In a recent BBC interview, A R Rahman said, “Past eight years maybe I have felt that people who are not creative hold the power now. Might have been a communal thing also. Not in my face but I can hear Chinese whispers. That they booked you and the other music company funded the movie and got their own five composers.”

The reaction to his observation was instant and intense. This was not a young composer struggling to find a foothold, nor a mid-career artiste navigating irrelevance. This was Rahman — an Oscar winner, whose music has shaped the emotional memory of Indian cinema for over three decades — articulating a sense of scarcity. If someone of his stature felt the slowdown, what does that say about Bollywood’s music ecosystem?

The moment made us revisit the questions the industry has been circling for years. Is Bollywood music shrinking, or simply reorganizing itself in ways that no longer sustain most musicians? According to the latest IPRS report, film music still leads streams in India, but its share has fallen from around 80 per cent to about 63 per cent of total music consumption over the last few years — a clear sign that listeners are exploring non-film and independent music more than before. So what does “making it” even mean for a Hindi musician in 2026?

Singer, producer, and independent musician Sona Mohapatra believes the question itself needs reframing. Known for carving a career outside film music through projects like Tarasha, The Lal Pari Mastani Show, and most recently Sona 24K, which debuted to a full house at Mumbai’s NMACC Grand Theatre, Mohapatra has spent over a decade building audiences beyond Bollywood.

“I’d like to gently reframe the premise of the conversation. I don’t quite see this moment as one where musicians are trying to ‘break into’ Bollywood anymore. The ecosystem has shifted,” she says.

What is often read as exclusion, Mohapatra argues, is actually the result of a structural issue. “The film industry increasingly operates on tight timelines, formulaic briefs, and shrinking creative risk within the mainstream film music system.”

For her, the story isn’t about younger artistes replacing older ones, or social-media-friendly music displacing layered compositions. “I think it’s about Bollywood no longer being the centre of gravity. Music doesn’t need films the way it once did.”

She points instead to packed concert venues, relentless touring schedules, and artistes collaborating across regions and genres without waiting for film validation. “Artistes today can be relevant, successful, and globally visible without waiting for a film to validate them,” she says, adding that calling symphonic or layered music outdated “is missing the point.”

In Rahman’s situation, Mohapatra says, “I don’t agree that A R Rahman is being sidelined. He’s still scoring some of the biggest Hindi film projects. Chhaava (2025) went to him over cultural fits like Ajay-Atul, and he’s scoring Ramayana (slated to release in 2026), not Ram Sampath. This is not what marginalization looks like.”

For those working within film music, the shift is less philosophical and more physical. A Mumbai-based sound engineer and music producer, Krish Agashe [name changed], describes the Indian film industry, “Bollywood functions in very different ways,” he says, “People work here for a week without sleeping or anything. To get on that network, you have to get it in your mind that you are not a 9 to 5 person here. There are no time zones. There are no timelines.”

For newcomers, the entry barrier is paradoxically high and deeply unstable. “Even if you are a good musician, you are supposed to have a lot of knowledge and a lot of experience to even get hired,” he explains. The hours are punishing, pay is often modest, and visibility becomes as important as skill. “You have to be famous. The average pay scale in India is very less for music.”

Seen through this lens, Rahman’s remarks points less to exclusion, and more to an industry obsessed with momentum. Agashe says, “But it’s not like Rahman is not doing work. It’s not like Bollywood has boycotted him.” What Rahman articulated, he believes, is a loss of creative control. In a crowded, deadline-driven industry, patience for complex, time-intensive music is often the first casualty.

If the problem feels structural, Anand Iyer forces the conversation into economics. A former music producer and sound designer who worked on Gangs Of Wasseypur (2012) which won the National Film Award for Best Audiography in 2013, Iyer has exited the music industry altogether. He is now the founder and creative director of flippit.media, an AI-led content and performance marketing agency. 

“After the COVID [pandemic] and Instagram, the content industry went through a major shift,” he says.  “Audiences moved toward short-form, high-volume digital content. That naturally changed how much they spend on music and long-format productions.”

As budgets shrank, so did the perceived value of original music. In his view, this collapse hit everyone — Rahman included — but much later. “There isn’t the same value for music that existed before COVID as the market has now reached efficiency,” he says. “Now Mr Rahman is a little sore about the fact that he is not getting work. But nobody has work these days. And obviously, he’s more expensive.”

