Marking nearly five decades in ghazal and a lifetime in music, Hariharan remains strikingly resistant to nostalgia. “I never carried any baggage,” he says simply. “The past is gone. What matters is the now.”
It is a philosophy that has shaped one of Indian music’s most enduring careers. Across more than 15,000 songs and over ten languages, the veteran singer has avoided becoming a “type”, choosing instead to remain, in his words, a student of sound, emotion, and self-reflection.
“I’ve always stayed with my original voice,” he reflects. “I never imitated anyone to get my foot in the door.” For him, the journey has been less about milestones and more about continuous “travel”, guided by curiosity and riyaz.
Absorbing the world, one song at a time
Despite the scale of his catalogue, Hariharan approaches every recording as a fresh encounter.
“A singer must be like a sponge,” he explains. “From Stevie Wonder to Indian folk, you absorb everything.” Each song, he says, becomes a time capsule of that particular moment, shaped by imagination rather than market expectations.
This openness has helped him remain relevant across eras, formats, and platforms. Whether in film studios, independent projects, or classical settings, his focus stays rooted in sincerity. “If you become predictable, you stop growing,” he notes.
From technique to roohdari
With experience has come a deeper relationship with emotion. Where early years were about finding his voice, today’s focus is on what he calls roohdari, which means soulfulness.
“It’s about the aura of the raga and the depth of the story,” he says. “Music is like perfume. It must linger long after it ends.”
This shift from technical mastery to emotional resonance has become central to his artistic identity, especially within ghazal, a form he describes as unforgiving in its honesty.
“You cannot hide in ghazal,” he says. “If there is soul in you, it will show.”
Discipline, patience, and the ghazal ethos
For Hariharan, ghazal has been both anchor and teacher. It has reinforced the value of disciplined repetition and patient refinement.
“Riyaz leads to spontaneity,” he insists. “Only when you practise deeply can you sing freely.”
He also speaks of letting compositions “find their own destiny”, resisting the urge to rush creative processes in an era driven by speed and algorithms.
‘Jaan Meri’ and a new chapter
That philosophy is evident in his recent album, Jaan Meri, developed over two and a half years.
The project, he says, reflects the maturity of his fifty-year journey. “We had the luxury of time,” he recalls. “We let the music grow.”
Created in close collaboration with lyricist Farhat Shahzad, the album experiments with what Hariharan calls “Ghazal-nova”, blending traditional ghazal aesthetics with Bossa Nova rhythms and contemporary production. Raag Yaman sits alongside modern textures, guided entirely by poetry.
“In this album, the words dictated everything,” he says. “The tunes, the mood, the structure.”
For him, Jaan Meri is also a statement: that classical and semi-classical forms can coexist meaningfully with modern soundscapes.
Crossing worlds: film, fusion, and independence
Hariharan’s career spans film playback, devotional music, fusion, and independent releases. Rather than viewing these as separate lanes, he sees them as interconnected disciplines.
“Film music taught me precision,” he says. “Independent music gave me imagination. Ghazal gave me depth.”
Each informs the other. Studio discipline strengthens his classical work, while ghazal’s emotional intensity shapes his playback singing.
Lessons from Colonial Cousins
His work with Lesle Lewis in the duo Colonial Cousins remains a landmark in Indian fusion. For Hariharan, that phase reaffirmed the creative power of collaboration.
“It showed me that music has no regional boundaries,” he says. “Experimentation keeps the hidden child alive.”
Even today, he and Lewis remain in touch, continuing to exchange ideas and possibilities.
Devotion as humility
Among his most widely embraced recordings are his devotional works, including the Hanuman Chalisa. These, he says, operate on a different emotional plane.
“Devotional music is a healer,” he reflects. “It reminds you that the art is bigger than the artist.”
Recording such material, he adds, demands surrender rather than performance, grounding him amid professional success.
Navigating the streaming era
In today’s attention economy, Hariharan is clear-eyed about the industry’s shifts.
“It’s like moving from an Udupi restaurant to ordering on Swiggy,” he remarks wryly.
While acknowledging the power of social platforms, he cautions against overvaluing virality. “People will forget a reel,” he says. “They will remember a soulful melody.”
Longevity, he believes, still comes from content, not clicks.
Advice to the next generation
As a mentor to many younger singers, Hariharan consistently returns to three principles: humility, originality, and discipline.
“Never carry the baggage of success,” he advises. “Stay a student. Do your riyaz. Don’t imitate.”
Success, he argues, follows inward work rather than outward chasing.
Still chasing the next note
After five decades, what continues to drive him is not legacy, but curiosity.
“It’s the imagination of the next note,” he says.
Looking ahead, he hopes to explore new soundscapes while preserving the traditional heart of his music. He is also keen to revisit early work with the perspective he has gained over time.
“As long as there is a story to tell,” Hariharan reflects, “the travel continues.”
In an industry defined by rapid cycles and fleeting trends, his career stands as a reminder that patience, introspection, and emotional honesty still form the strongest foundation for lasting relevance.
