "around the performance of race, class, and gender as a means to resist dominant representations of black women, while simultaneously engaging in disciplinary practices that constrain black femininity (Reid-Brinkley 2008, p. 236)." Hard Kaur resists dominant white representations of the Asian and (non) dominant Punjabi/Sikh of the Punjabi woman respectively through her assumption of the position of the bad woman or the whore of the male rap video. Her resistance to the notion of respectability through which the good Sikh woman is constructed is expressed through her breaking of the taboos against drinking, mixing, and sex by which Sikh/Punjabi femininity has been disciplined. The "Glassy" song that catapulted Hard Kaur to fame has her indulging in the masculinist pleasure of drinking,

*Ek glassy, do glassy teen glassy char* (One glass, two glasses, three glasses, four)

Put ya hands in da air like u jus dun care, cuz u feel

Lika supastar

*Ik glassy, do glassy teen glassy char*

Ur drunk as hell, n u dunt feel well, but u still go

Bak 2 da bar. (Kaur 2007a, "*Ek Glassy*")

Her self-representation as an independent hardworking woman entitled to drinking and partying at the end of a busy week in "*Peeney do*"replies to bhangra songs normalizing drinking as a quintessential male Jat weakness,

Yo I need a drink Yo need a drink I'll be working all week And I need a drink (that's right) *Aha ho ja sharabi* (Let's ge<sup>t</sup> tipsy) *Aha ho ja sharabi* (Let's ge<sup>t</sup> tipsy) (Kaur 2012, "Peeney Do")

In simultaneously replying to rap's misogyny through demystifying the stereotype of the easily available bad girl or whore by threatening to kick the male who dares to misbehave with her, she points to alternative subject positions available to women other than that of the 'the black queen' and the 'ho' (Reid-Brinkley 2008).<sup>8</sup>

Do all da rudeboyz, try n cht U ge<sup>t</sup> sum attention n ur try n kiss Betta keep ur hands of maa skurt

Cuz I will turn around and kik ur whr it hurts. (Kaur 2007a, "Ek Glassy")

<sup>8</sup> The young clubgoers in Bakrania's book, similarly, refuse to fit into the stereotyped representation of the teetotalling, domesticated, reticent good Sikh/Asian girl even as they reject the sexualized position of the bad girl or whore who self-objectifies herself through wearing provocative attire and makes herself easily available to one and all (2013).

*Wali Zalim* 

*Girlfriend*")

In her refusal to occupy the position of the sexualized object of the Jat's desire in the bhangra song and threatening to break the leg of the guy who dares to talk dirty, she suggests that strength, daredevilry, and violence are not the sole prerogative of the Sikh male,

*Jo ladka bola gandi baat Tod ke rakh du uski laat* The guy who talks dirty I will break his leg. (Kaur 2007a, "Ek Glassy")

In "Move your body" where she exhorts all 'sexy gals and boys' to dance, questions the idea of dancing in the club as an exclusively male pastime by legitimizing dancing as every woman's fundamental right,

O yeah all da sexy gals, all da sexy boys (Got ya move ur - 3 body tonite) - 2 like this ... Move ur body baby - 3 *jab kudiye* Move ur body baby, move ur body baby (u go<sup>t</sup> to) *soni baliye* (Got ya move ur - 3 body tonite) - 2 like this like this like this Like this n that n this n that. (Kaur 2007b, "Move your Body")

While refusing to conform to the image of the fetishized object of the Jat's desire, she celebrates her own sexuality and inverts bhangra's gender imbalance by repositioning the male as an instrument for the gratification of her needs in "*Dilli Wali Zalim* Girlfriend",

*Nachna bada ni tera kaim lagda* (Your dancing is very pleasing) *Chakhna pauga tera taim lagda* (I want to taste it but it will take some time) Hey boy *zaalim dilli* is gonna beat to the drum Hey boy I'm calling you Won't you come and give me some Hey boy won't you pick me up *Tu le mera naam* (Call out my name) *Zaalim Delhi meri jaan* (This evil Delhi is going to take my life). (Jazzy B and Kaur 2015,

In expressing her desire for a 'sexy boy' in "Sexy Boy", she invokes the imagery of gangsta rap to displace the desirable female of the male rapper's imagination with that of the desirable male. Through voicing her choice of a desi guy, she speaks back to the allegedly sexist lyrics of Apache Indian's "Arranged Marriage" in which he fetishizes the '*soni kudi*' (beautiful girl) from the heart of Punjab by a conscious play on the lyrics of the male bhangra rapper's iconic song. The '*lafanga* (bad guy)' or gangster who is posited as an alterity to the girl who is "sweet like *jalebi*" in Apache Indian's song parodies gendered patriarchal Punjabi/Sikh norms in which a trace of 'wildness' is deemed desirable in a Jat male but not the Jat female,

 "*Dilli*

Gimme a desi ... .a desi guy Gimme a desi ... who looks so fly IwantamanthatrocksmyworldcuzIneedagangsta

Don't know about you girl but I need a gangsta

*Ek sona munda* (A good-looking guy)

I need a gangsta *te thoda sa lafanga* (and who's bit of a cad) cuz I need a gangsta. (Kaur 2007c, "Sexy Boy")

Beginning with the choice of a stage name that retains her Sikh qualifier, Hard Kaur has never shied away from acknowledging her Sikh origins, which are accentuated by her insertion of Punjabi lyrics and use of Punjabi laced Hindi. In her more recent albums, her self-conscious referencing to specific Jat cultural and Sikh religious concepts has made her Sikh antecedents more pronounced. The titles of some of these songs allude to specific Punjabi literary tropes, Jat cultural codes, and Sikh religious imagery.