He frames this not as “targeting”, but timing. “It was interesting to hear Mr Rahman speak about this now, because many in the industry have been experiencing this transition and have been feeling it for a while.”

In 2024 — as per a 2025 Digital Music News research — the Indian music market’s total digital revenues dropped around 11 per cent, even as paid subscriptions grew from roughly 8 million to 10.5 million. That illustrates how monetization has become harder even while streaming remains dominant. According to Iyer, Rahman isn’t an outlier. He is simply encountering the economic reality that has already pushed many musicians out.

Composer and producer Ankur Tewari offers a recalibration rather than a rebuttal. “There are multiple ways that a director would look at who they want to work with,” he says. The idea that Bollywood music is now a young person’s game doesn’t hold for him. “I don’t believe that younger people make younger sounds or older people make older sounds. Whoever feels correct for the project — you look at the work, the budget, the availability.”

What has changed, he argues, is not struggle, but terrain. “Earlier, there was nowhere you could be seen. Now there is so much stuff, that you get lost in the noise. The circumstances have changed, but the struggles remain the same.” Tewari resists nostalgia. Rahman himself, he notes, struggled for years before landing his first major film. So did composers like Pritam and the trio Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy. “Somebody took a punt on them.”

Technology, he says, has simply widened the funnel. “It’s much easier to record music now. It’s more democratic. There’s a lot more music being created. However, the amount of music being created is not directly proportional to the amount of good talent.” In other words, saturation isn’t new. It’s just more visible now.

Varun Parikh, founder of Bay Owl Studios, a premier commercial recording and post-production facility, has watched this shift play out at close range. For him, the erosion seems contractual. “There have been times where I’ve gone completely out of my way for clients, doing work I wasn’t hired to do just to meet deadlines,” he says. “But that gets taken for granted. The moment you set boundaries, it becomes a problem.”

He also acknowledges the new reality of music as test content. “I’ve seen artistes pay for a 60-second song just to see if it goes viral. They spend good money on getting that 60-second song with a catchy hook out there. It’s almost like a tester and if it goes viral, then maybe they can sell it further or make it into a proper song. We live in a world of quick and easy gratification where everybody wants that instant dopamine hit,” he observes. 

To understand how these pressures play out at the entry level, music producer Deep Gulati [name changed] describes a system that rewards recognition over suitability. “One of the obvious challenges is social media following,” he says.

“Sometimes the talent might not be appropriate for the job, but because someone has better clout, they get it. Either you have a network or a social media crowd.” Alongside clout, comes role creep. “Earlier, you were hired as a specialist. Now people are expected to know ten other things,” he says, tying this to shrinking budgets, “People are expected to do much more than just their specialty.”

That same risk logic explains why even respected composers can be priced out. “The budgets that Rahman has, not all films can afford it,” Gulati says. With trade reports showing big films failing, “projects are very risky right now”.

Smaller films simply cannot absorb that cost, “even though he might be the best choice”. “I know a couple of my friends who have walked out of a film or have done that film, but they have not publicized it at all, because ideologically, they don’t want to associate with the film for whatever reason. And if you disagree, it might be held against you,” he mentions, pointing to his anonymity. 

For newcomers, the illusion collapses quickly because of the pressures of networking, branding, social media presence, and brutal work hours. “You are expected to pull in crazy amounts of hours at work that people are not really used to. People are fed the idea that it’s glamorous, but it’s actually an extreme level of hard work,” adds Gulati.

Rahman, then, is not a victim of a hostile industry so much as a late mirror to a reality many musicians have already absorbed. As Iyer puts it bluntly, “I don’t think this reflects anger or division but how strongly technology and consumption patterns have shifted. I think he’s just getting old and angry now. It’s misplaced frustration in my opinion.”

What Rahman is feeling now, Iyer argues, is what his team felt earlier when budgets collapsed and copyright value dropped. “People were surprised when I pivoted out of music, but it was a strategic choice. I’d encourage young people today to study where the market and technology are heading, and then learn their craft in a way that fits those realities. Art still matters, but it has to align with how the industry is evolving,” he says. 

Agashe’s description of Bollywood as a “superhuman network” fills in the human cost behind that shift. “You have to know a lot of people in the industry to make a mark. You have to be famous. Hit makers are what Bollywood needs. And it’s all about creators being able to deliver that,” he states. Fame becomes currency because pay isn’t. “It’s about relevance, about delivering in the present era.”

