His voice was as sweet as the melons of Moosa: Sidhu Moosewala's mother

In a new book on slain Punjabi singing sensation Sidhu Moosewala, his parents Balkaur and Charan Singh remember ‘little Gaggu’

The Father

“I guarded the borders of India. Can’t I guard my son? Of course I can. And I will.” Lying on a cot in the courtyard of his large haveli, Balkaur Singh tried to convince himself. The palatial haveli was on the outskirts of their village, unlike their small, two-room ancestral house that stood right in its middle. Shubh, as Balkaur called his son, had only built the haveli a few months ago. “A gift for my parents,” he had said.

Their new mansion had designer interiors. The rooms were spacious and the roof was high. The beds were large and comfortable with mattresses that were soft as bales of cotton. But for Balkaur, nothing compared to his cot, woven with ropes, on which a thin bedsheet was spread.

He preferred it to all else. It had not even been four weeks since the family had moved to its new dwelling. On May 3, after an Akhand path of the Guru Granth Sahib, Balkaur, Charan and Shubhdeep (Sidhu Moosewala) had entered their home. Just about 300 metres from the Mansa-Barnala highway, the haveli was a far cry from their humble home near the village pond where Balkaur and Charan used to live earlier with their son. Back then, Balkaur had been in the army and Charan used to run a primary school from one of the two rooms in the house. Little Shubhdeep sat among the other village children on a mat spread on the floor, in the room or sometimes outside in the small courtyard, for his initial schooling.

Sidhu Moosewala

On days that Balkaur was home, he would enjoy his afternoon siesta on his cot in the courtyard of the old house. Now, lying in this huge haveli, he remembered those peaceful moments. The nights had become long and tense, and peace had evaded him completely. The previous night had been particularly tough. The Punjab government had withdrawn two of the four security personnel from his son’s security duty. The news had broken around 10 am on May 28 and Balkaur had been stressed since then. How would only two guards protect his son round the clock? He would have to do more, Balkaur decided. He had already been up and about at night for many weeks, keeping a vigil. He was sure he could prevent any attack. However, they had been warned that assailants could attack the house armed with sophisticated weapons, grenades, even a rocket-propelled grenade launcher.

The night before, Balkaur had remained perched under a canopy on the rooftop of the haveli, peering into the dark. “Shubh is reckless. He doesn’t exercise caution while mingling with the crowd. But his guards and friends are always with him. They will protect him. Waheguru dhyan rakhega. And at home, I will protect him,” Balkaur continued to mutter.

If Balkaur doted on his son, Sidhu revered his father.

His father’s support and love meant a lot to the singer and had inspired one of his most controversial songs. Facing controversies and criticism for promoting gun culture and violence in his songs, Moosewala sang:

‘Bhavein aukhi hoyi ... educate milugi.’
No matter the crowd of critics
No matter how harsh and hurtful their words
Remember, just remember one thing, my son
Your father is proud of you
Mistaken are those who think you have fallen
Get up, my ox-like son
Keep telling the truth through your songs
The educated audience in the future will understand you.

The Mother

“He may be Sidhu Moosewala to the world, but to me, he will always be Gaggu. That’s what I called him when I held him for the first time,” said Charan Kaur. “His voice sounded so sweet. Of course, a child’s voice always sounds sweet to its mother but everyone who heard him speaking and singing compared him to the forgotten melons which once grew in abundance in Moosa. They told me his name and fame would spread far and wide like the sarda’s fragrance.”
There had been a time when villagers from Moosa grew sarda in abundance. These were quite popular and much in demand not just locally but also in places as far away as Delhi and Mumbai.

“Melons were to Moosa what oranges are to Nagpur. The fruit was known by various names. Sarda, sharda, kachhre and the local popular name, chibbadd. The city-dwellers call it kharbuja or melon,” said Dr Sukhpal Singh, a leading agro-economist of Panjab Agricultural University (PAU), Ludhiana.

Joginder Singh Mann, a journalist with the Punjabi Tribune, who covered the Mansa district for the paper, recalled how, as a child, he (Sidhu) would feast on the melons and see traders from ‘big cities’ coming to the village for an advance deal. “In Mumbai and Gujarat, the sarda from Moosa was always in high demand,” he says.

Perhaps some of the sweetness of the sarda of Moosa seeped into the voice of Charan Kaur’s young son. But the nature of the land was changing. The once abundantly grown fruit became increasingly scarce in the region, before disappearing altogether. Moosewala too was no longer just the boy with a sweet voice. As his fame grew, his lyrics changed into brazen boasts about himself and his caste—the Jats. He often threatened his enemies in his songs and made bold statements against the lack of tolerance of religious leaders. Perhaps it was the rebelliousness of youth, but Moosewala started to use his voice to talk about societal, cultural or religious norms that he found oppressive. His music became his cry for freedom.

Charan had always been a big influence on the singer. Moosewala had fond childhood memories of listening to his mother sing the Gurbani while oiling and combing his hair.

In an interview with Punjabi actress and TV host Sonam Bajwa, Moosewala said, “Even now, my mother combs my hair before a big show. It is a bond every mother and son have, or should have.”

On May 14, Moosewala paid tribute to his mother on her birthday by releasing the song Dear Mama—his love and adulation are evident in each word of the song. The song revealed a tender side to the man whose entire public persona was otherwise one of unfettered machismo. In the song, Moosewala raps about how his temper is hot and can blaze like the sun, but at other times, he is calm and serene like the dawn. And when he is like that, he is just like his mother. He also reflects that he is, at times, angry at the world like his father, but then the calmer and more compassionate side of him prevails. He sings: Kade suraj wangu... tere warga aa.

Sometimes I burn like the sun
At other times I am at peace
Like the dawn
Mother, I always feel
I am just like you
Sometimes like my father
I feel angry at the world
But then, every time, like you
I, too, feel pity for the world
Some say my face is like this
Some say my face is like that
But my face is just like yours
Mother, I always feel
I am just like you

Excerpted with permission from Who Killed Moosewala - The Spiralling Story of Violence in Punjab by Jupinderjit Singh published by Westland Books

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