Kalbaisakhi Was Never Meant to be Quiet

Before he was known as Kalbaisakhi, Vibhu Singh was just a drummer kid. A quiet one, wide-eyed around seniors who walked the school halls with drumsticks in their back pockets and band posters in their notebooks. “Drummers didn’t have to smile,” he says. “They didn’t have to show you anything. They just felt it—and hit back.” He learned tabla. He studied rhythms. Then he walked away. For a while, he didn’t want to learn music. He just wanted to hear it. 

It was hip-hop that cracked things open. Through friends, through the internet, through that weird rite of passage where Eminem lyrics make more sense to an 11-year-old than they should. Later came beat-making, hours on YouTube, and eventually, his first original tracks. His earliest releases were lo-fi sketches, born during the COVID lockdowns when everything felt hushed. “That was a very quiet time,” he says. “I made quiet music.”  

But Kalbaisakhi was never meant to stay quiet. He began experimenting—first with bootlegs of Bollywood and Punjabi classics, then with more robust remixes, dancefloor edits, and textured flips of familiar sounds. His rework of “Yeh Mera Dil” (with Lush Lata) turned a retro groove into a sweaty, contemporary banger. His collaborations with record producers like Kimeraa showed he could not only flip the script—he could write a new one. One of his most recognizable early projects, the Tunnels EP, was pure bedroom-producer magic. The project eventually crossed 1 million streams and earned him support from the likes of UK-based collective Daytimers, where his work was broadcast on Boiler Room and BBC Radio. “Those guys were already playing my music before I ever set foot in London,” he says.

A storm-born sound: When asked about the name Kalbaisakhi, he says it wasn’t just a name—it meant something more. “I wanted something uniquely Indian,” he says. “Something white people couldn’t pronounce easily.” Borrowed from a school geography lesson, it refers to a burst of pre-monsoon storms in eastern India—chaotic, sudden, full of relief. “That’s what I want my music to feel like. Something that shakes you up, leaves you lighter.” What began as an inside joke turned into his solo identity—and a metaphor for the unpredictable, emotionally textured sound he’s been building since.

Listen and learn: Moving to London showed him where the music lived. Not just in the tracks, but in the people—diasporic DJs, underground parties, and midnight conversations. He was selected for a DJ boot camp led by UK legends Gaia and Papa Nugs—becoming the only international artist in the group. “Ten of us, one house, no sleep, just learning,” he says. “It changed everything.”And he really listened to the UK garage heads, to jungle and breaks and to the cultural history behind every snare and synth. He didn’t move to London to blow up. He moved to listen, learn, and dance. “I didn’t go there to break into a scene. I went there as a listener,” he says. “To understand what makes dance music spiritual. Why does it heal people? What it actually does to a body in motion.”

The sonic storyteller: Back home, he’s still carrying that energy. His work as a DJ is more than playing bangers; it’s about storytelling. He talks about music as a return gift. Something you take home and unpack quietly the next day. Maybe in your headphones. Maybe in your heart. “I want people to go home wondering what they just heard,” he says. “I want them to think.” That’s why he’s selective—Kalbaisakhi doesn’t remix tracks just because they’re trending. “It needs to come from my heart,” he says. He’s turned down label commissions when the song didn’t spark something in him. Instead, he chooses what feels rooted. More recently, his collaborations have grown more fluid, pulling from a wide palette of sounds. His setlists now thread together house, hip-hop and UK bass with global sounds like afro rhythms and South-Asian fusion. His edits often feel like puzzles—full of hidden nodes, cultural references, and samples tucked between grooves. “I always leave Easter eggs,” he says. “If you’re listening closely, there’s always something to discover.”

Through New Delhi Community Radio, which he co-runs, Kalbaisakhi is also spotlighting emerging producers who are shaking things up from unexpected corners of the country. “Innovation doesn’t come from the usual places,” he says. “It comes from kids you haven’t heard of yet.”

The future of music: For Kalbaisakhi, the future of music in India is wide open. “We’re at such a special point right now,” he says. “There’s more investment. More community. More people coming up from places we’ve never heard of—and they’re doing the most innovative stuff.” What excites him most isn’t festivals or lineups. It’s the bedroom producers, the late-night listeners, the bootleggers. The ones remixing culture without waiting for permission. “The future isn’t just about sound,” he says. “It’s about perspective. About making something that’s truly ours.” And maybe that’s what Kalbaisakhi has always been doing—taking the weather of the world around him, and turning it into something you can dance to.