On July 22nd, in the quaint venue of Farringdon’s Space Talk, Ankur Tewari debuted his upcoming album, ‘Mr. Faarigh’; for the first time amongst family, friends, collaborators, fans and more. Starting the session with a couple of live songs on the acoustic guitar, to "prove it is me singing on the record". Before hitting play on each track, Ankur, gives his audience a little context about them, whether about the lyric content, backstory or creative process. There were small moments of comedy, whether due to nerves or natural interludes added even more heart to the evening. Ankur is a prominent face across India's independent music scene as well as soundtracking much across the Bollywood universe. Much of these influences can be heard throughout this album, as he weaves them into the world of 'Mr. Faarigh'.

Tomorrow, August 20th, Ankur officially releases this record, his 3rd, into the world. The nine-track album looks beyond procrastination as laziness, tracing the uneasy space between perfectionism, analysis paralysis and the fear of beginning. The word “faarigh”, drawn from Urdu and Arabic, can mean free, unoccupied, at leisure or finished with a task. Ankur reclaims the word, asking what might actually be happening beneath apparent inactivity: anxiety, self-doubt, fear of failure and the impossible standards that can make starting feel more frightening than remaining still. Ahead of the release, we spoke to Ankur about the London listening party and the inspirations behind creation of the record. 

Interview by A. Hazarika


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Your 3rd album, ‘Mr. Faarigh’, which has been a year in the making, comes out soon. A small audience got to listen to it for the first time a few weeks ago. It can be quite a nerve racking experience sharing personal material for the first time. Walk us through that evening?
When Space Talk invited me to London for a listening session, excitement got the better of my judgment. I said yes before I remembered a small detail: my songs speak Urdu and Hindi, and I’d be presenting them to ears that had never learned the language of my poetry. A classic case of enthusiasm outrunning logistics.

But the universe, ever the matchmaker, sent reinforcements. A gathering of old friends and longtime listeners showed up alongside the curious new faces, and their familiar presence talked my nerves down from the ledge. I sang stripped-back, acoustic versions of a few songs, letting the new album’s recordings fill in the rest.

And the room, wonderfully, chose kindness. Strangers leaned into the unfamiliar syllables and met the new material with real excitement. Proof that a good melody doesn’t need a translator. Afterward, conversations with the audience left me lighter, their warmth folding into something like reassurance. So now, as the 20th of August approaches, I’m walking toward the release a little less afraid, and a lot more grateful.

Is there any particular reason you picked London as the first place to hear this album?
Space Talk has hosted some fabulous artists in the past. The invite was hard to reject. I was overwhelmed by the idea that I’ll be presenting my songs in a place that has hosted such talent before.

As we approach the official release of the album to the world on the 20th, how are you feeling?
As I said before, there is a good mix of excitement and nervousness. I have done half a dozen listening sessions till now and the response has only helped me in the anticipation of the big drop.

You described this album as ‘an ode to youth by someone who is now anxious of freedom’. Can you break down what you mean?
I’m not anxious of freedom as much as I am anxious of free time. The world has changed so rapidly in the past 25 years of my career. My younger self could aimlessly stare out of the window and daydream without guilt for hours. Now every unproductive moment burdens you with anxiety.

‘Faarigh’ is an Urdu-Arabic word meaning free, unoccupied, at leisure. Once, being Faarigh felt natural, a state of curiosity, daydreaming, and aimless afternoons. Today, it often arrives carrying guilt.

'Mr. Faarigh' is a nine-song concept album that follows a conversation between the Mr. Faarigh of the present and the one left behind in the past; the version that knew how to linger and lose track of time without fear.

You also delicately explore themes of procrastination and things unsaid or unresolved. What about these themes drew you to them?
Unresolved feelings don’t announce themselves, they just settle, quiet as a stone dropped into the belly, sinking until they find permanent lodging in the subconscious. And once they’re in, they don’t leave. As a line from 'Aasmaan Milay' puts it, this uninvited guest eventually starts collecting rent; interest accruing on every feeling you meant to deal with later.

These songs don’t march toward resolution; they wander, loitering in the in-between spaces, trying to make peace with idleness instead of conquering it. Mr. Faarigh drifts through the gap between doing and simply being, chasing not answers but that rare, weightless feeling of having absolutely nowhere else to be.

