For the two brothers behind Banjaare, music has never been about fitting neatly into a category. Their sound is rooted in Haryanvi culture and the experiences that shaped them, but their ambitions stretch far beyond one genre, one audience or even one country.
“We’re two brothers making Haryanvi music, but we don’t really like putting ourselves in a box,” they say. “Our music comes from where we grew up, what we’ve experienced and what we feel.”
That philosophy sits at the heart of their artistic identity. Rather than chasing charts or following trends, the brothers are focused on creating music that feels authentic, believing that if a song genuinely connects with people, the numbers will follow. “We make music for the heart, not for the charts,” they explain. “If a song connects with people, the charts and numbers will follow. We just want to make music that feels real to us and makes people feel something.”
Music had always been part of their lives, but pursuing it professionally was not something they had planned from the beginning. It was during lockdown, when life slowed down and there was suddenly more time to reflect, that they began seriously considering what they wanted their future to look like. The decision was simple: if they were going to make music, they wanted to give it everything.
They began writing, experimenting and releasing songs, gradually building an audience as listeners started discovering their work. That response gave them the confidence to believe they were heading in the right direction.
Their approach to developing their sound has remained similarly instinctive. Rather than deliberately combining genres, they allow their different influences to emerge naturally. “We don’t really sit down and decide that we need to mix this genre with that genre. We just make what feels natural to us.”
Their Haryanvi roots remain central, but they see staying connected to those roots as something that can coexist with experimentation. For them, keeping the language and emotions of their upbringing alive does not mean making music that sounds dated. Instead, they want to take those familiar elements and present them in a way that feels contemporary.
The biggest turning point in their journey came with “Bairan”. Before the track, the brothers were focused on finding their audience and making music they were proud of. They could not have anticipated how dramatically one song would expand their reach.
As listeners across different parts of India discovered the track, created reels around it and connected with its sound, the brothers began to realise they had something that could travel far beyond their expectations. Its success on major charts further cemented that belief. “Bairan gave us the confidence to believe that a song in our language could travel much further than we had imagined.”
That experience also appears to have changed their relationship with their own artistry. Looking back at their earlier work, they recognise a shift from worrying about whether something would be accepted to trusting their own instincts. Today, they are more comfortable taking risks and resisting the pressure to follow every trend.
“We’ve become much more comfortable with ourselves,” they say. “We’ve realised that we don’t have to follow every trend.”
That sense of movement is particularly important to their latest project, Banjaare. For the brothers, the name represents more than a title. It reflects the journey they are on — one defined by movement, exploration and the experiences gathered along the way.
A banjaara is someone who keeps moving, discovering new places and collecting experiences. That idea resonated with the brothers, who have grown from a deeply rooted background while wanting to explore new sounds, reach new audiences and take their music to new places.
“We’ve come from a very rooted place, but we’ve always wanted to see more, experience more and take our music to different places.”
That balance between heritage and exploration is central to the direction they want to take. Haryanvi remains their identity, but they have no intention of allowing that identity to become a limitation. Instead, they hope audiences outside Haryana — and beyond India — will discover the language through their music and connect with the emotions behind it.
Perhaps the most telling aspect of their approach is that they do not want to dictate how listeners should experience their music. They believe every listener brings their own memories and emotions to a song. One person might hear it and think of someone they love; another might be reminded of a place they miss or a particular chapter of their life.
For the brothers, that personal connection is more meaningful than telling an audience what a song is supposed to mean. “The best thing that can happen is when a song becomes a part of someone’s own story.”
That philosophy was particularly apparent during the making of Banjaare. There was a moment when the technical details of vocals and production fell away and the emotional core of the track began to take over. They describe it as a feeling that something was different — a moment they have learnt to trust.
“You can analyse a song as much as you want, but sometimes you just know when something feels right.”
Banjaare represents the wider direction the brothers want to explore: experimentation without losing their identity. They are conscious that reaching a larger audience should not require them to dilute what makes their music distinctive. If anything, their ambition is to use that identity as a way of introducing more people to Haryanvi music.
Their philosophy is simple: stay rooted, keep experimenting and keep moving forward.
And there is plenty more ahead. With new music, collaborations and live shows in the works, the brothers are keen to build on the momentum they have created without simply repeating what has already worked. “Barsaat” has shown them how strongly audiences respond to the emotional side of their music, and they want to explore that space further while continuing to surprise listeners.
They may still consider themselves early in their journey, but the direction is clear. Banjaare is not about choosing between tradition and innovation. It is about proving that the two can exist together — and that music rooted in a particular language and culture can find an audience far beyond its starting point.
For two brothers who never set out to fit into a box, that journey may only just be beginning.
