Why Strictly’s Bollywood routine means so much to British South Asians

As the first Bollywood dance in Strictly’s 20-year history, the hearts of British South Asians were screaming with pure joy.

Harrow’s Safari cinema (RIP) was a piece of cultural safe haven for North London’s South Asians, where many of us would flock for a much-needed taste of Bollywood cinema. Safari cinema was where I watched the iconic Khabi Khushi Khabie Gham for the first time with my mum and sisters. As we waited for the film to start, I remember being beyond annoyed that my mum didn’t get me popcorn. She kept saying she’ll get us some “in the break”, which made no sense to me - a break in a film? Don’t be silly, mum! I now realise it was an early lesson about the commonplace “intermission” in Indian films, which typically had a running time of around four hours.

However, I quickly got over the lack of popcorn once the film started and I was thrown into the bright, wild world of Karan Johar’s 2001 classic. From Shakrukh Khan slow-mo running from the helicopter, to the musical introduction of the fabulous Poo (played by Kareena Kapoor), this film had everything. It was both highly emotional (parampara; Krish Raichand’s performance of the India national anthem - the list is endless) and highly entertaining (Kajol’s quirks for one). It also struck a welcome balance between the classic Indian cinema that our parents grew up on, while weaving in a palatable amount of “modern” for those in my generation without turning anybody off from Bollywood (Say Shava Shava, guys.)

Sat in the cinema in awe - and still without popcorn - I didn’t know then that K3G and all its wonder would translate throughout my life. It carries such an enormous sense of nostalgia and importance that we continue to chase today. So much so, that the release of 2023’s Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani had everybody asking: Is this the new K3G? (My opinion is that it’s very, very close, but that’s a conversation for a different day).

BBC One’s Strictly Come Dancing therefore brought a bit of my childhood to life on Saturday night. You can debate the scores, you can be mad that the dance was too short and you can be amazed by the gorgeous outfits, but Punam and Gorka’s performance to Bole Chudiyan felt groundbreaking in a wholly different way. Firstly, it was an actual Bollywood performance, complete with the drama, the outfits, the magic. It wasn’t just a Bollywood track paired with street dance for example - instead, it was familiar, it was comfort. There was South Asian cultural comfort on BBC1’s Strictly, of all places. Ordinarily we got that from the 10PM rerun of Bend it Like Beckham.?

"[K3G] carries such an enormous sense of nostalgia and importance that we continue to chase today."

Yes, the increase in South Asian representation across the entertainment space recently is monumental. Brown women in particular getting more screen time - Maitreyi Ramakrishnan from Never Have I Ever and Simone Ashley in Bridgerton, to name a few - is groundbreaking and long may it continue. However, this never fully struck a personal chord with me. I know as a child this would’ve meant the world, but as someone on the cusp of turning 30, it’s different. I knew in theory that the increased representation was a positive thing, but I just didn’t fully connect with it. It didn’t click or completely resonate. But for whatever reason, Punam and Gorka’s performance changed things. It felt like the ‘aha!’ moment.

“I just went to four-year-old me”, Punam said after the dance, something I think every South Asian also felt. As the first Bollywood dance in Strictly’s 20-year history, the hearts of British South Asians were screaming with pure joy. “I don’t think people realise how big of a deal the movie K3G is within the South Asian community... [Punam] wearing her culture on her sleeve like that on prime time TV is everything”, said one viewer on X. “What Punam has just done is huge”, said another. “So emotional seeing authentic, unapologetic Punjabi and Indian culture on the main stage that is BBC Strictly.”?

It immediately took me back to performing a dance to the very same song in primary school, dressed in my lilac chaniya choli with the itchy net dupatta, the steps still second nature to me even today as soon as the track begins. It’s the same song we now play as part of my two-year-old niece’s pre-bedtime “dance party” and it’s the song I start with when I’m on my Bollywood Spotify playlist.

So while my South Asian identity can often feel like something people want to pick apart and destroy (the dust from the summer’s UK race riots still not having settled for POC), this burst of representation on primetime TV gave me a brief glimmer of much-needed light and a spring in my step as I enter a new week. It will likely be fleeting, but I’ll let myself sit with it and hang on for as long as I can.

And if anybody was wondering, I did get my popcorn in the intermission. Thanks mum.