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Ahead of Signature Packaged Drinking Water presents Ziro On Tour, Taba Chake reflects on his journey, the struggles behind his breakout album, and his commitment to authenticity during an exclusive interview.
From nearly quitting music to creating the phenomenon Bombay Dreams with over 12.2 million streams, Taba Chake redefined India’s indie scene.
Hailing from the picturesque village of Rono in Arunachal Pradesh, Taba Chake is not your average singer-songwriter. Armed with a guitar, a deep connection to nature, and a knack for weaving multilingual magic, he’s the Nyishi fingerstyle guitarist who’s taking India’s indie scene by storm. Fluent in Nyishi, Hindi, English, Nepali, and Assamese, Taba crafts songs that transcend boundaries—both linguistic and emotional—making him one of the most authentic voices in Indian music today.
Starting his musical journey at six and penning his first songs by eleven, Taba’s story is as enchanting as his melodies. His debut EP, Bond with Nature (2016), gave listeners a glimpse into his world—a unique blend of tribal folklore and contemporary sounds. But it was his 2019 album, Bombay Dreams, that truly showcased his genius. With tracks like Meri Dastaan and This is the Day—both years in the making—Taba’s dedication to storytelling and soulful melodies was unmistakable.
Taba’s music isn’t just about sounds; it’s a love letter to his roots. Drawing inspiration from the lush landscapes of Arunachal Pradesh, birdsong, and tribal folklore, his percussive guitar playing and heartfelt vocals transport listeners to another world. Whether at the iconic Ziro Festival of Music or onstage at Ragasthan, Taba has made waves across India, leaving audiences captivated.
In 2024, Taba made a surprising leap into Bollywood, composing music for Shoojit Sircar’s I Want To Talk, starring Abhishek Bachchan. While he still calls indie music his home, this milestone showed his ability to blend his unique style into mainstream cinema, further broadening his artistic horizons.
Now, Taba Chake is ready to charm Hyderabad at the Ziro On Tour festival, a first-of-its-kind initiative by Signature Packaged Drinking Water and Ziro Festival of Music. Taking the magic of India’s most eco-friendly music festival beyond Arunachal Pradesh, Ziro On Tour is set to dazzle audiences at the historic Taramati Baradari on February 1st and 2nd, 2025. With its blend of music, sustainability, and cultural immersion, this event promises to raise a toast to community spirit and mindful living.
In an exclusive conversation with Showsha, Taba opened up about his musical journey, the years it took to craft Bombay Dreams, and how he almost gave up on music—only to come back stronger. From visualizing his songs to preparing for his performance at Ziro On Tour, Taba Chake’s story is proof that music, when rooted in authenticity, has the power to bridge worlds and touch hearts.
Here are the excerpts:
Let’s start with the Ziro Festival of Music. What are your thoughts on the idea of taking it beyond Arunachal Pradesh to a city like Hyderabad? Do you think it could connect with a whole new audience?
Absolutely, I have no doubt about it. Music transcends boundaries—it’s something that resonates with everyone, no matter the place or language. A city like Hyderabad has such a vibrant and diverse crowd, so bringing the Ziro Festival there would definitely open it up to a whole new audience. I believe this could be a massive hit. If the organizers decide to expand and make the Ziro Tour a regular thing, I’m sure it would continue to grow in popularity year after year. It’s all about sharing that incredible energy and spirit of the festival with more people, and I think Hyderabad is the perfect place to start.
Signature Packaged Drinking Water is supporting sustainability at Ziro On Tour. As an artist and storyteller, how do you feel about sustainability being woven into the festival’s narrative?
I think it’s an incredible initiative. As an artist, sustainability resonates deeply with me because it aligns with the stories I want to tell and the legacy I hope to leave behind. I often tell my team that when we’re planning something—whether it’s a tour or a project—we strive to think beyond the usual. We want something unique, something meaningful, and most importantly, something green. It’s important for us to incorporate recycled and sustainable elements, not just for the sake of doing it but because it reflects where I come from and the values embedded in my music.
What Signature Packaged Drinking Water is doing at The Ziro Festival — tying sustainability into its core narrative — is truly inspiring. I know it’s not easy; challenges are bound to come up, and things might not always go according to plan. But these efforts, over time, will lead to something incredible. It’s a journey, and I think initiatives like these set an example for other festivals and events around the world. It’s a great move, and I’m genuinely excited to see how it evolves in the coming years.
