As pop and country music ruled the airwaves over the summer, Hanumankind helped bring a much lesser-known genre to global audiences: Indian hip-hop. His rambunctious track "Big Dawgs" almost instantly became a viral hit, taking over Tiktok and soon reaching No. 23 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 9 on the Billboard Global 200 chart — a first for an English song by an Indian artist.
Though "Big Dawgs" is in English, its global success has helped give exposure to the world of Indian hip-hop, which has been building a steady foundation in the country. In recent years, Indian hip-hop has become a more grounded and nuanced underground subculture than the more Bollywood-friendly commercialized branch of the genre. Hanumankind is just one of many artists who are bringing pure authenticity, telling their own stories and seamlessly infusing regional Indian languages into their music.
While the genesis of Indian hip-hop dates back to the '90s, the most prominent breakthrough came in 2014 with Naezy's "Aafat!," a diaristic critique of the authentic Indian experience. With subsequent releases like 2015's "Meri Gully Mein," Naezy became the blueprint for a rejuvenated movement that was far more confident in subject matter and less reliant on commercial avenues for publicity.
Like Naezy, the rise of modern Indian hip-hop artists has largely been through democratic means, helping the genre reach audiences more organically and, in turn, feeling more relatable. Part of this authenticity also comes from necessity. With mainstream releases in India often falling prey to censorship spurred by nationalism, the genre has paved the way for meaningful conversations and commentary on social, political and personal upheavals; for example, Street Academics' 2016 track "Chatha Kaakka" used a dead crow as an analogy for the lives of the underprivileged, while Arivu's 2019 release "Anti-Indian" that clapped back at the increasingly insular and dangerous wave of nationalist sentiment across the country. With artists like Hanumankind continuing to exploit their creative freedom and use art as cultural review, Indian hip-hop is on its way to making an equally powerful impact in India and around the world.
As the interest in Indian hip-hop continues to grow, get to know Hanumankind and five more hip-hop artists from the country you should be listening to.
Before "Big Dawgs" was "rolling through the city" and taking over social media and charts, Sooraj Cherukat — aka Hanumankind — was already deeply entrenched in the Indian hip-hop and rap scene. The rapper, who grew up in Texas but moved back to India to pursue higher studies, left behind a career in investment banking to make music. He released his debut EP, Kalari, in 2019, showcasing his smooth flows and South Asian pride while effortlessly incorporating his Western inspirations — a combination that has become his signature.
Two years later, his track "Damnson" would establish him as a mainstay on the Indian festival circuit. But it was 2024's "Big Dawgs" — heavily inspired by UGK, Project Pat and his "Patta flow," and Pimp C, whose line "Top notch hoes get the most not the lesser" makes an appearance in the opening — that throned him as an underground star poised to become a mainstream icon. With imagery leveraging grassroots Indian motifs like the Maut ka Kuan (translating to "The Well of Death," a popular attraction at Indian street fairs), "Big Dawgs" was both a nod to his roots and his creative influences growing up, making HMK's brand of Indian pride truly global.
At just 23, Akriti Lal — known as Pho to her fans — is one of the few female artists to have made waves in the hip-hop scene in India, crowning herself as an emphatic, poetic and sensitive storyteller. Just like her live performances, which see her invite the audience to be part of the show, Pho's songs brim with an intimate, electric energy.
Her precocious 2022 debut EP Bheetar Bahar (translating to "inside outside") explored the inner desires to love against the external stimuli that hold us back from doing so. Since then, releases like "Kabhi Kabhi" and "Sambhav" have established her as an emotive writer uncannily in tune with the intricacies of human nature. Working in tandem with her lyricism is an honest, grounded approach; Pho speaks from the heart, lacing her work with endearing sincerity that lends itself to romanticism.
Along with Hanumankind's "Big Dawgs," Shreyas Savgekar and Kratex's "Taambdi Chaamdi" (translating to "Brown Skin") has also helped Indian hip-hop gain attention this year. The self-love anthem went viral in July not just for its good-natured comedic treatment, but also for clever wordplay and references delivered in Shreyas' native Marathi tongue, a cornerstone of his artistry. Savgekar looked to his Maharashtrian upbringing and childhood to inspire the song's catchy hook "Lakalakalaka," taken from the phrase "Lakh lakh karun chamaktoy" ("See how they're shining"), which his grandfather used to describe glimmering fireflies at dusk.
Beyond "Taambdi Chaamdi," releases like "Uddhat" and "Khankhanit" have made Savgekar into a spokesperson for the evolving Marathi rap landscape. In a landscape where Marathi rap songs can be "heavily influenced by the West and we can see Marathi artists struggling to find their authenticity," as he told Rolling Stone India in 2023, Shreyas' work stands as a celebration of Marathi grit and culture, an ode to soil and struggle characterizing the humble, yet proud man.
"Hip-hop, I find, is the most liberating of all genres because I think anybody can do it. All we need to do to express ourselves is just to write and pick up a beat online and just say what you feel. That is so liberating," Garv Taneja, aka Chaar Diwaari, told Rolling Stone India in 2023.
True to his words, zero budgets and a DIY-approach haven't stopped Taneja from leapfrogging over the proverbial *chaar diwaari* — translating to "four walls" in Hindi, often the term used for a constrictive space — of expectations and creative blocks and creating immersive, phantasmagorical, and often horrific, worlds for his music videos.
From the horror and rap medleys of "Teri Maiyat Ke Gaane" ("Songs For Your Funeral") to his bone-chilling delivery on "Barood" ("Gunpowder"), Chaar Diwaari is an expert on toeing the line between defiant and disturbing. While society continues to debate the dichotomy between what is acceptable and what might be art, Taneja's music exists in the liminal space where they are one and the same.
For many, ThirumaLi, or Vishnu MS, is largely considered an OG of the Malayalam rap and hip-hop scene in South India. When he began making hip-hop close to a decade ago, few knew about the genre, and even fewer were making music that was beyond flimsy facsimile of Western rap and hip-hop.
ThirumaLi started out rapping in English, but switched to his native Malayalam before long, soon cutting through the noise with scathing social and political commentary and an authentic voice. His music is characterized by colloquial lyrics and delivery, aligning with the "raw" nature of rap that drew him to the genre in the first place.
Whether in celebration or in critique, ThirumaLi's kitchen-sink and direct approach stands out. On tracks his "Avastha" (translating to "state of things"), he calls out overconsumption and moral policing, while "Sambar" cheekily warns people not to underestimate him by likening his flow to *Sambar* — the South Indian dish that's deceptively simple, but still packs a punch.
Once Daiaphi Lamare — better known as Reble — starts spitting bars, you'll understand why she's one of Indian hip-hop's most exciting rising stars. Reble's power lies in how unabashedly she embraces her tribal roots, weaving them with practical concerns about the balancing act of being a woman, a teenager and everything in between.
Tracks like "Bond Fission" proclaim her single-minded determination to succeed no matter the circumstance: "A maven, I've been patient with this s—, don't need no audience for this is, not a stadium, this art is beyond craniums," she raps in front of a plain gray wall, adorned only with a carpet. Meanwhile, "Believe" gently injects a boost of confidence in the face of doubt: "I know deep inside my heart I'll never be at peace If I don't make it to that place I'll never be complete."
But it's on songs like "Terror" — where Reble employs her Meghalayan ancestry to breathe power into her verses, mixing English with her native Khasi and Jaintia — that she truly shines. "Terror" unfolds as a cosmic celebration of her heritage, weaving a tale of power passed down through time. The immersive, encompassing track is perhaps most representative of the artist she is: unapologetic, fearless, profound, and a bastion of a proud history.