After an 11-year directorial hiatus since Placebo, filmmaker Abhay Kumar returns with The Killing Call - a gripping BBC documentary chronicling the meteoric rise and tragic assassination of Punjabi rapper Sidhu Moosewala. In this exclusive interview, Abhay opens up about the emotional weight of the project, the challenges of hybrid storytelling, and the intricate interplay between fame, politics, and youth identity in India.

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1. What drew you personally to Sidhu Moosewala’s story, and how did all this happen with the BBC? Why have you made us wait for a decade after placebo?

I’ve followed the Indian hip hop scene closely over the years. In interview after interview, artists across regions and languages would cite Sidhu Moose Wala as a key influence. That immediately caught my attention, what was it about him that cut across culture, language, identity, and trend? I wasn’t a fan of the music per se, but I was deeply curious. When news of his murder broke in 2022, I was shocked. The details didn’t seem to add up. It felt surreal, and the sudden explosion of gang-related headlines only deepened the intrigue. I kept checking for updates, tracking the court proceedings. Then in 2023, I remember thinking: someone needs to make a film about this. A week later, the BBC got in touch. The synchronicity was too precise to ignore. Having grown up in Chandigarh, Phillaur (Jalandhar) and Ludhiana - I knew the cultural space this film would unfold in, but it's also a space I have never fully understood. Diving into Sidhu's story was also a way for me to understand where Punjab is today, and how different it is from the time I grew up there. As for the long gap since Placebo, It took a real toll on me mentally. After that, I decided to let life in for a while. I worked on Archana Phadke’s About Love as a Producer and Editor, which was a joyful and rewarding experience. Then I took time off to study. If you’ve seen Placebo, you might have sensed my leanings toward sci-fi and horror, I’m currently wrapping up two short films in that space. One of them is a collaboration with electronia legend Jean Mchelle Jarre. The Killing Call marks my return to directing after 11 years. I’m hoping the next one won’t take as long.

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2. The documentary blends crime investigation, music history, and political commentary. How did you navigate these genres to maintain narrative clarity and emotional impact?

Music documentaries are my favorite genre in nonfiction, so for me, the entry point was always music. That’s how I approached this film in the beginning as a portrait of an artist and his sound. But as the investigation began to unfold, it became clear that this wasn’t just a music doc it was shifting into something closer to a crime thriller. I tend to work with a hybrid storytelling style anyway. I’m drawn to films that mutate across their runtime, but that transformation has to come from the material itself. And Sidhu’s story demanded it. It’s dense and layered tied to politics, history, religion, and the evolving cultural landscape of Punjab. Even though he was a global star, many in India found his music inaccessible due to the language. So the challenge wasn’t just to unpack the investigation, but also to introduce new audiences to who Sidhu was, what he meant, how he rose, and why he was killed. His murder was unprecedented in Indian hip hop, oddly reminiscent of Tupac’s. That parallel opened a way to situate Sidhu’s story within the larger global hip hop movement. To navigate all of this, the tonal shifts, the sheer volume of material, I immersed myself in his digital footprint. Interviews, live streams, stage shows. I observed how different he was on and off camera. That became a kind of north star: to build not just a narrative, but a layered portrait of him, and through him, of the cultural moment he was shaped by, and helped shape. A filmmaker is only as good as their team. Building a structure that allowed for clarity, emotion, and context was something we all wrestled with. My background is in creative documentary, and this film was rooted in hard journalism. It took time and tension to find the balance. To create a cinematic container where journalism could live without being diluted. Massive credit to our editor Carole Bertinet, and our execs Daniel Adamson and Elizabeth Jones, who were incredibly hands-on. Ishleen was driving the journalism and access. And our research team Nupur Sonar and Shubhangi Singh were absolutely key. On a film like this, organizing the data is half the job. Take out even one part of this ensemble, and it would have been a completely different film.

3. Can you talk about the visual and auditory choices you made to reflect Sidhu’s larger-than-life persona while also humanizing him? We personally loved the sound design and music score - could you elaborate on your collaboration here?

