The last time I went to Colombo a few years ago, I looked at the streets and the people and said to myself, “I could be in India.” Though a large part of the population of northern Sri Lanka is of Tamil origin, it was Kerala that much of the south reminded me of. But I still had a nagging feeling that something was different: that somehow I was not in India.

   It took me a while to figure it out. But then it hit me with a compelling suddenness: not one woman was wearing a salwar kameez.

   I contrasted that with the sights I had encountered on the streets of southern India. No matter where I went, whether it was Bangalore, Cochin, Chennai, Hyderabad or the small towns of Kerala, I always found a fair number of women wearing salwar kameezes. It wasn’t till I got to Sri Lanka that I asked myself the obvious question: why are so many south Indians wearing a north Indian dress?

   Of course, everyone will have his or her own explanation. Here’s mine: I believe that the change in dress habits is part of the growing Punjabi-isation of India.

   And I blame Hindi cinema.

   Think about it. Doesn’t it surprise you that no matter where you go in India, people want to dance in wedding baraats? That rich people plan their children’s weddings so that they resemble all star productions created by Karan Johar with choreography by Farah Khan?

   There’s more. Think of Karvachauth, a Punjabi Hindu custom that has now taken hold of much of India only because of the manner in which it has been portrayed in cinema and on TV. Think of Hindi film music itself, which has moved so far from its classical roots that it now seems like the bastard child of a twisted relationship between Western pop and Bhangra music. Think of the phrases that have passed into the language. Would anyone have used an expression like Chak de India even a decade ago? Yet today it has got to the stage where this Punjabi phrase was the Congress party slogan during the Assembly elections in Gujarat. (The only time I had any respect for Narendra Modi was when he asked which language this was. Was it Italian?)

   Now, it’s even spread to food. A few months ago, I went to shoot at a small hotel in the Wayanad region of Kerala. I had been looking forward to some good Kerala food. Instead, the buffet was full of black dal, butter chicken, paneer and seekh kebabs. I remonstrated with the manager. He was helpless, he said. This was what his largely south Indian guests wanted to eat when they were on vacation.

   I doubt if we can blame butter chicken on Karan Johar and Aditya Chopra but it’s hard to deny that much of the Punjabi-isation is a direct consequence of the films that they have made. The Hindi film industry has always been run by Punjabis but they have usually taken care to set their films in the Hindi heartland or, at the very least, to place their characters in some pan-Indian never-never land.

   No longer.

   These days, the characters all have Punjabi surnames. They are all called Malhotra or Kapoor or whatever, a far cry from the days when Hindi film characters had no surnames and were known only by a first name, say, Miss Renu or Dr Ashok.

   Many of these characters now speak the odd word of Punjabi in their homes and their Punjabi identities are proudly displayed through such titles as Singh is King. Even non-Punjabi actors such as Shah Rukh Khan find their greatest success playing characters who are identifiably Punjabi.

   It is possible to overstate the case but my sense is that the influence of Hindi cinema is so massive that a new popular culture that is Punjabi-dominated has swept all of India. In the South, its influence may be less pervasive than it is in the North, but it is impossible to deny that the Punjabi-isation of south India is also well underway.

   I make no moral judgements about this. At a personal level, I am saddened that our popular culture does not reflect the richness and diversity of India. But equally, I am not prepared to say that Punjabi-isation is necessarily a bad thing.

   But it’s worth thinking about, isn’t it? Almost without our noticing, a single state has gripped hold of the public imagination and changed the way in which we live.