Electronic music in India has undergone a remarkable transformation over the past decade. What once belonged to a small, niche community now fills major festivals across the country, drawing crowds in the tens — and in some cases hundreds — of thousands. Within this rapidly expanding landscape, it is artists like Migrant who stand out, carried by emotion, intention, and inner movement.
Blending organic instrumentation with the hypnotic pulse of techno and tech house, Migrant’s sound reflects years spent in motion — shaped by travel, solitude, and an inward turn toward composition. “When I play my records, it’s the most intimate thing I can share with anyone. I want them to close their eyes and disappear to another world.”
His latest release, Tarase, arrives as the final single of the year — a contemplative closing chapter carrying a beautiful message. Performed against the ancient backdrop of the Aravalli mountain range in Rajasthan, one of the oldest geological formations on Earth, the track exists in close dialogue with landscape, time, and fragility. The Aravallis are both culturally and ecologically significant, shaped over millions of years and increasingly vulnerable to human intervention.
Featuring Hindi vocals by Eeshita Rathore, Tarase gains an added layer of intimacy, where language dissolves into feeling. “To me, being deeply human means allowing yourself to feel without armour.” A deeply important message for the final days of the year — and one that may bring us closer together in the year to come.
We spoke with Migrant about emotional geography, creative responsibility, and what it means to stay deeply human in a fast-expanding electronic landscape.
photography by Nitesh Anand
What is your personal connection to the Aravalli mountains? And why is their state so fragile right now?
The Aravallis are not just a backdrop to where I grew up — they are part of my emotional geography. Growing up in Rajasthan, these mountains were always present: quiet, ancient, grounding. Over time, they became a place of refuge for me — somewhere I’d go to feel small in the right way, to slow down, to recalibrate.
Their fragility today comes from a mix of unchecked development, mining, deforestation and legal loopholes that allow construction far too close to protected zones. What’s heartbreaking is that the damage often happens invisibly — bit by bit — until suddenly an ecosystem that’s existed for millions of years is struggling to breathe. Tarase comes from that awareness: love mixed with concern, beauty mixed with responsibility.
You performed the track within the Aravallis themselves. How did that moment feel?
It was deeply humbling. Playing Tarase there felt less like performing and more like offering something back. The wind, the silence, the birds — they all became part of the composition. There’s a certain honesty that nature demands; you can’t hide behind spectacle. The energy was raw, grounding, and strangely intimate. It reminded me why I make music in the first place.
What does “Tarase” — and being “deeply human” — mean to you?
To me, being deeply human means allowing yourself to feel without armour. Compassion, longing, vulnerability — these aren’t weaknesses; they’re the very things that connect us. Tarase isn’t meant to be defined rigidly. It’s about sensing rather than explaining. In everyday life, being deeply human means listening more, reacting less, and staying present — with people, with places, with yourself.
“Building something meaningful takes patience — especially when you’re resisting shortcuts.”
How did you come to music, and specifically electronic music?
Music was always around me, but electronic music found me later — at a time when I was searching for freedom of expression. I was drawn to its ability to merge worlds: organic textures with technology, rhythm with emotion. It allowed me to tell stories without words, to build landscapes through sound.
What’s the story behind your artist name — Migrant?
Migrant represents movement — not just geographical, but emotional and internal. I’ve always felt like I’m in transit between identities, cultures, expectations. The name reflects that sense of being in-between, constantly evolving. It’s about belonging everywhere and nowhere at once.
Where do you live, and what does “home” mean to you?
I move between cities, but Rajasthan is my anchor. Home, for me, isn’t a fixed place — it’s a feeling of alignment. It’s where I can be still, honest, and connected. Sometimes home is a person, sometimes a landscape, sometimes a moment.
“Electronic music allowed me to tell stories without words, to build landscapes through sound.”
What have been the biggest challenges with Belong Festival?
Belong was born from a desire to create a space that prioritises connection over consumption. The biggest challenge has been staying true to that intention while navigating logistics, scale, and sustainability. Building something meaningful takes patience — especially when you’re resisting shortcuts. But every challenge reinforces why it’s worth doing.
Who would you love to collaborate with musically?
I’m drawn to artists who lead with emotion and integrity — across genres. Collaboration, for me, is less about names and more about shared sensitivity and trust.
Besides music, what makes you really happy?
Nature, honest conversations, good food shared slowly, silence, movement, and moments where time feels suspended.
And finally — what do you wish for the new year?
Clarity. Gentleness. Deeper connections — with people, with purpose, with the planet. And the courage to protect what truly matters.
Listen to the new single: tr.ee/K-g0ewfXJf
Follow Migrant for more:
www.instagram.com/migrant__music