I feel sometimes that the only reason I make films is to get into the music and sound design. Sidhu’s musical taste is exceptional. This is evident in his choice of collaborators especially music producers. Production on Sidhu’s songs just hits differently. Right from the day I joined the project, I was waiting for the time where we got to design the sonic textures for his story. And it has been, by far, the most exciting and rewarding process. Since we did not have any rights to Sidhu’s music, I wanted to make sure that the soundtrack pops hard, captures the energy of his trajectory , which goes from a supernova explosion to tragedy. It was a tough gig. Enter - Ashish Zachariah. I did not know his work before, but we first approached our conversations by sharing a lot of music that excited us. This created a vocabulary between us from where we could proceed specifically. Very early on, we decided to stay away from ethnic sounds unless absolutely necessary. By the time we finished scoring the film, Ashish told me that he has never worked on a project with such a wide genre span. Off the top of his head, he listed grime, ambient, orchestral, shoegaze electronica, bhangra bass, west coast hip hop and synthwave. Very rarely does it happen that someone can take a reference and out do it, and Ashish did that multiple times. I think his work on this project is a great example of music and sound design merging, elevating the story but never interfering in it. Ashish is from Cochin, he shared with me that it was his dream to work with Sidhu. In the end, I find it beautiful that a Mallu boy gets to score Sidhu’s requiem.

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4. Given the global attention and controversy surrounding Moosewala’s murder, how did you approach your research and fact-checking to ensure authenticity?

Piecing together Sidhu’s story felt a lot like the fable of the five blind men and the elephant, everyone seemed to hold a fragment, but no one had the whole picture. One of the contributors in the film told us that Sidhu was incredibly private. He had a way of compartmentalising his life if he had ten friends, no one friend knew everything. It didn’t seem strategic; it was just how he operated. What made things even more complex was the fear. People were hesitant to speak openly both those who supported Sidhu and those who didn’t. And it’s up to us now to ask: where is that fear coming from? What does that silence point to? At the BBC, I was entering a system that was quite different from my previous filmmaking experiences. This wasn’t independent doc production it was a newsroom. The team is made up of battle-hardened journalists, and their editorial standards are rigorous. Every piece of information in the film had to be cross-verified through multiple sources. We began by building a detailed timeline starting from Sidhu’s university years and tracing it all the way to the investigation around his murder. Ishleen’s deep network of connections was invaluable. We cross-referenced facts, pulled in archive footage, and used advanced OSINT (open-source intelligence) tools to verify digital data. The level of scrutiny was intense. We spent nearly two years making sure every detail in the film could hold up under serious journalistic pressure. In a case like Sidhu’s where rumors, conspiracy theories, and half-truths are everywhere it was essential to avoid confirmation bias. More than once, people told us, “The full truth of Sidhu’s murder will never come out. It can’t. ” And maybe they’re right. But we didn’t lean into speculation we just followed what the evidence told us.

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6. How did you navigate the emotional responsibility of telling this story, especially considering the grief of his family, fans, and the Punjabi community?

We always knew that making a documentary on Sidhu Moose Wala would generate heat. You’re dealing with gang affiliations, political tensions, law enforcement, grieving families, and a massive, emotionally invested fanbase. In Punjab, everyone has their own theory about who killed Sidhu and why. From the start, I was aware that no matter what shape the film took, it would likely anger someone. But there was something else something louder than outrage. Silence. Friends, collaborators, fellow hip hop artists Punjabi and otherwise almost no one wanted to speak about what happened. Why? There could be many reasons, all understandable. But the silence was deafening. When I first joined the project, I questioned its timing. Why now? Why not wait until the court cases were over? His family is still grieving, still fighting for justice. That’s when Elizabeth, our executive producer, said something that stayed with me: Through Sidhu’s story, we’re investigating how organized crime, extortion, and contract killings have exploded in Punjab and across India. Who are these gangsters? Where did they come from? What systems failed to stop them? And how did Sidhu get entangled in all of this? Those were critical questions. And yet, I felt a deep sense of responsibility especially because Sidhu is no longer here to speak for himself. So for me, the guiding principle was this: the burden of proof lies with the evidence. No implication without clarity. No assumptions without support. I also knew we had to look beyond binaries beyond good versus bad, hero versus villain. My approach was to create space for people to speak honestly, even hesitantly. To foster safety for those who did choose to share. This wasn’t about telling a neat story it was about honoring the complexity, the contradictions. This film wasn’t made to pay tribute. It was made to ask difficult questions. And many of the answers won’t make people comfortable. I’m sure there will be more films and stories told about Sidhu, each offering something different. But for those, we’ll have to wait.

