It’s 2011. You’ve simply come again from an extended day at college, with solely half an hour to spare earlier than heading to your dreaded math tuition. You turn on the TV to 9XM, and “Tera Hone Laga Hoon” by Atif Aslam, Alisha Chinai and Pritam from Ajab Prem Ki Ghazab Kahani is enjoying. You consider your crush and smile. Flash ahead to 2025: you’re in a automotive with your folks on the way in which to an evening out, and that very same music comes on. Instantly, everybody’s singing on the prime of their lungs. Isn’t that one of the lovely emotions on the earth—when a music can transport you again to an easier time, even when only for a couple of minutes? That’s the facility of Bollywood’s 2000s anthems.
In an period of viral Instagram Reels audio and algorithm-fed playlists, it’s fascinating how we proceed to gravitate to music from the Nineties to the 2010s. Along with being hits, these songs served as emotional lifelines. Songs like “Mitwa,” “Bin Tere,” and “Tune Jo Na Kaha” weren’t simply bittersweet earworms; they captured the confusion, ardour, and magic of rising up in an India earlier than Instagram, the place emotions have been felt in all their messiness fairly than refined and perfected.
The golden interval from the late Nineties to the early 2010s produced extra than simply catchy songs. Composers equivalent to A.R. Rahman, Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy, Pritam, and Vishal-Shekhar mastered the artwork of merging our Indian roots and textures with genres from the West with out diluting both. “Rang De Basanti“, for instance, grew to become an anthem of younger riot and revolt. “Dil Chahta Hai” wasn’t solely about friendship; it seemed like freedom in your twenties, the fun of latest relationships, metropolis lights, and the potential of one thing larger. The music didn’t merely accompany these tales; it elevated them.
What’s stunning is that Gen Z, who have been simply toddlers when these songs first got here out, now deal with them as treasures. Scroll by Instagram Reels and also you’ll see “Dooriyaan” from Love Aaj Kal used as a soft-focus dedication to a long-distance lover, or “Agar Tum Saath Ho” enjoying over footage of individuals peacefully staring out practice home windows. There’s a time period for this: “inherited nostalgia” (which might be the identical purpose we’re so obsessive about issues like vinyl records and wired earphones). However I imagine it’s greater than that. These songs supply one thing that isn’t usually present in up to date music: honesty.
I’ve seen firsthand how these songs gentle up each wedding ceremony I’ve attended. The second “Mauja Hi Mauja” or “London Thumakda” comes on, the dance flooring fills up. For my cousin’s sangeet final yr, we spent weeks rehearsing a mashup of “Chammak Challo,” “Radha,” and “Gallan Goodiyaan.” These tracks really feel important—everybody from grandparents to Gen Z cousins joins in with out hesitation. From the timeless romance of “Tujhe Dekha Toh” to the high-energy chaos of “Disco Deewane,” their vibe brings generations collectively.
There’s additionally one thing concerning the older songs—a way of belonging that feels more durable to seek out right now. We found them in shared methods: from radios enjoying exterior nook retailers, on a buddy’s MP3 participant, or throughout music video countdowns on TV. Possibly it’s as a result of our choices have been fewer, however the songs we did have meant extra. Even now, when “Chhaiya Chhaiya” performs at a marriage or a membership, everybody rushes to bounce. These are the tracks that transcend generations and time zones—they only stick with you.
At any time when life feels overwhelming, I discover myself going again to the music of my childhood. It helps me pause and reset. Positive, it jogs my memory of who I was, however extra importantly, it reconnects me with who I nonetheless hope to turn into—the model of myself that feels free to really feel every thing totally. The type of one that cries with out hesitation to “Tujhe Bhula Diya” or blasts “Phir Se Ud Chala” on a stroll, misplaced in ideas about goals but to be realized. These songs don’t simply play within the background—they offer house for our feelings to breathe.
I usually take into consideration that second in Rockstar when Jordan sings “Kun Faya Kun.” Even now, watching it appears like a type of prayer—stripped down, sincere, and deeply shifting. That music gave us the permission to be honest. And generally, I ponder if in right now’s world of curated chaos, we’ve misplaced contact with that type of authenticity.
We might by no means return to that individual age of Bollywood music. And possibly we don’t must. However I’m hoping that the spirit of that point—the emotional honesty, narrative complexity, and musical richness—will proceed to encourage what comes after. As a result of, in the end, the music we maintain with us is the music that makes us really feel observed.
So, the following time a music out of your college days performs on shuffle on Spotify or at a celebration, don’t ignore it. Permit it to play and flood you with feelings. As a result of, if the music of the Nineties-2010s taught us something, it was that it’s okay to be emotional.