Taba, you grew up in Rono, surrounded by the rich Nyishi heritage and village life. How did that environment shape your early understanding of music and art? Are there any specific memories from those formative years that stand out to you?
Honestly, most of my memories from that time are tied to school and hostel life. I spent a lot of time in hostels, and, to be honest, I was a pretty naughty kid. I remember getting into trouble quite a bit—our principal and teachers didn’t go easy on me! In a hostel, you couldn’t just bunk classes or sneak away; once school ended, you were back to the hostel. That strict routine didn’t leave much room for escape.
But what really stood out for me during those years were the music classes. Those were my favorite moments. In the evenings, our warden and a gospel teacher would teach us songs—stuff like MLTR and other classic old-school bands. Those sessions were special to me and left a lasting impression. Even now, I can recall those times clearly. It wasn’t just about the music; it was about the connection and joy it brought in an otherwise structured life.
Your parents emphasized the importance of tribal folklore and nature as you were growing up. Is there a particular story, festival, or memory from that time that continues to inspire your music today?
Absolutely. My home is very close to a ground where our community celebrates festivals, especially the Nyokum Festival, which is the biggest festival for the Nyishi tribe. It’s hard to describe how close it is—maybe 10 meters or about 20 steps from my house. Every year during the festival, neighboring villages and elders would gather for rituals, singing, and dancing.
Growing up, I was surrounded by these moments. I remember listening to the elders sing traditional folk songs and watching them perform dances that carried so much meaning. These experiences felt so alive, so connected to the roots of who we are as a community. Whenever we got a break from school and came home, the festival time was always the highlight for me.
These memories—the sounds, the visuals, the energy—have stayed with me and definitely shaped my music and songwriting. They gave me a deep sense of belonging and appreciation for storytelling, which I try to carry into my art today.
You started practicing music at the age of six, which is incredible. Who were some of your earliest musical influences, and how did they shape the artist you are today?
It’s a bit hard to pinpoint just one influence or one path, honestly. I think it’s all interconnected—the music I listened to, the experiences I went through, and the emotions I felt growing up. They all shaped me in different ways.
At that age, it wasn’t just about hearing great songs; it was about how those songs aligned with what was happening in my life. The emotions, the things I saw and heard, and the feelings I was trying to understand as a kid—they all blended together with the music I was exposed to.
It wasn’t just about specific artists or genres. It was about the journey—the way music became a soundtrack to my life. So, in a way, it’s difficult for me to pick just one direction or influence because they all worked together to shape who I am as an artist. It’s this combination of life experiences and the music I grew up listening to that molded me into the person and musician I am today.
You used to play in a metal band, which is such a different world from the music you’re creating now as a solo artist. What made you take that leap into a solo career, especially in this particular genre? Was there a specific turning point that inspired the change?
The transition was gradual but inevitable. Even back when I was in the metal band, I always had a deep interest in composition. I didn’t know the term “composer” at the time, but I knew I wanted to create music—not just play it. I would write riffs, melodies, and solos for the band, which gave me a foundation in creating music from scratch.
The turning point came from the challenges of being in a band. Bands often face struggles—whether it’s a drummer dealing with personal issues, a guitarist caught up in school, or other logistical problems. It felt like every practice or show came with hurdles, and I began to feel a bit worn out. I realized that to grow as an artist and to stay consistent, I needed to take full control of my creative journey.
That’s when I decided to go solo. It was a leap of faith, but it allowed me to focus entirely on my music without the dependencies or distractions that come with being in a band. The funny thing is, back in the metal band, I wasn’t even a singer. I would sing casually—like in the bathroom or when I was alone—but I never saw myself as a vocalist.
When I started my solo career, I had to step out of my comfort zone and practice singing. I had to learn how to hit the right pitches and refine my voice because it was the only way to bring my compositions to life. While the genre I’m in now is very different from metal, my time in the band taught me the discipline and techniques I needed to compose music. Going solo has been a journey of self-discovery, and it gave me the freedom to create music that truly reflects who I am.