At the first listen of Aankhon, chances are you’ll do a double take. After all, the gentle melody is nothing like the songs belted out by singer Dhvani Bhanushali so far. Collaborating with OAFF, Savera, and lyricist Ankur Tewari, she has crafted a number that blends emotional depth with an experimental edge. “I think I got slightly cooler with this song,” Bhanushali says with a smile, admitting that Aankhon marks a shift in her music.

“I went niche with it, and for once, I didn’t seek too many opinions. I just loved it and wanted to put it out. So, I did.”

Aankhon, she reveals, is one of the two songs the musicians made together in 2024. “This one sounded fresh. We felt like writing about how we make different connections throughout life; Ankur started penning the lyrics, and the structure just kept forming. As soon as we heard the final version, we related to it immediately. There was something [novel] in the sound — a space I hadn’t explored before,” she recalls.

However, the song was on the backburner throughout last year. Bhanushali eventually felt that it was the right piece to launch in 2025. “I dropped the audio recently and released a visualizer as well. It’s quite a cool concept, experimental for me. Let’s see how people respond,” she smiles.

In her seven-year career so far, the singer has straddled film music and her originals with ease. If she is the voice behind Bollywood chartbusters like Dilbar (Satyameva Jayate, 2018) and Duniya (Luka Chuppi, 2019), she has also belted out popular singles like Vaaste and Leja Re. Does the growing influence of social media, where tracks go viral for their hooks, affect her creative process and approach to music? “A song is made like a song,” she responds, after some thought.

“Subconsciously, yes, the pressure is there. But no one can predict which part of a song will go viral. We follow the organic process, where there is a chorus, verse, and bridge. While some music might be made with Instagram in mind, I don’t think we consciously do that. But we’ve seen so many reels that maybe something gets embedded in our minds. Not every song needs to go viral, some just need to be heard.”

Bhanushali, whose live performances and fan interactions have played a big part in her rise, believes she has evolved with her experiences. The journey so far has left her with valuable lessons. “One of the biggest learnings is detaching from the obsession with views and traction. As a musician, you need to separate yourself from that. Otherwise, it becomes too much about business. During the creation process, it’s important to set that aside; it’s difficult, but necessary.”

The transitive property in mathematics states that if a equals b, and b equals c, then a equals c. In cinema though, we wonder if this equality would be challenged. Zoya Akhtar never makes a bad film; musicals rarely work in Bollywood; Zoya Akhtar is making a musical. Given Akhtar’s past streak, and the fact that The Archies is set to serve as the launch pad for the kids of the industry’s biggest stars, it’s safe to suppose that the film would be delightful. How accurately though, does it fit into the defined template of a musical? Entirely, promises sound engineer Ankur Tewari.

“We have 16 songs, some of which are as short as 20 seconds. A piece of poetry, or music, takes the story forward, and the idea was to do it in a way such that the viewer doesn’t notice that a song has begun. It needed to be done, organically, as though the audience was seamlessly flowing into and out of the dialogues and the songs. It needed to feel as natural as simply watching a scene, which is why we used music as a texture. We wanted to keep viewers on their toes—excited, and indulgent. We wanted to tease and flirt, but not overindulge. It’s interesting to see how Zoya has used the music.”

Previous successful collaborations would have, perhaps, contributed to their equation, with Tewari—who also supervised the music of Akhtar’s hit, Gully Boy—referring to the filmmaker as a friend who he “continues to learn from”.

Tewari was elated to be associated with the project for more reasons than one. Apart from the fact that he had grown up with an appetite for The Archies comics—which have inspired this film—he would get the chance to explore the soundscape of the ’60s, the “golden period of music”.

“Because it is set in the ’60s, I dug into a few books and did some research. Since it was not set in [this day and age], we recorded every bit of the album, live, including the guitars, drums, horns, vocals, and harmonica. The idea was to record as if we were doing so in the ’60s. Even when we were choosing the mics and the hardware to record on, we picked those that would not make the music sound new-age. At the same time, we created a balance so as to ensure it doesn’t sound dated. Live-recording is a different discipline. One needs more practice, and rehearsal, because [all the artistes] play together. Even though some may find it cumbersome, you find yourself at an advantage when you play off [another artiste’s rendition].”

While the film’s soundtrack was composed by Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy, Tewari also doubled up as the composer of the number, Sunoh. With the film set in an “Anglo-Indian hill station”, Tewari had to immerse himself in research work before creating the sounds.