The song "Ranjha", the name of the male lover in the legendary Punjabi folk epic *Heer Ranjha* that has become a metaphor for the lover in the Punjabi popular imagination, may be viewed as a subversive reinscription of the Punjabi epic romance. Hard Kaur borrows the trope of the legendary love of Heer and Ranjha as a signifier of true love to redefine the role of the modern day Heer within hypermasculine Jat hierarchy. Her amused response to her male lover's reassuring her not to be afraid, "*Tu darr na kudiye ni..Tu darr na dudiye ni* (don't be afraid girl)", invokes the proverbial fearlessness of the Jat female not only to overturn the stereotype of the protective Jat but also to gain feminine agency,

*Aanh.. di*.. anything for the boy *Tu jo bhi bol* (whatever you say) This my lover boy I loveem Hard Kaur He see now, \_\_ is clear *Aa gaya* [he's here], save better, ge<sup>t</sup> out here I'm by your side or die *Jatti kabhi nahi dari* (The Jat female is never scared) *Main tere naal khadi* (I'm by your side) *Mera ranjha* Deep Money (My Ranjha is Deep Money). (Hard Kaur with Deep Money 2015, "Ranjha")

In "*Sherni*", Hard Kaur appropriates the Sikh metaphor of the '*sher*'(lion) in her parodic play on the male braggadocio and swagger in rap music that equally addresses Jat hypermasculinity. She co-opts the Jat equivalent of the rap swagger called '*bakre bulan*,' a loud roar/call like 'Bruahhhhhhh' in bhangra boliyan often used by male singers to celebrate masculinity, in her own swaggering act to decouple it from Jat masculinity. At the same time, her assumption of the feminine equivalent '*sherni*' of the symbol of the *sher* or lion invokes the religious reinscription of the Sikh male as a courageous warrior by the tenth Guru Gobind Singh to lay a genetic claim to the Sikh warrior legacy in addition to the honorific of Kaur or Princess given to all Sikh women,

My name is Hard Kaur I'm staying here You hear? *KIA* ... *KIA* I go<sup>t</sup> too much swagger in my DNA *Sherni hai, sherni hai, Sherni hai jatti* (The Jat woman is a lioness) *Bol diya so bol diya main piche nahi hati* (She speaks out when she needs to and does not go back on her word)

*Aankh mila lo aur tuda lo* (If you make eye contact, you are asking for getting broken)

*Free mein apni haddi* (your bone for free)

I am a champion. (Kaur 2016, "Sherni")

Hard Kaur was charged with sedition in 2019 for her naming the Indian Prime Minister a terrorist in her new song "Khalistan to Kashmir" (Kaur 2019) and her social media account was suspended for her equally vituperative charges against other right wing Hindu politicians (The Wire Sta ff 2019; Online Desk 2019). The controversial music video has provoked the anger of not only sympathizers of the Hindu party, but also of her former admirers who include Sikhs. Hard Kaur's repeated use of the word rape and obscene language in her social media posts and video has been justifiably criticized for their unparliamentary character. The wisdom of her charging powerful politicians with having committed heinous crimes without evidence and extending her open support to the Khalistani cause has been challenged and led to allegations of her receiving Pakistani support. However, her inversion of the idiom of rape standardized by male rappers to vociferate misogynist sentiments in order to draw parallels between rape as a symbol of hypermasculine anxiety in the sonic sphere of rap music and the political sphere has been overlooked. First of all, she frames her response to death and rape threats by sympathizers of the Hindu party within the hypermasculine idiom of rap in which rape constitutes the most brutal form of sexual violence through which hypermasculinity is defined,

"Why (are) you doing all these girly things? Like sedition charge, 'we're gonna rape you ... we're gonna kill you ... ' Come and fight like a man," she challenged the two veteran politicians. (quoted in TNN 2019)

The second emerges from the proverbial Sikh contempt for the attacker who lacks the courage to make a frontal attack as a dastardly feminine act unbecoming of a real man. Hard Kaur's veiled allusions to Sikh cultural norms in her earlier albums find a culmination in her declaration of her unambiguous commitment to the Khalistani cause in her new video.<sup>9</sup>

Thus, Hard Kaur adopts a hypermasculine bhangra genre to address the misogynism, sexism, and violence of rap to reverse the sexualized, reified Punjabi female of male desire in rap, bhangra, and Punjabi folksong through adopting a number of subject positions that are apparently contradictory. She rejects the binary construction of the idealized *soni kudi* or the good Punjabi/Sikh girl and the bad girl or whore in bhangra and rap music, respectively, to assume the subject position of the strong, independent, hardworking modern Punjabi female. However, she appropriates the features that have traditionally served to define Punjabi/Jat/Sikh masculinity and glorified in bhangra music from the Punjabi/Jat/Sikh male to constitute herself. She constructs this new Punjabi/Jat/Sikh woman through an amalgamation of the qualities of mental strength and courage associated with the Jatti (Jat female) or Sikh woman in the Punjabi popular imaginary and of the bad girl of bhangra who takes an undisguised delight in her beauty, femininity, and sexuality. In her return to rap resistivity in her new albums, she takes on both the Sikh and Hindu patriarchal regimes through invoking Sikh religious symbols and Punjabi cultural tropes.

<sup>9</sup> Kaur marries the hypermasculinist imagery and language of rap with hypermasculine Sikh symbols in her album to invoke and a ffirm stereotyped representations of the bold, fearless, just Sikh warrior. Her braggadocio in challenging Hindu leaders, dissing and name-calling, and open contempt for the oppressive regime echoes rather than interrogates the hypermasculine narrative of Khalistan. She places herself in opposition to the emasculated Hindu male through assuming the position of the hypermasculine warrior.