Your debut EP, Born with Nature, explored deeply personal themes like love, loneliness, and unity, while also presenting a unique acoustic folk-centric soundscape. What inspired you to delve into these introspective themes, and how did you weave them into such a distinctive musical style?
The inspiration came from a combination of the music I was listening to at the time and my personal connection to nature and introspection. I was exploring a lot of different styles—moving away from the classic rock sounds I grew up with and diving into jazz, world music, and even traditional styles like konnakol. I found myself drawn to a mix of influences, from Chinese and Japanese melodies to Indian folk elements. This blend of styles gave the EP its unique and genre-defying sound.
For example, the song Ngo Akin, which is sung in my native language, has strong jazz undertones paired with a touch of folk. It’s a mix that feels organic and modern at the same time, which was really important to me. It was also one of the first Arunachali folk-inspired songs aimed at the youth and one of the first to make it onto streaming platforms like iTunes. That felt like a big step—modernizing traditional music and bringing it to a wider audience in a way that felt authentic.
The title of the EP, Born with Nature, was actually inspired by a book I was reading at the time by Ruskin Bond called Bond with Nature. When I read it, something clicked. I’m from the hills, and the way he wrote about his connection to the natural world really resonated with me. It felt like the perfect way to capture the essence of the music I was creating.
The themes of love, loneliness, and unity naturally emerged from my personal experiences and reflections during that time. Being surrounded by the hills and nature where I grew up helped me translate those emotions into music. It was an incredibly personal project, and blending these themes into a soundscape that pulled from so many influences felt like the most honest way to tell my story.
Your fingerstyle guitar playing has become a signature part of your music. How did you develop this unique style, and how does it reflect your personal connection to the instrument and your storytelling?
I hadn’t really thought of it that way until now, but my fingerstyle playing definitely evolved from my love of diverse musical influences. I was always exploring different genres and listening to incredible instrumentalists. One artist who had a huge impact on me was Guthrie Govan—an extraordinary guitarist. Back in 2006-2007, he was just emerging, and I was blown away by his skills. Before that, I was also inspired by legends like Steve Vai. These artists made me want to become a world-class guitar player, someone known for their technique and the unique voice they bring to the instrument.
During my time in the band, the focus was on being a great guitarist and showcasing technical skills, but as the band dissolved, I started thinking differently. Going solo gave me the freedom to shift from purely technical playing to something more expressive and melodic. That’s when I started focusing on composing music that told a story, blending fingerstyle techniques with melodies that felt more personal and meaningful.
Fingerstyle playing became my way of connecting deeply with the guitar—it felt intimate, like having a conversation with the instrument. It allowed me to layer rhythm, melody, and harmony all at once, which is perfect for storytelling through music. Each note and pattern carries its own emotion, and that’s how I express my connection to the stories I want to share. It’s less about showing off skill now and more about creating something that resonates emotionally with listeners.
You moved to Bombay in 2018, and the city had a huge impact on your first album, Bombay Dreams. How did living in Bombay shape the sound and stories in the album?
Moving to Bombay was like stepping into a completely different world. Growing up in Arunachal Pradesh, surrounded by hills and the slower pace of life, I couldn’t even imagine living in a city like Bombay. The first time I arrived, I thought, This place is impossible. It’s surrounded by buildings, filled with people always on the move—it felt chaotic, fast, and overwhelming.
We’ve all grown up watching Bollywood films, and they show Bombay in so many ways—the slums, the glamour, the underworld dons. But experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely. For someone like me, coming from the calm and simplicity of the mountains, trying to adapt to the hustle and grind of a city like Bombay felt almost impossible.
Initially, I moved there because I wanted to become a composer. I started composing music for others—melodies, ad jingles, and some other small projects. But it was exhausting. Everyone had an opinion—the director wanted one thing, the editor wanted another—it felt like everyone was trying to direct the music. There were no credits for the work I did, and honestly, I didn’t care about that because I was still trying to find my footing. But the process itself was draining.
The pace of Bombay life was so different from what I was used to. Back home in Arunachal, life moves at a slower, more natural rhythm. It’s not slow in a bad way—it’s peaceful. You can breathe clean air, feel the calm, and live without the constant pressure of “what’s next?” In Bombay, people are born into the hustle. They grow up with it, they live it, and they thrive in it. For someone like me, coming from a place where life is all about stillness and connection, trying to keep up with that kind of hustle felt like I was losing myself.