“The screenplay is extremely breezy. [Surfing through every page], we could come up with a gazillion ideas on what we could do with the music. It is reminiscent of simpler times. So, we knew that a lot of rock and roll, and jazz would be used. That’s where we were headed, as far as the sonic palette was concerned. We wanted it to reflect the energy of the kids, and the exuberance of youth. Also, because it is Anglo-Indian, we knew it would be nice to have English in it. So, apart from taking it to Javed sir [Akhtar], we got [musician] Dot involved for the English lyrics. It was amazing to see somebody as seasoned as Javed sir sitting with Dot, who is like a new kid on the block.”

Lyricist Swanand Kirkire grew up in a musical family, with his parents always teaching him the importance of leading a good life. “But, I was more interested in theatre than music. Before I learnt about the National School of Drama, I would offer a helping hand to the local theatres in Indore,” says Kirkire, who subsequently arrived in Mumbai to write for a TV serial named Swaraj, and work as filmmaker Sudhir Mishra’s assistant.

It is perhaps this amalgamation of the craft he pursued and the one his family exposed him to, which enables Kirkire to don several hats at once. His upcoming slate of projects is only testimony to this fact. “I’m [acting] in a film with Jaideep Ahlawat and Shefali Shah. It is called Three Of Us. We still don’t know whether it will be released on OTT or in theatres. It was a pleasure to work with director Avinash Arun, who has received much love for his previous works like Pataal Lok, Drishyam and Masaan.”

Artistes across the industry have attempted to distinguish between the demands of cinematic projects and web offerings, but Kirkire believes such segregations are inessential. “I don’t think that the audience has been segregated. Earlier, there were two sources of entertainment  — TV and theatrical films. Now, with the addition of OTT, there are three. This platform has attracted many people, but the TV circuit will always be a beneficial market as it is vast in nature. Every platform is equally important to us. When it comes to revenue, cinema is a direct medium — a film is either a hit or a flop. But, on the web, it’s tough to decipher if a film is a hit or a flop. The generation of revenue is also not linear. So, for an artiste, the [medium via which] revenue is direct, is good. Gradually, people are trying to learn the tropes required to succeed in each platform. The main motive is to entertain, that’s it.”

Up next for him is a musical with Ankur Tewari. He lights up while discussing the project, stating, “Ankur and I had a terrific time working on that show. It will be released soon, and I’m sure people will love it. Apart from this, I will also release an album with different composers. I have created a band with two young musicians named Shrey Gupta and Harshit Mishra.”

Jaideep Ahlawat, Shefali Shah, and Swanand Kirkire

Raise your hands if you, like us, had a second look at the trailer of Shakun Batra’s Gehraiyaan only to listen to its balletic music, again. Sound designer Ankur Tewari — responsible for monitoring the score and soundtrack artistes for the making of a cohesive theme — discusses breathing life into the Deepika Padukone, Ananya Panday, and Siddhant Chaturvedi starrer.

Edited excerpts from the interview:

We were sure that the music should not be mainstream. A lot of films on infidelity have been made, and they have had a certain kind of sound attached to them. We wanted to approach this with a new sound. Having said that, we first paid heed to what the script was saying. The film is about a group of young people who are going through a transactional relationship, when it come to love. We thought about the kind of music that these guys would listen to. All the songs in the film are in terms of a score. None has been [lip-synced] to. We thought about the music that would be in their playlist, and then dug deeper into each character.

No. But I got sneaky. I started noticing their Instagram pages — songs they were posting about, or sharing on stories. Since I have worked with Siddhant in Gully Boy, I know the kind of music he listens to. I was also thinking about the characters. This film is very strong, even on paper. So when you have access to a script where the character is so well defined, it’s easy to work accordingly. Kabir and Savera are two musicians who have worked on the score to give it a distinct sound. Their music is precisely the kind that these characters would consume. 

Unlike in the indie space, where you write as you desire, in films, every one is catering to the script. You are committed to that. Different scripts have different needs, and some of them need a commercial treatment. If that is not done, then what is the difference between your approach towards an independent song and film music. Each sound-scape has a different colour, and that can be niche, mainstream or an entirely new genre. In this film, for instance, a lot of the [music] is inspired by French [music]. The song needs to pull you further into the film; not pull you out of it with a sound that doesn’t fit. 

When I saw the rough cut, I noticed that there were places where we were going off, especially, as far as Deepika’s performance is concerned. She is such a powerful performer. Also, actors put a lot of work into understanding the characters. So when you learn of a character on paper, and then see how the actor has pulled it off, you start understanding their perspective. I had to move away from the music and lyrics that I [had etched in my mind]. The brief that I gave Kausar [Munir, lyricist], before I saw the rough draft was different from the one I gave her after it. Our initial approach was a bit younger, but the characters were more complex. We had to tweak it to suit that.

