Bharg didn’t set out to make noise—he set out to make sense. Sense of chaos, ambition, heartbreak, hope, and the strange peace that comes from letting go. Whether it’s the emotionally scorched verses of Roshni or the road-trip euphoria of Besabar, his music doesn’t ask to be liked—it just wants to be felt.
A producer, vocalist, and accidental philosopher, Bharg walks a tightrope between raw instinct and studied sound design. He’s gone from scribbling rap verses under a law-school deadline to soundtracking national ad campaigns—and somehow, he’s done it without losing his emotional center. In an industry that rewards volume over vulnerability, he’s quietly carving out a lane of his own.
In this exclusive interview with News18 Showsha, Bharg reflects on making music in the age of algorithms, creating without compromise, and how sometimes, the most personal songs start with a sleepy loop and a feeling you can’t name yet.
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Here are the excerpts:
“Besabar" feels like a passport to freedom — full of summer energy. What was the first image or feeling that sparked the idea for the track?
When we were making the track, I had the idea of creating something that felt like chill summer vibes but also energetic—something that makes you feel euphoric. I was also really sleepy when I did the initial composition, so I ended up making a chill track by default.
You blend multiple genres seamlessly in “Besabar." How do you balance experimentation with keeping the track cohesive and catchy? From your earlier work to “Besabar," how has your relationship with genre-bending changed or matured?
When we were making the track, I had the idea of creating something that felt like chill summer vibes but also energetic—something that makes you feel euphoric. I was also really sleepy when I did the initial composition, so I ended up making a chill track by default.
There’s a cinematic quality to the sound production — almost like a road trip montage. Did visual storytelling play a role in how you shaped the sound?
Visually, we were very clear that we had to portray a road trip and a chill time with friends. That was the vibe I wanted. So the chords and sound selection were made accordingly.
How did your collaboration with Lothika begin, and what was the first creative breakthrough that told you this song was special? What did Lothika bring to the table that challenged or surprised you as a producer?
Lothika is an exceptional artist, and we’ve all heard her work. So when Game Face suggested bringing her in, I was super excited. She’s a very cool individual with great ideas and inputs—and, of course, an amazing vocalist. A great collaborator to have.
You’ve worked across indie, Bollywood, and now with a major campaign like Kingfisher’s collaboration with Lucknow Super Giants—how was it different creating a track like “Besabar" for a TVC, and what was the creative brief like?
It wasn’t that different. You just make what you feel is good, and that’s all you can do as an artist. Then you let the world around you shape itself around the sound you’re making. Kingfisher was really chill and trusted our vision—and as an artist, that’s all you can ask for. Very supportive.
How did it feel to see “Besabar" come alive on screen alongside the LSG team? Did this collaboration help shape or shift your identity as a singer-songwriter in any way?
THAT WAS A DREAM COME TRUE. We all know how much cricket means to us—and to have a top team like Lucknow Super Giants support us was unreal. I don’t know about an image or identity shift, though. I still sit in my studio and do the same thing I did before—make music. I’m just grateful for the opportunities and the people around me making this happen.
You once dreamed of becoming a lawyer before music called you back. How did that pivot from law prep to sound engineering shape your perspective on ambition and success?
I just didn’t want to regret not doing music. So I took that leap of faith. I love academics—it has shaped who I am—but music is the only constant I’ve ever had. I had to take that jump. Even if it didn’t work out, at least I’d know I tried.
Having studied sound engineering, do you ever find yourself torn between technical perfection and emotional rawness when producing a track?
To be honest, I’ve never formally studied music. I’m self-taught, so I don’t know what “perfection" is. But I do have a sense of sound and an understanding that I trust—and I make music based on that. Technical knowledge helps guide raw emotion better. It’s like rationality vs. emotion or facts vs. the context of facts. Do whatever you think makes you a better person or artist.
Your music walks the line between underground indie energy and mainstream appeal — was this a conscious direction or a natural evolution?
It’s a natural evolution that I’m conscious of. I don’t think it’s ever an either/or situation. Subconscious thoughts and actions can be realized and made deliberate. I’m an indie artist who loves pop sensibilities.