At one point, I just decided I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to keep running after opportunities or trying to fit into a system where I didn’t belong. That’s when I decided to create Bombay Dreams. It was my last attempt, my final project as a musician. I wanted to write something that came straight from my heart—no compromises, no external pressures. I poured everything into that album—all my feelings about Bombay, the chaos, the beauty, the exhaustion, and the inspiration.
I didn’t want to continue with music after that. I was tired of trying to fit into the mold of what a musician in the city should be. I wasn’t made for the constant hustle. But ironically, Bombay Dreams became something people connected with. It grew in a way I didn’t expect. Even though I was ready to let go of music, this album gave me a new sense of purpose.
For me, Bombay Dreams was a reflection of everything I went through in that city. It’s not just an album—it’s a journey, a piece of my soul that I decided to share with the world, even when I thought it would be my last.
I read that two tracks from Bombay Dreams, Meri Dastaan and This is the Day, took nearly eight years to complete. What was that journey like, and why did it take so long to finish them?
Yes, it’s true—those tracks took almost eight years to come together. The journey behind them was long and layered. Meri Dastaan was actually composed way back in 2011. At the time, I had written the intro and the first verse, but I never finished the song. I wasn’t in a rush—I felt like it wasn’t the right time to complete or release it.
Looking back, I think everything happened for a reason. If I had released the song in 2011, it might not have resonated the way it does now. Back then, the indie music scene in India wasn’t as vibrant as it is today. Releasing it in 2019 felt like the right moment—not just for the song, but for me as an artist. The indie scene was growing, and people were more open to discovering new voices and sounds.
The delay wasn’t just about timing, though. It was also about my personal growth. Over those years, my experiences and emotions evolved, and I was able to bring more depth and meaning to the songs. By the time I revisited Meri Dastaan and This is the Day, I could see the pieces more clearly and give them the finishing touches they needed.
The eight-year journey wasn’t just about writing a song—it was about letting life shape the music. Sometimes, songs aren’t ready until you are, and I think these two tracks reflect that perfectly. They’re a product of patience, growth, and finding the right moment to tell your story.
The music video for My Other Side featured a half-human, half-cat character, which was such a unique and whimsical idea. What inspired you to take this creative approach for the video?
The idea for My Other Side really came from the concept behind the song itself. When you write a song, you might have one interpretation in mind, but every listener brings their own experiences and perspectives to it. They relate it to their own lives, sometimes in ways the songwriter might not have imagined. That’s the beauty of music—it’s personal yet universal.
With My Other Side, I wanted to explore the idea of duality—the two sides that exist within every person. Most of us have a side that we show to the world—our family, friends, and loved ones—and another side that remains hidden. Not because we’re intentionally hiding it, but because it doesn’t naturally come out. It’s that part of you that even your closest friends or family might never fully see.
The half-human, half-cat character in the video was a way to visually represent that hidden side. Cats are mysterious creatures—they’re independent, unpredictable, and often embody a sense of curiosity and secrecy. Combining a human body with a cat’s head was our way of symbolizing that hidden, whimsical, and enigmatic part of ourselves that exists just below the surface.
It was a creative and abstract way to bring the song’s message to life. Instead of taking a literal approach, we wanted to create something that sparks curiosity and encourages people to think about their own “other side.” The concept resonated with me, and I think it added a unique layer to the storytelling in the video.
How important are visuals to you when it comes to complementing the storytelling aspect of your music?
Visuals are incredibly important to me—they’re an extension of the storytelling process. When I write a song, I don’t just hear the music; I see it. Every scene, every cut, every frame—I visualize it all as if I’m creating a music video in my mind.
For example, Udd Chala, I was very clear about the concept. I had a vision of a story where the guy is from outside and the girl is from the Northeast. It was a narrative I felt strongly about, and I insisted on sticking to it even when the director and writer brought other ideas to the table. I knew exactly what I wanted to convey visually, and I made sure we stayed true to that vision.
