Farhan Khan on Blending Old-World Poetics and Modern Urdu R&B for New Album ‘Alif Laila’

Farhan Khan‘s followers have always known him as someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. For those who’ve been following the Mumbai-based hip-hop artist since “Astaghfar,” the all-new version of Khan might come as a surprise.

Two years ago, he dropped his album Khansaab, and ever since it was long awaited and much-speculated time for his next project. Four months after killing off his Khansaab character in the track “Jannat,” Khan is back on stage with Alif Laila. And if what’s floating around on the web has any evidence to it, he’s already got everyone talking again.

During a conversation with Rolling Stone India, Khan talks about his latest album, split into two distinct halves: Part A, a celebration of love and all its beauty, and Part B, a foray into the raw pain of heartbreak. The singer has chosen to release Part B first, a move many listeners may find surprising, but it’s something intensely intentional.

Instead of starting with the bliss of love in Part A, he is diving into heartbreak and loss. When asked for a reason behind it, Khan clarified his philosophy. He says, “When you see a person wounded, you get comfortable with them. Once you see their sadness, you’ll understand their happiness better.” He is exploring vulnerability while creating a connect before opening up the lighter part. There’ll even be an interlude between the two parts of the album, providing a sort of “breathing space” between acts, as if it were-an interval within a movie. Alif Laila is all about capturing a full range of emotions, with every track adding to the overarching story.

Talking about cinema, one of the strongest points of the album are the visuals, and there are a lot of details that Khan has pored over. The “Jawab De” music video is a masterclass in retro aesthetics: Khan going completely into his Eighties Patna shayar look and grasping many eyeballs. The video looks like a very authentic, deliberate trip back in time to the Nawab period. For Khan, this is about much more than a visual style — it’s personal. “My dad used to write ghazals and was a master, a clothes designer,” Khan says. “I’ve run his shop for years. And every outfit you see in the album — those are clothes I made myself.”

Khan’s cinematic vision for the album doesn’t just stop at the music. His love for Bollywood and theater, besides his passion for old-school storytelling, are weaved into the DNA of the project. The look of shayar is not just about showmanship, it is the critique of the entire plot. The main character of the album is a shayar called Alif, and the album tells his story. He is from the Eighties, when nawabs and tawaifs roamed the cultural scene, people would go to courtesans to confide their deepest feelings, much like we do with therapists today. Filmmakers Sujit Yadav and Tejas Bane helped this character come to life with Khan. “They executed it more beautifully than it was in my head,” he says, taking ownership of their role in creating something that feels both timeless and modern.

Khan is doing much more than taking us on a trip through time. He’s actually infusing old with new, creating something fresh yet nostalgic. This is where the selection of the genre becomes relevant. Urdu R&B — those two elements don’t very often come together. But for Khan, it comes very naturally. He says, “Urdu is the language of love and it’s not just something I’ve learned; it’s how we talk at home.” When he talks about love and loss, it’s quite evident that Urdu is the perfect medium for him. Its aesthetic and emotional weight give every word a far deeper resonance. “Whatever the language, what you’re saying has to be strong.” Urdu moves people on a deeper level. When that feeling meets the silky, sensuous sounds of R&B, something almost magical happens — a blend that is timeless yet entirely contemporary.

The title Alif Laila may instantly remind one of the old Doordarshan show based on Arabian Nights, but Khan is quick to point out that while the name takes inspiration from those stories, the album’s content is wholly original. “There’s no direct borrowing from those fables, but I’ve created my own narrative,” Khan says. “Alif means number one,” he explains. “The kind of music I want to make is different. I’m not competing with anyone — I’m in my own league.” His character, Alif Abbas Qadri, reflects his personal connections too. “Alif is my character, Abbas is my grandfather’s name who was a shayar and Qadri is from Sufism, representing those who used to write poetry.”

Glimpsing the heights and troughs of the emotional roller coaster that’s this album was not a tough ride for Khan. The songs came as a direct outflow from his heart of personal experience about love and pain. But he admits that one song selected to be followed after “Jawab De” pushed him to his limits best. “It’s one of the best songs I have ever done,” Khan reveals. “I took a pause to make sure it reached the level of completeness that the story needed.”

The skits in the album act as a narrative adhesive, something like a movie. “If I had a lot of money, I’d have made Alif Laila a two-hour movie with the songs in them,” he says. “But I’m blessed to be able to release this album, and that’s why the skits are there — they make the album feel like a film.”

In a world obsessed with fast gratification, Farhan Khan is slowing things down, inviting listeners to reflect, sit with their feelings. Alif Laila isn’t an album you listen to once and move on from — it’s an experience meant to linger. Khan is acutely aware that the color of Urdu and R&B might be niche, but he’s not worried about trying to appeal to the masses. “Alif Laila is like a bridge between underground and mainstream. There’s nothing bigger than love in this world, and if I’m making something with love, people will receive it with the same love.”

An album full of nostalgia’s dark side weighs on Khan. “I feel like I was born in the wrong era,” he says. “I’m in love with the old times when people really lived.” Today we live according to trends, and there is no soul in it. That’s what makes Alif Laila fresh and ageless-rooted in the present but with a heart firmly in the past.

In the end, Alif Laila is a project that bridges worlds — old and new, Urdu and R&B, underground and mainstream. Khan’s visuals and music tell the story of identity, culture, and expression, a reminder that while we can adopt the sounds and styles of the West, there’s something irreplaceable about staying true to one’s roots. He says, “Hip-hop, western music — it’s their culture. But hip-hop is about being yourself. The skills I have, I’ll show them in a way that represents my culture, and I’ll show it globally.”