Remember, when Asha Bhosle said, “Arijit Singh is monotonous and can’t change his voice.” Well, it seems like the veteran foresaw a dull dynamic that even now Singh can’t deny for himself. Because, the presence can’t be felt anymore. It’s just him, his old-school showcases on the streets, the very grounded singer who sticks to his roots.
Videos made rounds of him riding his two-wheeler, with his friend being his co-passenger, enjoying his cuppa in his neighbourhood, Jiaganj. The Calcutta boy emotion hits you, especially as a Bangali myself, it almost rings into my emotional quotient. So, you often get his next-door homeboy sentiments every time you get a glimpse of these overtly casual moments of Singh.
Shall not lie, it’s impressive. But is what we really look for when we speak of Arijit Singh? Well, it’s July, Monsoon has kicked in; where is Arijit Singh when we need him? Exactly! Singh has tuned in only for the gloom and not the gala. The stagnancy is really bothering all of us.
It’s the same old songs, that same old voice, the same old tonality that he sings with. Every song swerves with the same mood. Monotony has several drawbacks, and one might just fade away in the void. Typically, what we could see for Arijit Singh. He is stuck with a system, a pattern and a loop.
You hear his songs, you move in spirals only to end up at the same decimal point. Your emotions become static too, as you hear his songs. The crescendo doesn’t surprise you anymore, the silence between the lines no longer feels like poetry, it just pauses.
He has now reduced himself to a formula. A formula that worked, yes. That still works, commercially. But one that now lacks soul-evolution. Where’s the edge that made “Phir Le Aaya Dil” or “Aayat” not just songs but seasons of feeling? These days, however, he seems to skim over the depth he once dove into, settling instead for safe shores.
There was a time when his name on a tracklist meant vulnerability served raw. Today, it feels like a background score that knows its place; never too loud, never too new. Even his rare experimental attempts feel too calculated, like he’s testing waters with one foot in, afraid to lose the rhythm of familiarity.
Where is the risk, Arijit? Where is the rebellion?
Yes, we still respect him. We miss him, even as he never really left. But that’s the tragedy, isn’t it?
Maybe it’s comfort. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Or maybe it’s a conscious decision to just exist, quietly and peacefully.
However, we are now just left yearning for that one note that breaks the routine.
Arijit Singh, the artist, deserves more than being a shadow of his own success. The world didn’t fall in love with him because he was predictable—it fell in love because he felt unpredictable yet familiar. And perhaps now, that balance has tilted too far into stillness.
He can still turn this around, no doubt. But first, he must step out of the loop, challenge the echo chamber, and sing like the world is new again.
Until then, we’ll wait in the drizzle of monsoon blues, quietly hoping for the storm he once brought.