This is how I approach all my music. For every song I write, there’s always a visual narrative playing in my mind, even if it never gets made into an actual video. I think this connection between music and visuals is what makes the storytelling more impactful—it gives the audience something to feel and imagine beyond the lyrics and melody.
I’ll admit, I can be a bit of a headache for directors because I’m very particular about my ideas. But it’s because I believe the visuals are just as important as the song itself in telling the complete story.
Your album Bombay Dreams garnered over 12.2 million streams and was widely praised. You’ve mentioned that you were ready to quit music after releasing it. How did the success of the album impact your confidence and your journey as an independent artist?
The success of Bombay Dreams was surreal, and it completely changed my perspective on music and my career. After the album, my first major show was in Delhi, and I remember the organizers telling me, “People are coming specifically to see you live.” That one sentence hit me differently. I couldn’t believe it—me? People were coming just to watch me perform? That was something I never imagined.
For me, it was unimaginable. I used to think, “Who’s Taba Chake? Who even cares?” But suddenly, Meri Dastaan was a hit, Walk With Me was being recognized globally, and I started getting emails from labels like Columbia Records in the U.S. To them, I was a “Japanese artist.” They had no idea I was Indian. When I told them where I was from, they were stunned—“How do you speak so many languages? How can you be Indian?” They thought Taba Chake was some Japanese musician living in Bombay!
The turning point was during the Delhi show when the crowd sang Shayad with me. I was overwhelmed. I didn’t show it to anyone at the time, but I was crying on stage. Not the dramatic kind of tears, but the kind that just flow naturally when you’re hit with the realization that people connect so deeply with your music. That moment made me pause and think, “This was supposed to be my last project. I didn’t even want to continue making music after this. How did this happen?”
The success of Bombay Dreams wasn’t just about the numbers or recognition—it was about feeling seen and understood as an artist. It gave me a new sense of purpose and confidence. Even though I was ready to quit music, the connection people found in my songs reminded me why I started in the first place. It wasn’t just my music anymore—it became theirs, and that’s what keeps me going.
Many fans have described Bombay Dreams as the start of a new era in Indie music. How does feedback like that make you feel as an artist? And how do you connect with your fans on such a deep level?
That kind of feedback is overwhelming, and honestly, it’s hard to process sometimes. I’ve never consciously thought about starting a “new era” in music—I just write songs that feel real to me. I write from the heart, and I try to be as honest as possible. I’m not interested in creating something that feels fake or disconnected from reality. My goal is to reflect the real world in my music, not some idealized or unattainable version of it.
I think that honesty is what resonates with people. When listeners come to my YouTube channel or stream my songs, I want them to feel like they’re stepping into a space that’s genuine, not fabricated. I want them to feel understood, like they’re being reminded of their own experiences and emotions.
Even though my fans probably listen to a wide range of artists—from Katy Perry to indie artists—there’s something about authenticity that cuts through all genres. I think that’s why they connect with my music—it doesn’t try to take them to a fantasy world; instead, it grounds them in the real world. It’s about accepting life for what it is, with all its beauty and struggles, and finding meaning in that.
I’m incredibly grateful for the connection I have with my fans. I might not have a big strategy for how to build those relationships, but I think staying honest and writing from a place of truth naturally creates that bond. It’s humbling to know that people see themselves in my music, and that connection is what drives me to keep creating.
One of my favorite songs is Natkhat Nadiya, where you collaborated with Shantanu Moitra and Maati Bani. What’s the story behind the song, and how was the experience of creating it?
Thank you for saying that—it means a lot! Natkhat Nadiya was an incredible project, and working with Shantanu Moitra and Maati Bani was a privilege. The song was primarily composed by Shantanu Moitra, who is an absolute genius. My contribution to the song was actually quite small, but it was meaningful to me.
When Shantanu first approached me, he wanted me to sing the Hindi lines. I told him, “Sir, I’m from the Northeast, I look different, and my music draws heavily from my roots. If I sing this entirely in Hindi, I’ll just sound like any other artist.” I felt strongly that including lines in Nyishi, my native language, would give the song a unique identity. It would reflect where I come from and make the song stand out. Shantanu completely supported that idea, and that’s how the song became this beautiful fusion.
