If music is what stirs your spirit, it is difficult to imagine a single day passing without the voice of Hariharan drifting through it. With a phenomenal repertoire of over 15,000 songs across cinema, ghazals, bhajans, and independent music in more than 10 languages, the legendary singer has remained a towering presence in the music industry for over five decades. And the passage of time has only deepened his creativity, as there is no hint of retreat in his artistic stride.
Take, for instance, his latest offering, Jaan Meri, a tender collection of ghazals penned by the noted Urdu poet Farhat Shahzad and brought to life by Sufiscore. “The best things cannot be rushed,” Hariharan says with his signature composure. The album took time to come to fruition with the pandemic intervening, but he has absolutely no qualms about it and invokes the old adage, ‘sabr ka phal meetha hota hai’ (the fruit of patience is sweet). For this deeply personal project, Hariharan assumes the dual mantle of composer and singer. Now that his long-awaited labour of love is finally in the public realm, he is, quite understandably, walking on air.
After all, ghazals have long been his spiritual home. It is a form, he believes, in which one’s truest self inevitably reveals itself. Emerging from seventh century Arabia, the ghazal has travelled centuries and civilisations to become a vessel of longing and reflection that seeps into the very rooh (soul). In the verses of Amir Khusrow, love takes on a divine hue; in the poetry of Mirza Ghalib, it becomes introspective and aching; in the work of Faiz Ahmed Faiz, it carries both romance and quiet defiance.
Through Hariharan’s voice, that conversation finds its way to the heart. His voice, which blends classical discipline and modern subtleties, connects generations with ease. For the legendary musician, Jaan Meri is far more than a mere album; it is a continuation of a lifelong dialogue with the soul, and Urdu poetry brought vividly to life through music.
Excerpts from the conversation.
Jaan Meri celebrates 50 years of your musical journey. What does this album mean to you?
Reflecting on 50 years feels quite surreal. Personally, I don’t like to carry baggage; guzra hua zamana gaya (the past is gone), what matters is the now and the next moment. Jaan Meri is my way of remaining in that present. It is a time capsule for me. It represents the maturity of my journey and the fact that, even after five decades, I am still a student; I am still introspecting, and still discovering joy in a new sur (note).
The album was created during the pandemic. Did working during that time influence its mood?
Music is a tranquiliser and a healer. During those quiet months, it became our refuge. We had the luxury of time to let the music breathe; it wasn’t manufactured simply to click or become a hit. That stillness allowed a certain roohdari (soulfulness) to settle into the tracks. It made the album more introspective and tighter, as we could obsess over every small nuance without the rush of a typical studio schedule.
What did you enjoy most about this collaboration with Farhat Shahzad?
Farhat bhai doesn’t merely write; he creates a world. I’ve sung his ghazals for years, but working together directly felt like two friends perched on a ladder, sharing a love for the craft. What I enjoyed most was the ‘hidden child’ in the process. His poetry has a brilliant conversational touch, it’s never heavy or pedantic, it’s visual. The tunes flowed naturally from his words; I never had to force them.
Is there one song that feels closest to your heart?
It’s like asking a father to choose a favourite child! But Chala Gaya is very special. It is set in Raag Yaman, a raga that feels like home to me. The way the poetry and the gayaki (singing style) merge in that track is beautifully fluid. It carries exclusivity and a sentimental aura that, I feel, defines my destiny as a singer.
What keeps your love for ghazals alive after 50 years?
Exclusivity and soul! The ghazal is a genre in which one cannot hide; if there is roohdari within a person, it reveals itself in the song. I’ve always been drawn to the khayaal, the imagination, of music. Whether I am singing a traditional ghazal or experimenting with ‘Ghazal-nova’ (a Bossa Nova fusion), it is the thrill of rediscovering myself that keeps me going.
When you hear your songs today, do you relive the recording moments?
Absolutely! Music and perfume are the most powerful time capsules. When I hear a track, I’m not simply hearing notes; I can almost smell the tea in the studio, recall the ‘aroma of ragas’ from my childhood, and feel the energy of the musicians in Mumbai. It isn’t sadness; it is a beautiful nostalgia that makes you feel as though you are truly there again.
What are your thoughts on technology-aided music creation?
Technology is a tool, but it must never become the master. I believe in imagination first. We used technology in Jaan Meri to make the soundscape tight and contemporary, but the sur must come from the heart, not a machine. If you use technology to enhance the soul, it is a blessing; if you use it to replace the soul, the music will not remain fresh for long.
What challenges does a playback singer face today compared to earlier times?
Today, the challenge is not to become a ‘type’. When I began, I struggled to gain a foothold in the glittering world of music because I was adamant about keeping my original voice and style. I never imitated anyone simply to get my foot in the door. It wasn’t about being rejected repeatedly, but about holding onto my identity. A singer today must be like a sponge, absorbing everything from Stevie Wonder to folk music, without losing who they are.
Has any language been especially tricky or particularly fun?
I’ve sung in over 10 languages, and each carries its own energy. Tamil was a wonderful breakthrough for me with (AR) Rahman, but I’ve enjoyed everything from Marathi to Sinhala. It has never been about regional boundaries; it is simply about whether the music is soulful.
If you could re-record any classic, which would it be?
Perhaps some of my early ghazals, when I was still finding my style. With the voice and introspection I possess today, I might bring a different aura to them. But then again, those older recordings are time capsules, why alter the moment?
Are there upcoming film projects for your fans?
I am always open to good music. Film music was my stepping stone, and it remains part of my journey. Whether it’s a romantic melody or something playful and frivolous, I am always ready to explore, provided the soul is right.
What advice would you give your younger self?
‘Don’t carry baggage, man!’ I would remind myself that the art is always greater than the artiste. I’d say, khana khao, gaana gao (eat well, sing well), and don’t worry about being labelled a niche singer. Just focus on the riyaaz, the repetition that ultimately leads to spontaneity.
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