Emerging from India’s flourishing underground scene, Migrant has quickly become one of the country’s most intriguing new voices in electronic music. Blending the warmth of organic instrumentation with the hypnotic pulse of house and techno, his work is driven by a search for balance — between movement and stillness, chaos and calm.
Following years of solo travel and an unlikely transition from hospitality to full-time artistry, Migrant has cultivated a sound that feels deeply personal yet universally resonant. His forthcoming single “Anahata” — named after the Sanskrit term for the heart chakra — captures that spirit perfectly: a textured, meditative journey that bridges emotion and rhythm.
In this conversation with Tanzgemeinschaft, Migrant opens up about his creative evolution, the inspiration behind “Anahata”, and how he continues to build connection through music, community, and sound.
Hi Manvendra, thanks very much for taking the time to speak with us here at Tanzgemeinschaft. How are you doing today?
I’m doing well — grounded, grateful, and quietly excited. These past months have been about stillness, reflection, and aligning deeper with why I make music in the first place. It feels like I’m entering a new chapter both personally and sonically.
You’ve described your new single “Anahata” as a journey between chaos and calm. How did this theme emerge during the creative process, and what does the heart chakra represent to you personally?
“Anahata” was born during a time when I was oscillating between extreme emotions — ambition and surrender, noise and silence. The heart chakra, to me, is where those opposites meet and dissolve. It’s that space where you stop resisting and start allowing. Sonically, the track mirrors that — it opens with tension and movement but eventually melts into openness and release. It’s less about perfection and more about acceptance.
Your path into music was quite unconventional, moving from hospitality and solo travel to full-time production. How have those life experiences shaped the emotional core of your sound?
Working in hospitality taught me how to host experiences — to make people feel. Traveling alone taught me how to sit with silence and notice life’s subtleties. Both worlds merged naturally when I began producing; every track became a room I could design emotionally, like curating a feeling rather than a melody. Those experiences gave my sound its soul — warm, human, and always searching for connection.
Many of your tracks carry a meditative energy even when they’re built for the dancefloor. How do you find balance between introspection and groove in your productions?
I think rhythm and reflection can coexist beautifully. I usually start with textures or field recordings that evoke emotion — a voice, a wind sample, a distant drum — and then I build rhythm around that emotion rather than on top of it. I want listeners to move their bodies but also feel something stirring beneath the surface. The groove is just the doorway to something deeper.
“Anahata” feels deeply personal and immersive. What kind of emotional or physical space do you imagine listeners entering when they experience your music?
I imagine them in a state of gentle surrender — eyes closed, maybe even still. It’s not about escapism but return — returning to yourself. Whether you’re on a crowded dancefloor or alone in your room, I want the music to feel like breath; something that expands and contracts with you.
You speak about connection between self, audience, and sound. How do you translate that idea of connection into your DJ sets and live performances?
When I play, I don’t see it as performance — it’s a conversation. I read people’s energy, but I also let them read mine. Sometimes that means holding tension longer, sometimes it means dropping into complete stillness. The goal is to dissolve the line between artist and audience — so that, for a moment, we’re all in the same frequency.
India’s electronic scene has evolved rapidly in recent years. How do you see your work fitting within that landscape, and what do you think distinguishes the new wave of Indian producers globally?
The new wave is honest. Artists are not imitating the West anymore; they’re blending electronic production with their cultural roots, philosophies, and textures. That’s powerful. I see my work as part of that movement — rooted in India’s spiritual essence but expressed through a modern, global sound. It’s not fusion — it’s evolution.
You founded Belong Festival in Jaisalmer, a beautiful and remote setting. What inspired the concept, and how does environment influence the kind of music and community you want to build there?Belong was a dream of my really close friend Himanshu and mine. We wanted to create something that felt more human than commercial — a space that breathes, listens, and connects. The idea was never just about music; it was about presence.
Jaisalmer, with its vast silence and golden desert, became the perfect canvas. The environment shapes everything — the sound, the mood, even the pace of time. Belong is about dissolving boundaries between artist and audience, between chaos and calm, and reminding people that they already belong — to nature, to rhythm, to each other.
You’ve mentioned Four Tet’s Magnetic Fields performance as a turning point. What was it about that moment (or his approach to music) that changed how you viewed your own creative path?
Four Tet’s set felt like pure freedom. No theatrics, no ego — just sound as expression. Watching him that night made me realize music doesn’t have to fit a mold; it can be both intelligent and emotional, structured yet spontaneous. That moment stripped away my fear of being “genre-correct.” It gave me permission to just be.
When you’re not producing or performing, how do you reconnect with stillness or inspiration? Are there rituals, places, or experiences that help you reset creatively?
I go back to nature — deserts, old forts, places that hold silence. Sometimes I’ll just sit and listen to wind or footsteps in sand. I also meditate and write — not lyrics, but reflections. These practices remind me that creativity isn’t something to chase; it’s something that returns when you’re still enough to receive it.
Looking ahead, what can listeners expect from you in the coming months — sonically, emotionally, or even philosophically? Where is Migrant headed next?
I’m exploring a deeper, more cinematic side of sound — merging electronic textures with live Indian instruments and human stories. Philosophically, I’m moving toward authenticity over perfection. The next chapter of Migrant is about surrender — to the journey, to imperfection, to whatever comes next.
As Migrant continues to shape his sound and community, there’s a quiet sense of purpose behind every beat — a reminder that dance music can be as introspective as it is kinetic. With “Anahata” marking another step in his evolving journey, he stands among a new generation of artists redefining the emotional landscape of electronic music from India and beyond. For Migrant, the path forward isn’t just about the next track or the next crowd, but about deepening the connection — to self, to sound, and to the moment.