Barely a few days after the Mumbai Sessions Court acquitted singer Ankit Ti wari in a 2014 rape case citing lack of evidence, the complainant said that she was planning to move the High Court to reopen the case. Talking to BT last week (edition dated May 3), she said that her decision was prompted by the post-acquittal statements made by Ankit and his brother, Ankur. According to the complainant, the brothers had signed a document promising that they would not speak about the case or her in the media.

Now, Ankit has reacted to her claim saying that he had never signed any document. He also denied being in a relationship with the woman or committing to marriage. Ankit and Ankur spoke to BT about the trauma of the three-yearlong trial and more...

'IT WAS PURE FRIENDSHIP'
Ankit says, “I never spoke about the case during the trial. I opened up only after I was acquitted by the honourable court. And even then, all I said was that I had complete faith in the judiciary. Having said that, we haven't given her any written acknowledgement. I first met her during Durga Puja celebrations in 2013. We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance and exchanged numbers. Then we started meeting as friends and going out for coffee. From my side, it was pure friendship. There was no shaadi ki baat. In fact, she had lied to me about her marital status, but since I was not romantically interested in her, it didn't matter. There was no physical intimacy between us. This feels like a film script. Ek script nayi nayi taiyyar kee jaa rahi hai. Her version has changed at least four times.“ Ankit adds, “The first notice that I received was different from the FIR, which was again different from what was mentioned before the court. And now, all of it is different from what is being reported. Rape is a serious offence and it becomes even more serious when it involves a celebrity. It is to be noted that she lodged the complaint only after I became popular.“

'NO GRUDGES, NO COMPLAINTS'
Talking about the three-year-long trial, the composer-singer says, “It was extremely tough. I faced many problems and lost out on projects. I was a very positive person till this incident occurred. It also made me realise the value of family. I could not face my parents; when the case was going on, I didn't speak at all. I spoke only after my acquittal, but I'm being put to trial even now. I have no grudges or complaints against her or anyone else. It's unfortunate that people are believing a scripted story and that too, after my acquittal. Main khud ko toh sambhaal loonga, but mummy daddy ko kaise sambhaaloon?“ About the complainant's allegations that she had supported him financially during his days as a struggler, Ankit says, “My struggle has been graceful. Yes, I have taken money from family, but never from outsiders.“

ALL SET FOR A SECOND INNINGS
Ankit says that he wants to restart life and his career on a positive note. “All I know is that I have to work hard and get cracking again, which I will. My priority is my work. I am shattered, but can't let my family see it. I have to keep smiling for their sake. After this incident, I am scared to even meet friends who are girls. However, they supported me during the trial. In fact, they still come home to meet me since I don't go out much and was never the partying kind. I am not interested in anyone and will let my mother decide about my marriage.“

I DON'T WANT TO REACT TO SOMEONE'S COOKED-UP STORY: ANKUR TIWARI
Ankit's brother Ankur, who was also accused of threatening the complainant, says that contrary to her claims, she never visited Ankit's parents with a marriage proposal. Ankur says, “She could have visited our parents in Kanpur as a friend, but it is not on record. Why are we being asked about it now? All these complaints started only after Ankit became popular. I don't want to react to someone's cooked-up story. Kal sadak se uth kar koi bhi kuchh bhi bolega toh main apna kaam dekhunga ki answer doonga? The latest development has affected us, especially since we have been acquitted.“

THERE APPEARS TO BE NO GROUND FOR REOPENING THIS CASE: ANKIT'S LAWYER
Rizwan Merchant, who is defending the Ankit and Ankur, says, “The complainant's problem is that she doesn't want to be declared hostile, but she has stepped in the witness box once and told the court that Ankit and she were just friends. She said that they knew each other and used to go out for parties. If she now claims that she was pressured by the other party to take the case back, why didn't she complain to the court at that time itself? Had that been the case, any court would have cancelled the bail and they would have been taken into custody. There was no physical relationship at all and that's been our line of defence. Also, there is no mention of rape in the first handwritten complaint submitted by her. In that, she has mentioned consensual relationship. However, we have not even admitted to that. And if you say consensual, it can't be rape. And if it was rape, it couldn't have been consensual. There appears to be no ground for reopening this case.“