Shantanu is truly one of a kind. He’s not a traditionally trained musician—he doesn’t rely on theory or structure, but his understanding of music and storytelling is unparalleled. He’s someone I’ve learned so much from. He has this way of seeing potential in people that even they might not see in themselves.
In fact, he once told me, “Taba, I know your songs connect with the youth, but I believe you have more to give to the world.” That really stuck with me. It’s humbling when someone like him believes in you that much, especially when you feel like you don’t belong in the same room as other, more trained and established artists.
For example, when I performed with him at NCPA in Bombay, I was sharing the stage with legends like Mohit Chauhan and Sid Sriram. These are artists who’ve been trained their entire lives—they’re brilliant musicians. And then there was me, standing there and wondering, “Why am I here? What do I have to offer compared to them?” I even asked Shantanu, “Why me?” And his answer was simple: “You’re here because you bring something real, something different.”
That entire experience reinforced the idea that authenticity matters in music. Working on Natkhat Nadiya and collaborating with Shantanu Moitra has been one of the most fulfilling and humbling experiences of my career. It reminded me to trust in my voice and my roots, no matter how different they might seem.
Composing for Shoojit Sircar’s I Want To Talk marked your entry into mainstream Bollywood. How was creating music for a film different from your independent projects?
Working on I Want To Talk with Shoojit Sircar was a completely different experience from my independent projects. Shoojit Sircar is such a unique filmmaker—his films are very real, subtle, and grounded. That’s also why he approached me for the project. He felt my style of music aligned with the story he wanted to tell.
At first, I didn’t even know who Shoojit Sircar was. To be honest, many people only know big Bollywood names like Karan Johar or major actors, but they don’t always know about the directors and creators behind the scenes. I was in my village at the time, harvesting ginger with my family, when I got a call from his team. They said they were working on a film and wanted me to compose for it. I thought, Okay, narrate the story, and I’ll see if I can do it.
A week later, they flew me to Bombay, booked my hotel, and I went to his office for a narration. That’s when I realized who Shoojit Sircar really was. His office had posters of Piku, October, and Madras Cafe, and I suddenly connected the dots. I had seen Madras Cafe and absolutely loved it—especially how he got such a powerful performance from John Abraham. That film was one of my favorites, but I hadn’t connected it to Shoojit at the time.
What really struck me was the way he narrated the story of I Want To Talk. He didn’t just talk about the script—he painted a picture, like he was crafting a living, breathing world. It wasn’t just a project for him; it was personal. I felt that, and it resonated with me. That’s when I knew I wanted to take on the project, not for the money but because it felt meaningful.
The process of composing for a film was very different from working on my own music. In independent projects, I have complete creative freedom—it’s all about what I want to express. But with a film, you’re part of a larger story. The music isn’t just about your emotions; it’s about supporting the narrative and complementing the director’s vision. Shoojit gave me time to experiment, and I took the project home, worked on it, and brought back some compositions.
Interestingly, Shantanu Moitra, who I’ve worked with before, was the composer for the film. It felt like such a coincidence, and it was amazing to collaborate with him and Shoojit on the same project. Both of them are brilliant in their own ways—Shoojit as a storyteller and Shantanu as a composer.
Overall, this experience taught me how to balance my own creative instincts with the demands of storytelling in film. It was challenging but deeply rewarding, and it gave me a new perspective on how music can shape a story.
Songs like Gum Ho Kahan, Dil Ghabraye, and Manzil Ki Ore are incredibly complex, tackling layered emotions. How long did it take to write these songs, and what was your songwriting process like?
It took me around six or seven months to finish those songs. The process was intense but deeply rewarding. When I first met Shoojit Sircar, he was narrating the story to me, and nothing had been shot yet. He told me he loved songs like Shayad and Meri Dastaan, and he wanted to try something different for this project—something beyond the usual mainstream style.
Shoojit was very clear that he wanted an independent artist who could bring fresh ideas to the table, but he also said most indie artists tend to play it safe. He felt my music had a different edge and that I could capture the emotional depth the film required. That was both humbling and a lot of pressure because it set a high bar from the beginning.
The challenge was understanding the story’s emotional core. Without the visuals initially, I had to rely on his narration and dive into the layers of emotions he wanted to portray. I worked on phrases, melodies, and structures that felt true to the story. Once I saw some cuts and visuals from the film, things started becoming clearer. It was like the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place.
