Beyond the Media Circus: A Portrait of Amritpal Singh through the eyes of his Family

In the past few days, I've been covering the ongoing game of cat and mouse between Waris Punjab De's chief, Amritpal Singh, and the Punjab Police. I've tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to make sense of the conflicting narratives that I've been hearing from both social and TV media with what I was experiencing on the ground.

In Punjab, it was widely known that a man who graduated high school before moving to Dubai for work gained popularity on social media in 2019. His name was Amritpal Singh, and he joined an activist group called Waris Punjab De formed by Deep Sidhu, but the two men disagreed on Amritpal's pro-Khalistan views, and Sidhu had cut off contact with him. However, when Sidhu passed away, Amritpal emerged as the group's leader and shifted its approach towards a more confrontational stance with the Indian government. During his inauguration, Amritpal delivered a speech that set the tone for his presidency. He asserted that Sikhs were first enslaved by the British and now by Hindus, and with slogans of "Khalistan Zindabad" (Long live Khalistan), he called for a "fight for freedom" under "Sikh rule."

As a journalist, I wanted the tale of the man at the centre of the controversy to fit into a neat and tidy box. However, as I delved deeper into Amritpal's story and his sudden rise to political prominence in Punjab, I realised that the truth was not easily discernible. There were multiple facets to this story, each one adding layers of complexity to the larger narrative. Was Amritpal truly a revolutionary or a terrorist? Was he a pawn of the deep state, intentionally sowing unrest in Punjab, or simply a young man with bold opinions and some influence riding a wave beyond his control?

To unravel the mystery of Amritpal Singh, I journeyed to his hometown of Jallupur Khera, located near my own home.

Jallupur Khera is located just a few kilometres away from Beas, one of the three rivers out of the five that the state is named after, that still exists within its after the contentious partition of 1947 and the redrawing of borders in 1966. It's a typical March day, with spring in full swing, but the streets are barren and desolate. Heavy iron locks dangle from the gates, indicating that the residents have fled. The few who remain peer out suspiciously as we pull up in our car. It's clear that we are not welcome here, just like the rest of the media that have been hounding them since the 18th of March. Almost overnight, a swath of journalists from across India had descended upon this tiny village and wrecked all its peace and harmony.

With trepidation, I wandered the village streets alone, searching for Amritpal's house. As luck would have it, I stumbled upon a relative of his who, though initially confused by my presence, heard me out and decided to introduce me to the family. However, he warned me that they might not be willing to speak to me.

Despite the odds, Amritpal's ageing grandmother and young sister-in-law welcomed me into their home, even though they had every reason to be wary of journalists. In fact, the sister-in-law's concern for my safety seemed more dominant than her distrust of journalists. She asked me if I was sure I wanted to come inside the house, cautioning that the media had been harassing everyone who entered their house. Despite her reservations, she eventually relented and led me inside.

Amritpal's joint family home was besieged by media personnel who had set up camp outside. Their cameras were trained on the entrance, broadcasting live 24/7 for the past six days. His sister-in-law recounted how the media had not given them a moment of peace. Even at night, drones flew overhead, buzzing incessantly. The media presence made it impossible to send her daughter to school. Her little girl, in second grade, kept asking where her uncle was and when he would return, causing the sister-in-law to break down in tears.

“The police asked me to send her to school, but how? You tell me. They are always at the gate” she says, briefly getting agitated before she softens and gives in to sobs, but “She keeps asking Chachu kahan hai, Chachu kab ayenge? What do I say?”

As we walked inside, it became clear that his sister-in-law's worries were not unfounded. The media's presence was overwhelming and intrusive, causing untold harm to a family already in the midst of a difficult time. I reassured her with complete confidence that the media outside didn't bother me in the slightest. I had experienced a similar situation before when the same news channels and people had hounded me outside my house in Jalandhar. The same people from the same news channels had done the exact same thing to me a year ago when they stood outside my house in Jalandhar, reporting the same things they were now reporting about her missing brother-in-law.

