From heartbreak to devotion, he shares how every song begins with feeling, each note shaped by memories, moments and the quiet truths he carries within, says Sakshi Priya
As an artist, you have to fall in love every day. And you have to have your heart broken every day.” That one line from Jubin Nautiyal quietly sets the tone. He says it simply, without trying to sound poetic. Yet those words explain his music, his voice and the emotions he carries into every song. He does not separate life from music. For him, the feeling comes first. The melody follows. When he sings Tujhe Kitna Chahein Aur Hum, Lut Gaye, Tum Hi Aana, Lo Safar or Hum Nawa, the voice carries something familiar. Not polished pain or rehearsed sorrow but something real. In his new song Barbaad, that same feeling returns tired, quiet, but deeply alive. He says he goes back to a place in his past when he sings, not to suffer again but to remember what it felt like.
One heartbreak, he says, stays with him. It shaped him and in many ways, still does. The way he talks about music feels honest. His voice is calm, measured. He shares memories, not as stories to impress, but as simple truths that shaped who he became. He speaks about being alone in a studio, standing before a mic, closing his eyes and allowing the words to take him where they need to. That space still, personal, untouched by noise, is where many of his most loved songs were born. Barbaad, his song for Mohit Suri’s film Saiyaara, brings together many elements he values, emotion, story, melody, and trust. Mohit always knew Jubin would sing this one. He calls him the voice of a generation when it comes to romance.
There is weight in that compliment and the song proves why. Jubin’s journey is not made of big statements. It moves quietly, like his music, through heartbreak, memory, and the kind of honesty that leaves a mark. With Barbaad, he adds another chapter to that journey. One filled with love, loss and the silence in between.
When Something Moves Me, I Sing It: Jubin’s Music Mantra
When I asked Jubin what musical space truly felt like home Bollywood, indie, devotional or recreations, he paused, then gave me an answer that said more about his belief system than any label ever could.
“So, you know, I never thought myself of one space. When something good comes in front of me, I go for it. If it’s a good Bollywood song, I go for it. If it’s a good non-film, I go for it. If it’s a good recreation, I go for it. Even if it’s a good devotional song, bhajan, I go for it... I don’t have these stereotypes in my mind that I can do this and I can’t do that. I’m a human being. Human being is made in the image of God and God can do everything...”
He went on to speak about Mere Ghar Ram, Loot Gaye and Barbaad with the same passion, reminding me that for some artists, the feeling matters more than the format. I asked him what advice he’d give to his younger self, the boy who once dreamt of singing to the world. “Don’t get stuck in personal ideologies. Just be true to your art. Your job is to sing. You should sing it in your way, your style. And you should sing it legendary. That’s my advice.” Jubin sings what he feels, without drawing lines between genres or expectations. His journey is a reminder that music, when honest, finds its own way to reach the heart.
A conversation with Jubin Nautiyal
Does “Barbaad” reflect a personal experience of being consumed by love or longing?
I think that is the lifeline. Actually, that is the true reason to be an artist, to be lost in that space, to be able to do that. Of course, it has happened. I’ve been there. I’ve done that. And today also, if I have to croon songs like Barbaad, I have to mentally go back there and kind of relive that to be able to reach closer to the emotions of the song and get it right on record. So, yeah, I think breaking your heart all over again is also another way to create art.
Is there a personal chapter behind each song, like you mentioned with Barbaad?
I don’t have so much love in my life. I don’t have so many stories also in life. But yeah, most of them come from a very similar place. It’s like that. Definitely. It is. It all comes eventually when we are recording the song, there is no visual, there is just a brief. Aur apni picture ke, apni life ki picture ke hero toh hum khud hi hote hain. So, I have to kind of imagine that situation and I have to live it through the song. And, you know, there is a lot of acting happening off camera on mic when you’re recording a song where you are literally going back and reliving something.
Mohit Suri mentioned that he always knew you were the one to sing Barbaad. How does it feel to become the emotional voice of a story before the actors can even portray it on screen?
I always wanted to work with Mohit. His music, from Zeher and Kalyug in 2005, created a national wave with an unexpected and captivating sound. He consistently delivers massive hits, where his films and music beautifully intertwine. As a musician, it’s a privilege to collaborate with him because he presents the music so well. I’m thrilled we got to work on “Barbaad” from Saiyaara, especially with such a great team: a strong lead couple, ace director, production house, and music label. I’m very happy I got to sing the romantic song for his film.
What’s more difficult-getting over a heartbreak in real life or reliving it through your music?
Reliving it is easier, because you record the song and then move on. Real-life heartbreak? One is enough. I’m still in that phase where I don’t want to go through more heartbreaks. I’d rather just sing about it and be done with it.
Do you believe that the most beautiful songs come from the deepest wounds?
Not just songs, art comes from wounds. Time and again, it’s been proven that behind every artist’s journey, there’s some kind of pain that shaped the art.
Your love songs often feel like they’re written personally for each listener. How do you make your voice feel so intimate, even on a public platform?
To experience heartbreak, you must first fall in love. When you sing the lyrics, you connect them to your own past, finding yourself emotionally in that space again. Playback singing is like acting off-camera, in front of the mic. For a romantic song, I recall what romance meant to me as a younger boy, when love first hit me. I tap into that memory, think about it, and then deliver the written words. It’s a process that just seems to work out.
Stage vs Studio: Which Taught You More?
On stage, I’m a different person; I’m still figuring out who that is. The stage is about the mind, performance, and giving the audience what they came for. It’s a show, and while I try to steal moments for myself, it’s mainly about the people who’ve paid to be there. The studio, however, is a profoundly internal process.
When I’m singing into the mic, often to someone who isn’t physically present, it’s about feel, expression and emotion. This solitary work, focusing purely on the music, is what truly helps me grow as an artist. The stage has its own story, but the studio is where my musical self develops most.
What do you fear more, not being understood through your music or being understood too much?
I’ve never worried about people reading too much or too little into my music. My journey with a song ends at its release. After that, it’s about celebrating the work being out there, which is the biggest feeling for a musician. Whether people like it or not is their opinion, and I don’t dwell on being understood more or less. This mindset keeps me moving forward, focusing on the next song. My job is to give my best until the release; after that, the outcome is out of my hands. This approach keeps my mind sane.
If your life had a soundtrack, a song playing through its highs and lows, what song would that be?
I’m gonna play Barbaad. It’s such a cool song to play. As an artist, you have to fall in love everyday. And you have to have your heart broken everyday. So, you’re always in that phase.