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7. How did you connect with Ishleen Kaur and when she told you she had tapedconversations with Goldy Brar - tell us a little about your reaction to hearing the news?

Ishleen was part of the BBC journalism team through which this project was commissioned. I joined the project before filming began, and was responsible for crafting a film, working with the journalism team. When the prospect of conversation with Goldy Brar first appeared, we were already deep into production. The call with Goldy was not a starting point of the film. Just before the call actually materialised, there was a feeling of trepidation and caution, mostly about not giving him a platform but to ensure that he is challenged in his narrative. He had given interviews before, but we wanted to go deeper and ask the questions he had not been asked before. Until the call actually happened, we were not even sure if it would actually happen. Once it was done, it took us a while to understand the enormity of this journalistic breakthrough, and also to process what was shared.

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9. Did the BBC editorial team ever push back on any narrative choices or require significant changes to your original cut?

The BBC investigative film division comes under the category of news. It’s not a setup where a film director comes, takes over the production, edits and then the BBC offers their feedback. There was never an original cut that I produced individually. I worked closely with the editor Carole Bertinet, to construct scenes and find key moments and images that translated culturally.Since this film was going to be a global release, the story and the information had to make sense to even someone in, lets say, Nairobi. That presents its own challenges. I was very adamant, and the team agreed that the story should not be flattened out for the sake of simplicity. Now, the extent of that involved tough negotiations. We were also tied in by the format of the program which usually tends to be 60 minutes. The entirety of Sidhu’s story - from rise to stardom to his assasination, is compressed within a 5-6 year period. Which meant that the film had some inevitable omissions with respect to his life. We would have needed at least a couple more episodes to cover that ground in detail.

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10. According to you was there any specific reason why Siddhu’s parents didn’t partake in the documentary?

In all the noise around Sidhu’s case, one must never forget that it's his parents who have suffered the most. To lose a young child must be hell for parents. And that too in such a brutal manner. They have also not been passive victims- it takes a lot of courage and strength to fight for justice publicly and relentlessly. To add insult to injury, the perpetrators of the crime have since given media interviews, are operating with impunity towards constructing an empire of fear. My absolute and total sympathy rests with his parents in whatever decision they took - in this case not to participate in the film. Did it reduce the scope of telling this story in more detail- yes. But they have their reasons, and they have to be respected. However, Sidhu’s story, at least the way we approached it, is a public interest issue. As journalists, there was a responsibility to shed light on the very real and present fallout stemming from his assasination.

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11. What do you think Sidhu’s story says about the intersection of fame, politics, and youth identity in India today?

I think Sidhu’s story sits at a volatile intersection between raw talent, an indomitable spirit, and a system that often fails its most fearless voices. When someone like him rises, the real question becomes: do we nurture that force, or do we do everything we can to suppress it?If anything, his life feels like a cautionary tale. He was blazing through the world dropping albums, acting in films, topping global charts, breaking streaming records, entering politics, calling out religious extremism, fighting court cases, taking on anyone who came at him. And he was doing all of it alone. No label. No PR team. Just instinct, conviction, and an audience that couldn’t look away. Was he perfect? Not at all. But in many ways, he was inventing a new kind of existence where a young man could speak his mind, challenge power, and still dream of living openly, without apology. He didn’t shrink under scrutiny. He didn’t play by fame’s rules. He acted as though the rules didn’t apply. As one of his collaborators said, “Some people are just born rebellious and the world doesn’t let them live. In the end, they’ll kill them. ” The killing doesn’t begin when the gun goes off. It starts much earlier with public shaming, media harassment, and the relentless pressure to perform or provoke. Once he returned to India, Sidhu was hounded by the press, by online audiences, even by fans. People urged him to beef with other artists, and he leaned into it. Politicians took shots at him, critics questioned his talent, fellow artists mocked his singing and still, he kept going. What was his mental state in those final days? Was he exhausted? Was he elated? One of his last songs, Everybody Hurts, might offer a small window into that moment. I just wish he had been more protected and I don’t mean just in terms of physical security. None of this directly explains his murder. But I hope viewers can, even for a moment, step into his shoes. Not to excuse anything but to feel the weight of what it means to live loudly in a world that prefers silence.