Once inside, the house was ordinary, like any other house built in a Punjab village by a family that came into some money post-liberalisation. However, the circumstances were far from ordinary. The nip in the air, the month of early March, and the brightness of spring mocked how it felt inside. The house was dimly lit with a buzzing tube light above. The walls are largely sparse except for a couple of family photos, a calendar, and a mirror above the sink in the living room. With a glimmer in her eyes, Kirandeep Kaur, Amritpal’s newly married wife, shares with me that Amritpal had promised to get her a huge canvas for their room, where she could express her creativity and paint the beauty of Punjab. Her eyes, still puffy from the tears she has shed, momentarily light up as she drifts away from the harsh reality of their situation and into the world of a newlywed couple setting up their home. Her wedding was just a month ago, and it's evident from her attire - a stunning baby pink suit adorned with bright sequins, covered by a black shawl contrasting sharply with the sadness etched on her face. Her forearms were adorned with a set of red bridal bangles, a reminder of the joyous occasion that now feels so distant.

Despite the challenging circumstances, Kirandeep's vibrant personality shines through. As she speaks of her husband, whom she got to know over a year ago through Instagram, her admiration for him is palpable. Living in the UK, Kirandeep was impressed by Amritpal's “tireless efforts to promote Sikhi and work for the people of Punjab” his work aligned with Kirandeep's own commitment towards helping people. For a year, she served as a radio host in the UK, exclusively covering topics related to Punjab, the Punjabi language, and the cultural identity of Punjabiyat. However, she eventually resigned from her position because the radio station prohibited her from raising awareness about the ongoing farm protests. “I hold true to my roots, and that’s one of the reasons why Amritpal and I clicked so well; he also liked my writing and style of writing in Punjabi.” She tells me.

The two of us are ideologically opposed but had circumstances been different, I believe that we would have quickly hit it off and become friends. We chatted briefly about the Bull Ring in Birmingham and the walk we both took at some point. I couldn't help but think about introducing her to Model Town in Jalandhar, which may not have Selfridges but is equally fun. But I don't. It's amazing how many commonalities you can find with people, even those whom you have nothing obvious in common with. With the two-dimensional portrayal of individuals through our screens, it's easy to forget that people are multifaceted and multidimensional, shaped by a combination of their circumstances, choices, timing, and ever-evolving contexts.

After warming up to her and finding some common ground and some mutual trust, I ask her about the reports that came out claiming that the man she speaks about with almost a girlish giddiness locks her up and beats her. She looks at me, genuinely shocked. “Where did you even read that?” and she looks at her sister-in-law. “He is the most caring human being, and that's why I married him; obviously, I want to be loved and cared for and feel an essence of warmth from my husband. Also, Amrit has never ever made even a single trip to Thailand, let alone anything else they have said on there,” she refers to the intelligence report published by ANI “It’s purely false, even the drug allegations.”

In the sphere of youth activism within the Punjabi community, Amritpal has always been a controversial figure and is not accepted by many, despite what may be portrayed by television media. He has in past online bullied multiple feminists and “distorted my tweets, used our photos to bully us into a twitter debate calling us femizais and traitors to punjab and such” Simar*, a feminist scholar at a prominent University who hails from a small town in Punjab tells me. “He has bullied Punjabi feminists…., denied the existence of patriarchy and caste in the region, and attempted to disrupt Punjab’s multifaith, syncretic social fabric, I have no faith in his politics” However she adds “he does give voice to deep-seated, valid anxieties & grievances that a section of the Sikh population has against the Indian state, and so, arresting him without listening to the community is unjust.” and questions  “Why is it so easy to instigate Punjab’s Sikh population? Because no government has ever tried to address the community’s grievances and Sikh youth is still languishing in jails.”

