Punjabi pop singer Guru Randhawa’s latest music video ‘Azul’, which has received over 62 million YouTube views, is drawing fire for hypersexualising schoolgirls and trivialising consent
“Warning! The video is highly addictive.” With this cryptic line begins Punjabi pop-singer Guru Randhawa’s latest music video, Azul. It had all the makings of a hit, given his track record. He’s the one who gave us the foot-tapping chartbuster Suit Suit which even had the legendary actor Irrfan Khan grooving to it in the 2017 Bollywood film Hindi Medium. His other hits, like Patola, Morni Banke, and Ban Ja Rani, showcase his signature style: danceable, percussion-heavy beats paired with folksy, simple — at times even simplistic —lyrics.
Randhawa’s videos often feature himself and stunning women performing perfectly synchronised choreography, broadening their appeal. Not to mention the liberal use of ‘American pop culture tropes’ that give them the added value of being aspirational — something that’s echoed by the Punjabi pop industry en masse. The big cars, fur coats, and flowing champagne often set against the backdrop of expansive American landscapes and lush mansions are de rigueur to most Punjabi Pop videos.
All-American playbook
With Azul, which boasts over 62 million views and 920K likes on YouTube on last count, Randhawa seems to have borrowed the wrong page from the All-American playbook. The music video is set in a high school arena, a classic American pop culture reference if there ever was one, but it misses the mark, from a mile with its sloppy and problematic use of these tropes, which it then proceeds to double down on. The video borrows heavily from American pop culture. A group of high school girls — replete with pigtails, loud makeup and school uniforms — are waiting to take a group photo, and Randhawa, the photographer, is setting up his camera.
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When the proverbial ‘Queen Bee’ enters, she instantly catches his eye. Clearly besotted, Randhawa falls into a daydream fantasy. In his vision, the girl transforms, shedding her high school persona for a highly sexualized dance routine. She endorses the hip-hop rapper core, with the low slung oversized pants, chunky silver belt and tops off her look with sagging — exposing the waistband of her checkered boxer shorts above her jeans.
The fantasy continues as she moves on to imitate the ‘American Car Wash’ trope, joined by her classmates, where they scrub and wash a car suggestively. The fantasy doesn’t end there, as we see a group of fellow students dancing in cheerleader costumes. Oh yes, and there is a finale in place, where the actor wears a slinky glamorous dress, fit for the prom — the year ending formal dance held for high school students. This very portrayal of high school girls in a hyper sexualized context sparked the immense and immediate backlash.
The power dynamic
The song, its high viewership notwithstanding, has garnered immense backlash and strong criticism. The tone-deaf video has been widely called out for objectifying and sexualizing minors, with some social media users even labelling it as ‘paedophilic’ and accusing it of encouraging schoolgirl fetishisation. This objectification is magnified by the fact that the song’s lyrics compare young women to bottles of alcohol — specifically, Azul, a popular brand of premium tequila. Beyond the hyper-sexualization, it’s the video’s inherent power dynamics that truly make your skin crawl.
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The narrative is deeply troubling: we see an adult, Randhawa, in a clear position of power — a teacher-adjacent figure — directing school girls for a group photo. He fixes his glasses with a disturbing grin as he falls into a daze of fantasy about the ‘Queen Bee.’ The song’s narrative romanticizes predatory behaviour, a disturbing narrative that has been highlighted by many critics. Such content is especially dangerous because young women are highly susceptible and impressionable, and it is crucial that we protect them from narratives that normalise this trend.
Tone-deaf lyrics
The singer-artist’s actions echo the video’s tone-deafness in real life. He has not only switched off the YouTube comments section but has also refused to take any responsibility for perpetuating a culture where young women are viewed as mere objects of male entertainment. Randhawa even went as far as to post an Instagram story — a screen grab from the video with the caption, “Azul is Azuling. When God is with you, you only move forward...” Many have interpreted this post as Randhawa celebrating the song’s controversial success.
In a nation grappling with an all-time high in sexual crimes against women, where consent is often dismissed as a ‘woke’ Instagram buzzword, this tone-deafness by Randhawa is particularly egregious. Statistics from the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) highlight that between 2018 and 2022, the rate of crimes against women in India surged by 12.9 per cent, a trend that should be giving our lawmakers and enforcers sleepless nights.
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While Randhawa might not take any responsibility as an individual, the million views and likes are an indicator that such content has an audience — and it clearly resonates with them.
Back in the 2000s and 2010s when Bollywood was flooded with item numbers and suggestive lyrics that embodied the male gaze, there was active action by the Bollywood fraternity itself. Actors like Shabana Azmi went on public record and spoke against the trend. While the trend might not have completely disappeared, it’s certainly on the down-low.
When a popular artist creates controversial content and then doubles it up by not taking any accountability, that’s the time when the audience needs to sit and make their voice count. Please press the skip button whenever this song sprouts up on your Spotify feed or YouTube algorithm.
