In an age where music lives inside phones, playlists, and algorithms, vinyl records offer a different kind of warmth — listening that demands patience and presence, as melodies unfold through faint crackles and soft pops. In Delhi, this analogue charm is finding new listeners, with vinyl parties, record stores, and a growing community of enthusiasts.
Samarth Kotru, co-founder of Delhi Record Store (DRS), says vinyl culture has always existed in the city, but has gained fresh momentum over the past year, especially among listeners aged 20 to 35. According to him, younger listeners are driving the trend, but older collectors remain a crucial part of the ecosystem. “We still see many people in their forties who have always been collecting,” he adds.
“It’s therefore not just about vinyl or records — it’s about the analogue culture” Kotru adds. He runs DRS with Bachitter Singh and conducts workshops across spaces such as Auro, Genre, Strangers, Dirty Good and Loco.
Against the feed
Music journalist and collector Sarthak Sharma sees this as a shift towards intentional listening. “People are tired of endless Spotify. You can only listen so much. With vinyl, unlike streaming platforms, you can’t skip. If I’ve invested `5,000 in an album, you’re going to listen to it,” Sharma says. “Music stops being passive and becomes intentional again.”
For many, vinyl also fits into a broader desire to be less online. Sarthak Mishra, a collector and corporate lawyer, sees it as a way to reclaim attention. “Streaming is unbeatable when it comes to convenience,” he says. “But vinyl feels more like a ritual. You come home, put a record on, pour some diet soda, and commit to that moment.”
He also sees the shift as a pushback against algorithmic consumption. “Algorithms feel like echo chambers,” he adds. “They keep recommending the same kind of music. Vinyl lets you escape that.”
Holding memories
Vinyl is also about memory and emotional connection. Mohammad Shamikh Khan, market researcher and vinyl collector traces his interest back to stories his mother told him about saving pocket money for records. “For a long time, vinyl felt distant. I had only seen it in photos,” he recalls. “Then I walked into a record store in Hauz Khas and realised it still existed.”
His first record was an impulsive purchase — made even before he owned a player. “I bought the vinyl first and then bought a turntable just to play it,” he says, adding that he now owns over 100 records.
Artist manager Rijul Seth recalls his first record, an old Russian vinyl gifted by his father. He later began collecting CDs and records during the pandemic. “In India, we moved away from physical formats very fast,” he says. “MP3 players replaced everything.” He sees vinyl and CDs returning as memorabilia. “Visually, it’s beautiful,” he says. “A record player, shelves of vinyl — it creates an atmosphere.”
Khan believes records represent more than just music. “Every album has a story. Records don’t come cheap. Owning them is like holding on to memories,” he says.
Listening together
Beyond private collections, vinyl culture in Delhi is also being shaped by listening parties — curated gatherings where people come together to hear albums in full. Sharma, who organises weekly listening sessions at venues such as Siyah Arthouse in Saket, sees these events as a way to restore music’s communal spirit. He previously ran Promenade Books in Hauz Khas Village, where he first began organising vinyl listening sessions.
“Vinyl DJing is popular, but I wanted to focus on artists,” he says. “So we began programming sessions around bands people love — Arctic Monkeys, Coldplay, The 1975, Peter Cat Recording Co.” Listening sessions are also about ‘an education’.
The appeal also lies in shared attention. “With playlists, everyone is fighting for their turn. With vinyl, there’s no skipping. You listen together,” Sharma explains. Often attended by dozens of people, these sessions transform listening into a social experience — one where conversations, memories, and discoveries flow organically. “I love The Lumineers, so the idea was: can we get everyone who loves The Lumineers in one room?” he adds.
“You carry your vinyl to listening sessions and connect with people who care about the same things,” says Khan. “Some people focus on sound quality. Others value the tactile experience — holding the record, placing it on the player, dropping the needle. You hear the crackle, the pop, the imperfections. It creates closeness with the music.”
Collectors also find joy in physically discovering new artists and genres through vinyl. “When I travel, I look for record stores,” says freelance music journalist Bhanuj Kappal. “Digging through catalogues is different from having everything online.” With around 250 records, Kappal values vinyl for reintroducing surprise into listening. “Sometimes you buy something because of the artwork or a backstory. You end up loving records you’d never search for online,” he says.
Vinyl’s fate
But there are challenges. “Three years ago, people loved the idea of vinyl but weren’t buying it. We had many zero-sales days,” Sharma recalls. Today, he believes the scene is more saturated, with multiple curators and organisers hosting parallel events. “Most sales still revolve around Pink Floyd, The Beatles, and The Strokes,” he says. “Beyond that, people don’t explore much.”
He remains realistic about the future. “Film cameras were a fad. Vinyl might have one and a half years left.” Yet, he believes core collectors will remain. “And that’s okay.”
Seth, however, does not see physical formats as a threat, even though his income as an artist manager in the music industry depends on streaming. “This culture won’t die,” he insists. “Even in the US, vinyl survived digital disruption.”
Vinyl’s revival in Delhi reflects a yearning for slowness and connection. It is also about choosing to listen rather than consume, and treating music as an event rather than background noise.
(Written by Adithi Reena Ajith)