Diljit Dosanjh's 'Morni' and the gender bias of cultural memory

It's nice to watch Indian-American singer Diljit Dosanjh blaze his way across the world on the strength of his stage aura. Rockstars and controversy may often travel together. But there's no denying that the Punjabi star looks magnificent in his Raghavendra Rathore tour ensembles and accessories.

Such as a diamante bullet bandolier worn across his chest. It's so delicious-looking that one could bite into it - or at least store a lipstick in it. The way he turns aggressive imagery into love is a key Dosanjh talent. The music is catchy, too.

Morni, the hit song from his 2026 EP 'The Call of Panjab', catches attention, not least because it places the peahen, rather than the peacock, at its centre. Peacocks, due to their plumage, have enjoyed centuries of great PR. They adorn palaces, paintings, textiles, mythology, purses, and thrones. The peahen, on the other hand, despite being half the Pavo cristatus species, is rarely the star of the show. But Dosanjh sings of her great virtues.

It raises the question of whether animals and birds, like humans, experience a form of gender bias in cultural memory.

The creatures most frequently adopted as symbols of power tend to be associated with dominance, conquest, and performance. Indian animals and birds - eagles, hawks, peacocks, lions, tigers and horses - populate royal coats of arms, military standards, corporate logos, and national emblems. Their traits are celebrated as they embody qualities societies have traditionally admired in men: strength, aggression, speed, authority and loyalty.

Man's best friend, the dog, and the horse, enter and pass down in history via official stamps and insignia, while women's animal companions - much like women themselves - have missing pages.

Across Mughal and Rajput paintings, women are constantly depicted with parrots. The little green bird appears on terraces, in gardens, private chambers and court portraiture. It's such a common presence that one almost stops seeing it. It is to Indian imagery what the cat is to Egypt, or the hound is to England.

But who kept these birds? Who trained them? And what relationship did these women enjoy with their bird companions?

We know a great deal about the keeping of horses. Not only do erstwhile royal stables survive, and breeding traditions continue, but entire institutions preserve equestrian knowledge as part of heritage. But we know little about how parrots were kept, trained, bred, housed and cared for in palaces. Birds continue to appear in contemporary Indian art because of their striking green plumage and red beak, said to represent earth after and before rain. But the culture and narrative surrounding them have almost disappeared.

And this is not because parrots do not possess qualities that modern societies claim to value. They are intelligent, social, adaptable, and, most remarkably, capable of mimicking human speech. The Alexandrine parakeet, native to the Indian subcontinent, became known beyond India through campaigns of Alexander the Great, who is said to have been so fascinated by the bird that it was carried westward and introduced to Europe.

Yet, while the horse became a continuing symbol of prestige across cultures, the parrot remained largely confined to paintings, folklore, and occasional decorative motifs. Why do we remember horsemen - or even the occasional Rani of Jhansi - and forget the countless women with parrots?

Perhaps, this is because the parrot belonged not to battlefields, but to domestic worlds. It was associated with companionship rather than conquest, conversation rather than command.

Horse survived as a living emblem of heritage. Hawk survived as a symbol of power. Tiger is a symbol of royalty, and lion of pride. But the sweet, intelligent parrot, despite centuries of companionship with Indian households, slipped quietly out of the national imagination, taking with it a significant portion of the interiority of women's lives and narratives.