Each song required me to channel complex emotions—grief, hope, uncertainty—and to do so in a way that felt authentic and organic to the film’s narrative. It wasn’t just about writing songs; it was about writing for the story. That’s what made the process so different from my usual songwriting.
Shoojit’s trust in me as a songwriter made a huge difference. He encouraged me to stay true to my own style while aligning with the film’s vision. It was a collaborative process, but one that pushed me to grow creatively. In the end, those six or seven months felt worth every moment because the songs came from a place of honesty and understanding.
What was your experience like working with Abhishek Bachchan? Did you have any memorable interactions with him?
Working with Abhishek Bachchan was an incredible experience. He’s such a humble and grounded person, which really stood out to me. One moment that really stuck with me was during the screening—he was surprisingly nervous. It’s not something you expect from someone with his level of experience, but it shows how much he genuinely cares about his work and how invested he is in the outcome.
That humility and vulnerability were inspiring to witness. Despite being a star, he didn’t carry any airs about himself, and it made working with him feel very comfortable and collaborative. It was refreshing to see someone so established still approach his craft with such sincerity and care.
Did you learn anything new from working on this project that you plan to carry forward in your career?
Absolutely, this project taught me a lot. The biggest lesson I’ve taken away is to always give your absolute best. No shortcuts, no compromises—just your full effort. For this project, I didn’t want to settle for something simple or predictable. While there was a suggestion to create a straightforward ukulele-driven piece, similar to Shayad, I wanted to push myself and go beyond that. I wanted to create something more meaningful, something that felt complete and reflective of the depth of the story.
This project wasn’t about money for me—it was about life, about creating something authentic that could truly resonate. I poured everything I had into making it a full package, and that’s a mindset I’ll carry with me into all my future work.
The key takeaway is this: if you’re given an opportunity to work on something meaningful, don’t hold back. Give it everything you’ve got. Your art deserves that kind of commitment, and so do the people who will experience it. That’s a philosophy I’ll always stand by.
Would you consider working on more Bollywood projects in the future, or do you prefer to focus solely on your independent music?
I think I’d be open to taking on one Bollywood project a year—maybe just a single song rather than a full album. A complete album would require an enormous amount of work and time, which is something I’d have to really consider carefully.
Working on film music is very different from creating my own songs. When I’m working on my independent music, I’m in complete control—I visualize everything myself, from the emotions to the story to the sound. But in a film, the director has the vision, not me. It’s their narrative, their visual world, and I’m there to complement it with music. That means I have to align my ideas with theirs, take their feedback, and make changes to fit the story they’re telling.
The process can be challenging. You’ll meet the team, sit in the studio, watch scenes from the film, and sometimes go back and rewrite a piece based on a completely new idea. It’s a lot of back-and-forth, and it requires a huge amount of time and energy. But at the same time, it’s a great learning experience.
So yes, I’d love to explore more Bollywood projects, but selectively. For me, it’s important to balance that with my independent music, where I can truly express myself and tell my own stories without compromise.
Who are your favorite indie artists currently, and what have you been listening to these days?
Honestly, I don’t listen to a lot of music these days, and I rarely focus on specific artists anymore. Back in the day, we’d have one cassette or CD, and you’d dive deep into that artist’s entire journey—memorizing the lyrics, understanding their sound, and truly connecting with their music.
But now, with streaming platforms, there’s so much accessibility and an overwhelming number of artists to discover. It’s great because it gives exposure to so many talented individuals, but at the same time, it makes it harder to connect deeply with one artist. These days, I find myself just listening to songs randomly rather than following any specific artist or remembering song titles. It’s a very different way of experiencing music compared to how it used to be.
Finally, I’d love to know—what do you have in store for 2025? Any big surprises for your fans?
2025 is shaping up to be a really exciting year! I’ve been working on a bunch of new songs, and we’ve already finished one music video, which we’re planning to release soon.
As for an album—yes, I’m working on one! We’re in the process of finalizing a collection of songs for it. While I haven’t set a release date yet, I can promise it’s going to be something special. This year feels like it’s going to be a huge one, and I’m excited to share more music and stories with my fans. Stay tuned—it’s going to be interesting!
