AFTERALL drops ‘Tadke Tadke,’ a fiery fusion of Indian soul and global beats

Honestly, it’s in my blood. I grew up with A R Rahman’s magic echoing through my home — those ’90s melodies shaped who I am. When I started producing, I never wanted to copy the West. I wanted to fuse my roots — the soul of Indian music, with European grooves. Recently, my travels across the Middle East hit me hard. The depth in Arabic melodies and the intensity of their drums — it’s raw emotion disguised as rhythm. Tadke Tadke was born from that space — a collision of nostalgia, wanderlust and rebellion. I wanted to prove that Indian sound can dominate global dance floors without losing its identity.

Absolutely. Every Sunday morning, my family sat together watching Rangoli on DD Bharti. Those lyrics from Lata ji and Udit Narayan would stay with me for days. That was real music — pure, emotional and made with heart. Today, Bollywood is mostly about trends and algorithms. I wanted Tadke Tadke to bring meaning back to the clubs — something that makes you dance but also makes you feel. It’s my rebellion against how emotionless music has become.

Saajan is deeply personal — it’s about my own love story that never got closure. I wanted to create that space where heartbreak meets beauty. The veena melody played on an Arabic scale brought that duality — soft yet haunting. I produce my songs with one mission: to make people feel something again. Saajan isn’t just a track — it’s that 3 am drive after a breakup, when you’re lost between missing someone and moving on. It’s cinematic sadness you can dance to.

Balancing pain with groove. Most producers chase beats — I chase goosebumps. I want you to move your body but question your heart at the same time. It’s exhausting sometimes — like Naina Tarse, a track that almost broke me while making it. It had grief, yet people danced to it. That’s my art form — crying and dancing at once.

We’ve spent decades copying the West. Now it’s time the West copies us. Look at Despacito — none of us understood a word, yet it ruled the world. Why can’t a Hindi or Rajasthani hook do the same? I want a white crowd in Ibiza screaming Hindi lyrics with pride. That’s my goal — to make Indian music global without losing its truth.

Right now, I’m obsessed with the veena, bouzouki and bağlama. These instruments speak to me — they cry, they breathe. I’ve even started learning the veena myself. You’ll hear a lot of those textures in my upcoming tracks. I’m building a bridge between Rajasthan and Morocco, between Mumbai and Mykonos — where every sound feels familiar yet foreign.

Every crowd is its own universe. At Sunburn, people expect me to explode — heavy drops, Afro grooves and a surprise Hindi sample that flips the dance floor. Abroad, especially in Europe, I go deeper — Dutch house, global pop, but I always slip in a Hindi vocal. No matter where I play, 30 percent of my set is always Indian. That’s not a formula — it’s a statement. You can’t take the roots out of me.

We shot it across Dubai and Sharjah. The desert, for me, isn’t just sand — it’s emptiness. It’s how love feels when it dies. In the video, you see me lost in that dry, endless space — glamorous on the outside, hollow inside. It’s not just a heartbreak video — it’s my life. Between the lights, the shows, the noise — there’s loneliness too. Saajan captures that contradiction: fame in front of thousands, but silence when the lights go out.

Chaos, experiments and honesty. After Saajan, I’m dropping an EP featuring Ankhiyan, Johri’s Chuda and Tu Kya Jaane — all exploring different shades of Indian emotion with global grooves. Then begins my three-month India tour — 75 shows, madness and moments that’ll define my next era. My vision is clear: Indian music deserves to be danced to in Ibiza, not just Bollywood weddings.