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12. How do you hope international audiences interpret the complexities of Punjab’s socio-political fabric through this film?

With this film and really, with all my work I start by wanting to engage with the people who live the realities I’m exploring. My first audience is always the community the story comes from. In this case, I want the film to speak to young India the generation Sidhu came out of, the generation that lifted him to stardom, and in some ways, the same generation that contributed to the forces that led to his death. That reflection begins with me. In making this film, I’ve learned far more about the mechanics and contradictions of my own culture than I expected. Even today, many Indians outside Punjab don’t fully understand its layered socio-political history the roots of gun culture, the scars of militancy, the rise of pop nationalism. Much of it gets flattened into stereotypes. I hope this film can spark curiosity, maybe even shift perception a little. To offer a window into a region that’s often reduced to caricature, and to honour the complexity of a place where so many of our heroes rise and fall. For international audiences, I see the film as a kind of entry point. A starter kit, if you will into the dense, beautiful, conflicted history and cultural life of Punjab. And it’s all framed through the rise and fall of someone wildly unexpected a hip hop behemoth emerging from rural Punjab. More than anything, I hope the film shows how culture moves, mutates, transforms, and ultimately invents its own language.

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13. How did his increasing engagement with political and historical grievances in Punjab, particularly after returning from Canada, transform his music and perhaps contribute to the making of enemies? And what do you make of the overt politicisation of Sidhu Moosewalla in the

There was a clear shift in Sidhu’s music after he returned to India in 2018. As Bobby Friction points out in the film, at first glance, it looked like a risky move especially with the epicenter of Punjabi music thriving in Canada. But Sidhu made a conscious decision to come back, to live among his people, and to root himself in the land he came from. That choice changed everything. His music became more grounded, more direct, and more reflective of what was unfolding in Punjab. In many ways, he filled a cultural void. His songs became mirrors to the socio-political landscape around him. When the Farmers’ Protest began gaining momentum, Sidhu himself a farmer’s son didn’t sit on the sidelines. He met with activists, gave statements, spoke to journalists, and his lyrics began to echo that involvement. There was no distance. He was in it. He was a well-read, aware young man. His politics evolved alongside Punjab’s shifting realities. I won’t try to map his ideological position, but his writing if you really pay attention is sharp, poetic, and informed. He referenced literary giants like Pash and Shiv Kumar Batalvi. His songs weren’t just catchy they carried something deeper. You could hear his evolution, personally and politically, in the music itself. And yes, of course, he made enemies. When someone speaks that fearlessly, without filtering or finessing, backlash is inevitable. But it never stopped him. He kept making the music he believed in. You and I can debate whether he was right or wrong, but what matters is trying to understand him as he was: young, brilliant, impulsive, and constantly trying.What happened after his assassination was, in my view, heartbreaking., Sidhu was instantly pulled into binaries. On one side, he was sanctified called a martyr. On the other, he was demonized labelled a terrorist or Khalistani on online forums. Both narratives flattened him. Behind all of that noise was a brilliant young man, Making mistakes, learning, stumbling—but always trying.

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14. The film reveals that Sidhu received "threat calls" as early as 2018, with gangsters initially asking for money, then "song rights". What did your investigation uncover about the prevalence and mechanisms of this unique form of extortion within the Punjabi music industry.