In the midst of the controversy surrounding Kirandeep, the question on everyone's mind is whether she was involved in a terror funding case. I cannot provide a definite answer, and neither can Navika, Arnab, or the numerous journalists who have dedicated hours to this story and earned a significant sum through advertisements. Kirandeep, a mix of confusion and anger, tells me that there is no terror funding involved - it's just her salary in her bank account, and the police are aware of it. She never concealed anything. “I merely asked for a warrant before allowing the police to conduct a thorough investigation of their house, as that is what UK law requires.” She has just moved to India, and everything she has witnessed so far is perplexing to her - from the officials and journalists who recently entered her new home to the way laws are employed, the manner in which narratives are constructed, and, most significantly, how people have been discourteous. However, she confirms that the Sangat she encountered before the events of the 18th of march occurred were an exception. And her husband, along with his family.

As I listened to Kirandeep speak about her husband Amritpal, who had been charged with a serious terrorism allegation and was now on the run from the Punjab police, I couldn't help but wonder: what kind of man was he really? How could someone like Kirandeep, who exuded gentleness and had moved from the cosmopolitan city of Birmingham to the small village of Jallupur Khera, fall in love with a man who was being portrayed as so scary? Despite my curiosity, I refrained from prying too much, and instead, Kirandeep shared some insights into the Amritpal that she knew as her husband. However, she made it clear that what she shared was off the record, aware of the sensitivity of her situation and the potential consequences of divulging any personal details about her husband. She also expressed, "I'm not sure how he will feel about these articles when he returns home."

Despite the uncertainty about Amritpal’s whereabouts, Kirandeep still holds out hope for his safe return. Whenever Amritpal's mother slips up and speaks about him in the past tense, she gently corrects her, insisting that he's still here. While we talked, Amritpal's mother scrolled through terrifying news about her son, shaking her head and exclaiming, "What are they saying now? How can they say such lies?" the questions not directed at anyone. I inquire about her son's whereabouts and she reveals her belief that he is in police custody but fears that he may have been subjected to physical abuse to the point where they cannot even show his face. When I mention the circulating CCTV footage that some claim to be him, she vehemently refutes it, stating that as his mother, she would recognise him even from the back. Moreover, she insists that her son would never disrespect his Chola and that the allegations against him are part of a larger conspiracy to turn the public against him. Amritpal, who had recently started growing out his hair, had always been passionate about his Sikh faith, so much so that ever since he started growing out his hair, he began collecting his fallen hair on a cloth when combing.

His mission upon returning from Dubai, where he worked in his father's automobile business, was to steer the youth of Punjab away from drug abuse and towards a life devoted to religion through Amrit Sankaran, she said.

As I listen to Amritpal's parents, I can't help but wonder how their son came to be associated with guns, secessionism and terrorism. The information they share with me paints a picture of a tragic and unfortunate situation. I can't help but question whether this family endorses their son's politics and his brandishing of weapons. Perhaps they do, or maybe they keep themselves away from his political affairs, as Amritpal once claimed in an interview. But those seem rather unimportant questions because the biggest question they ask, and I have been prompted to ask, “They knew he had been working. The CBI knew his whole schedule and probably even met him, so why not arrest him at home? They knew he was here all this time? Why make it seem like a car chase and as if they were running away from him?"

Whether or not one agrees with Amritpal is a dull inquiry. It is undeniable that his rhetoric has been inflammatory and violent, possibly warranting imprisonment. However, even Congress, which has played a significant role in Punjab to reach this particular moment, is questioning the decision to label him as a national security threat. It raises concerns that such extreme measures are being taken without a thorough examination of the situation.

Ultimately, amidst the plethora of analyses and opinions, what I share is only a firsthand account of what I've witnessed. I don't intend to offer an analysis or an opinion but rather to share what I've seen and the questions that I'm asking myself as I drive back home after meeting Amritpal’s family, my days of reporting and my years of growing up in Jalandhar.

Do young people truly desire a separate state, or is this a mere facade?

Is the Khalistan Separatist sentiment still alive and well after the 80s?

Punjab is currently grappling with a leadership vacuum following the farm protests and the previous state elections. Could it be that the youths who follow these figures are merely searching for a beacon to guide them in these uncertain times and an identity to hold onto and not necessarily secession?

The answer remains to be seen.