“Sab Chahiye" felt like a generational manifesto. What were you and Rawal listening to or talking about in those early studio sessions that shaped the tone of the album?
We’d often talk late at night under my building near his car before he left, saying things like, “Hope this works out, bro, because I’m loving this, and I don’t want to go back." We also listened to everything except hip-hop. That’s why I call it a Hip-Pop album—it’s the middle ground between all genres.
Tracks like “Jungli Kutta" and “Dikkatein" carry wildly different energies. How did you decide which sonic world each lyric should inhabit?
Honestly, we didn’t overthink anything. Rawal and I just wrote and created in a state of flow, responding to the emotions, sonics, and lyrics as they came.
The album also acts as a social lens. Was there a moment during its creation when you realized you were building more than just a tracklist — that this was cultural documentation?
I don’t know if it’s a form of cultural documentation. I’m assuming—and I’m glad you feel that way. We just said what we wanted to and felt like saying. What it is or isn’t is something for others to decide.
Nikamma had a kind of playful rebellion to it. What was going through your head emotionally when you wrote “Roshni"? Was it catharsis, hope, or something else?
‘Nikamma’ as an album was all about existentialism. It touches on the existential challenges I face daily—with myself and my surroundings. ‘Roshni’ is a moment in that journey where I’m searching for some light—some sense of direction to move forward in life.
You’ve spoken about changing your sound every project. How do you keep your creative compass sharp without feeling like you’re abandoning your previous selves?
I just make what I love. Most of the time, I’m not afraid to be myself in the songs I create. That’s how I approach it.
From Tsumyoki to King to Lothika, your collaborators are incredibly diverse. What’s your litmus test when deciding whether to build a track with someone?
I think collaboration should be based on mutual respect. If someone can add real value to the art we’re making, I’m all in. I always want to be able to respect the person I’m working with—because music can be seen as good or bad depending on how people perceive it, but mutual respect lasts.
How do you balance your identity as a producer when working with dominant voices like Badshah or Diljit in Bollywood? Do you ever feel the need to assert your signature more strongly?
I genuinely felt that my job was to make a great song with the best—and I did that. There was no need to assert myself in the room when the goal was to create something good. Assertion is only needed when there’s a power struggle. But they were kind, accommodating, collaborative, and easy to work with. I’ve met Badshah bhai multiple times, worked on more than one song and even did a music video with him, and I never felt the need to assert anything. There’s only love and respect between us.
You’ve navigated both the indie and Bollywood worlds fluidly. What’s one thing each side could learn from the other?
I’m not sure what they both can learn from each other. My exposure to Bollywood has been recent and limited, so I can’t give an honest opinion yet.
Do you feel indie music in India is becoming more formulaic, or are we still in a golden age of sonic risk-taking?
Formulas will always come and go. The idea of a “golden age" is a myth. Every year is called a golden age by someone because artists are always breaking boundaries. Nothing is ever purely unique, and nothing is ever purely formulaic. Generality and specialization are two sides of the same coin. The real question is: what do ‘you’ prefer? There’s no good or bad.
Streaming platforms have played a massive role in your rise. How do you see algorithms shaping (or misrepresenting) the kind of music that gets heard?
I don’t know how algorithms have shaped my life or career. But the introduction of streaming platforms and the internet revolution in India made YouTube, Spotify, and Apple Music accessible to everyone. It democratized music, and that boom helped all of us as musicians. I’m grateful I was around at a time when I could benefit from this.
You’ve worn many hats — visual designer, marketing intern, sound engineer. Which non-musical skill has surprisingly helped your music career the most?
No, I don’t miss anonymity. That’s the whole reason I put my music out—so others can engage with it. If I wanted anonymity, I’d never have released music publicly or kept my account private.
You’re known for creating sonic landscapes. What’s one everyday sound or texture that recently inspired a beat or loop?
Skrillex and Linkin Park. I’m so happy they’re releasing new music. They shaped my mindset for future songs, just like they did for my earlier ones.
What’s next in the pipeline for you?
A lot of music is coming—full of experimentation and me trying to find myself through it.
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