Extortions are not new to the Punjabi music scene it dates all the way back to the Amar Singh Chamkila era, though the tactics have become more sophisticated since then.As reporter Ishleen Kaur notes in the film, modern-day extortion doesn’t always involve direct cash demands. Instead, artists might receive calls from gangsters demanding rights to a music video. The gangster then profits continuously from any revenue that video generates. One-time money demands are finite. But claiming rights to a video or film provides ongoing income for the criminal. Take Sidhu’s hit “Levels,” which has racked up 243 million views you can imagine the revenue at stake.

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15. The murder of Vicky Middukhera, a close friend and "godfather" to Lawrence Bishnoi, is presented as a direct catalyst for Sidhu's killing, with Goldy Brar asserting that Sidhu was involved in Middukhera's murder and his killing was "vengeance" and "gangland justice". Given that "there is no evidence that Sidhu Moose Wala was involved", how did you approach presenting this perceived involvement versus the lack of concrete proof, and why was this perception so critical in sealing Sidhu's fate?

It was absolutely essential to be clear there is no evidence, none, that Sidhu was involved in Vicky Middukhera’s murder, or that he was part of any gang. That needed to be stated, and restated. And yet, we kept hearing this narrative: that Sidhu was a casualty of gang rivalry. But if there's no evidence, what does that even mean? The Vicky Middukhera case is still unsolved. So the Authorities won’t comment. So we’re left with perception. And in this world, perception is everything. People didn’t want to speak to us not because of what they believed, but because they didn’t know how it might look to others. I remember someone from student politics refused to be interviewed because he couldn’t predict what the optics would be if he appeared in the film. That was at the low-stakes end of things. Now imagine the kind of stakes Sidhu was operating under where even standing next to the wrong person could paint you with a brush you can’t wash off. That’s what makes this story so tragic. Sidhu was perceived a certain way by fans, by rivals, by the media and in a world ruled by affiliations and vendettas, that perception became lethal. Whether or not itwas grounded in truth didn’t matter. The perception stuck. It's like a lethal game of chinese whispers. And at the heart of it all is something unbearably sad: young blood, spilled. And for what?

16. The documentary touches upon Sidhu's chilling premonitions, such as his statement, "when I die, I'm going to die by bullets", and that "people will kill me to get famous". How do these insights from Sidhu himself contribute to the overall narrative and tragic nature of his story?

Sidhu’s obsession with death especially the way he imagined it has now become part of his myth. Of course, in hip hop, there’s a long history of artists romanticising their own demise, but with Sidhu, the specificity of his lyrics and how closely they mirror how things unfolded... it’s hard not to feel shaken by it. From a narrative perspective, those premonitions cast a shadow over everything. They gave the story a sense of inevitability. He was moving so fast, at such a high voltage, that you could almost smell the fire coming. Maybe that’s easy to say in hindsight but Sidhu really did feel like lightning in a bottle. There was a wildness to his rise that made you wonder how long it could last, or at least what would it transform into. What struck me sometimes were the moments in interviews when he was asked directly, “Why are you so obsessed with death?” And he calmly said, “Our ancestors said, death is the only reality. Life is the illusion. ” That line stayed with me. I feel the biggest tragedy of this story was that Sidhu was in the process of ‘becoming’. He was transforming into the next phase of his artistic life. And we will never experience that. And that's a collective loss for all of us, especially the people of Punjab.

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17. What was the most emotionally challenging scene or sequence for you to direct or edit?

I think it was the funeral scene. It's when the scope of the tragedy and the pain of the family really hits in a way that I hope no one has to ever experience that feeling.

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18. Looking back, is there anything you wish you could have explored deeper in the documentary?

A hundred other things, but given the context of the time period, access, resources and safety and sanity of everyone, I’m very happy with the film that is out there.

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‍19. What kind of stories are you hoping to tell next? Do you see yourself continuing in the space of socio-political music culture or crime investigations?

I’m open to working on all kinds of stories- as long as it speaks to me.

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Watch the Full Documentary

The Killing Call, Ep 1: Sidhu Moose Wala and the Murder that Shook India - BBC World Service Docs
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The Killing Call, Ep 2: Sidhu Moose Wala and the Murder that Shook India - BBC World Service Docs
Watch now →

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