Lounge
Going solo with Diljit Dosanjh
Summary
Attending the high-energy Diljit Dosanjh concert in Delhi was a chance to sing, dance, make new friends and overcome old fears
Due to a series of events that weren’t supposed to lead me to Diljit Dosanjh’s iconic Dil-Luminati show in Delhi, I went to the concert alone. The evening of the show, my cousins told me they had a spare ticket—but it wasn’t in the same enclosure as them. I’d effectively be going to the concert alone. I hesitateda bit—a high-energy concert like Diljit’s needs group vibes—and gave in. What was the worst that could happen? I’d get bored and leave. And so, I swapped my heels for a pair of borrowed sneakers, hopped into the car and then bid them adieu at gate number 14 of Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium.
Also read: Desi Trill: Taking brown music to the world
I found myself a spot and began the solo wait for the concert to begin when suddenly, a friendly girl called Kritika said ‘hi’ and asked if I was by myself. I nodded. She promised that she and her group of friends would stick with me the entire evening. I thought it was some fleeting, drunk banter, but they seemed fun, so I tagged along.
Now, I’m somewhat of an ambivert—I’m not too introverted to wade through life without chatting with people nor am I extroverted enough to strike up a conversation with a stranger. If Kritika hadn’t spoken to me, I would never have invited myself to their group. I’d been hoping to spot familiar faces and bump into friends, but instead, found myself cheerfully dancing with a group of total strangers (my knees still ache!). Our group kept growing, with more Diljit enthusiasts joining in and performing some incredible bhangra moves.
Star concerts have such an energy—it’s a massive dance party and everyone is invited. There were people cosplaying Diljit in his signature black kurta and turban; many wore Diljit T-shirts. With Diljit, the energy is even more infectious as he brings Punjabi fervour to the stage. He opened with his catchphrase “Punjabi aa gaye apna desh oye" and went on to perform new songs such as Naina, crowd favourites like Lover and G.O.A.T and his older hits like Laembadgini, and Delhiites were in no mood to end the evening. It was my first time at a concert of this scale by an Indian performer and it was electrifying.
For many like myself—mid-30s and post-covid—there’s been a realization that life is fleeting. It’s created a desire to pick every experience and own it. It’s the reason we revenge travel and why more Indians are paying a premium and going the distance (Coldplay queues, anyone?) to experience comedy shows, gigs and performances. It feeds our curiosity, gives us something to look forward to, is a form of social currency. For someone like me, it’s simply giving myself permission to enjoy things that were once out of reach.
Also read: Is there a better way to sell concert tickets?
This means I’m more comfortable now with traveling solo, making friends along the way, and opening myself up to experiences that may seem outlandish and taking the risk that they will lead to extraordinary outcomes. Like meeting a 19-year-old Chinese student who came up to me at a bar in Baku this August after seeing me getting a drink alone. Again, I wasn't supposed to be there. The friend I was travelling with had decided to call it a night at 10pm, but I was curious about Baku’s nightlife.
It was Saturday, the best time to explore the local music scene in the Nizami district. I stumbled upon Rumors, a tiny club with a large window that offered a glimpse of a shiny disco ball suspended from a neon ceiling and a female DJ. I stepped inside, grabbed a beer, and tried to enjoy the music, feeling a bit lost and alone.
That's when the young man approached me, inviting me to join him and his friend Maureen. It turned out they were strangers too, each exploring the city's nightlife solo. They had met at the bar and got talking. Over the next hour, we shared stories about our lives, past solo travels, upcoming trips, and tips on things to do around Baku. It was perfect, and I realized that sometimes strangers are truly the best company and your saviours, even if only for a brief moment. My awkwardness of standing in a corner and drinking a beer alone paid off, as did my impulse to set aside my reluctance and socialize with complete strangers.
It was a lesson I re-learnt at the concert in Delhi. Diljit himself wasn’t scheduled to perform in Delhi on 27 October. The original show was 26 October but an extra performance was added on Sunday due to overwhelming fan demand. Technically, neither of us was supposed to be there, but sheer luck brought us together. As I walked out among a sea of people, all overjoyed with the performance, it felt like a personal victory to heading out solo in a world that thinks we all need to be coupled and connected.