Linked to the above, those are feelings that many artists struggle with when it comes to creating. Was there any song that was difficult to complete?
Difficult isn’t quite the word. I’ve always believed songs announce their own completion. You’re less an author and more a patient host, waiting for them to feel at home. Some arrive in a matter of hours, polite and punctual. Others take years, wandering before they finally find a door they’re willing to walk through. A couple of these songs did exactly that, drifting for years before settling into this album.

The newer ones were quicker to reveal their bones, the framework arrived almost immediately. But bones aren’t a body. I spent close to a year sculpting them into their present shape, chiselling away at what didn’t belong until what remained finally felt like them.

Tell us about the project’s conception and how it came together creatively. What did the writing process look like?
I was lost in the particular way people get lost right after finishing something big. I had just wrapped a major long-term project, but I wasn’t sure what to do with the person left standing after it. Desperate to fill the void, I went looking for distraction, and instead found the opposite: the anxiety that quietly moves in whenever free time shows up uninvited.

That one thought didn’t stay one thought for long. It snowballed into a flurry of emotions, and somewhere in that avalanche, these songs began to write themselves. I started building the story and mythology of the Mr. Faarigh universe and each couplet, instead of closing a thought, flung open new doors and posed new questions, as if the songs were more interested in asking than answering. But eventually, somewhere in the completion of the album, I found what I’d been circling all along: resolution.


The album’s artwork is a beautiful textile of the project name. Can you tell us a bit about it and how it ties into the album concept?
These songs explore spaces in between, gathering fragments of memory, longing, and stillness, the way a needle gathers scraps of forgotten cloth. Like pieces of textile drawn together through Sujini embroidery, they stitch a larger whole from what might otherwise stay scattered, stay unseen, stay silent.

The album artwork, photographed by Prarthna Singh and designed by Rashmi Verma from the surplus of her studio, breathes the same impulse. One breath at a time, one stitch at a time; fragments finding each other, forming a mosaic of life that is imperfect, unfinished, and quietly connected.

The Mr. Faarigh Universe lives in that same in-between; the space between doing and being, woven from stillness and everything left unresolved. It does not search for answers. It searches only for the feeling of having nowhere else to be.

As the album is an ode to youth and the past, how do you feel when you listen to past versions of yourself now?
Each song is like a time machine that flings me to a different time and space.

In the current music world, where artists feel like they need to churn out project after project in quick succession to stay in public view, you have taken time between this album and previous full-length projects ‘Akela’ (2023) and ‘JANNAT’ (2010). Has it been a deliberate choice to take time between them?
Yes.

How has your creative process evolved over the span of these albums?
Each day is a day to learn new and shed old. I have been fortunate to have worked with some extremely gifted musicians and producers. While the core of the creative process remains the same – to submit yourself to the feeling and let the songs flow through you – the interactions and collaborations have helped me find newer ways to deal with the same issues.

You also work extensively across India’s independent music scene, as well as across film and TV music globally, which can be heard across the album. How do you take your experience in these worlds and wield these influences into your own material and distinct voice?
Each project and collaboration helps inform the new way you can address the hurdles that each project offers. The core remains the same and that helps retain my voice in each work that I put out.

Is there anything else in the pipeline that we should keep an eye out for for ‘Mr. Faarigh’?
The tour with the band is what is occupying most of my calendar at the moment. I am also
co-curating the music for the Serendipity Arts Festival in Goa in December.

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You can pre-save to Ankur Tewari's latest album, 'Mr. Faarigh', out tomorrow.

Since emerging independently in 1998, Ankur Tewari’s 25 year journey, has built one of Indian independent music's defining catalogues across independent releases, live performance, film music, music supervision and cultural curation.

His work includes Gully Boy, Gehraiyaan, The Archies, Kho Gaye Hum Kahaan and Made in Heaven. He also served as the creative architect for two seasons of Coke Studio Bharat, helping create some of the platform’s most memorable collaborations while bringing regional and independent voices to a wider audience. He is currently co-curating the music for Serendipity Arts Festival, held annually in Goa.