Classic Album Review: Redefining Modern Classics With Nanku Sharma

By Mannav Jaisinghani

Desi hip-hop is having a moment — a loud, chaotic, beautifully inventive one.
In barely three years, we’ve compressed more than five decades of Western rap evolution into our own hyper-accelerated pop-culture timeline. Listen to the new wave of Indian rappers and you can feel it: a kind of rhythmic sprint to meet the world where it already is. The underground is breathing fire. Artists like Pacific Sharpeye and 14K sound borderless, global — assimilation isn’t just coming, it’s already here.

And in that sprint, somewhere between rebellion and reinvention, we’ve created our own modern classics.

It’s a narrow word, a selective word — but it fits the speed of Desi Hip-Hop’s growth. The genre exploded like a nuclear bloom, and in the fallout we got era-defining albums from day one:
Bharg & Rawal’s Sab Chahiye,
MC Stan’s Insaan,
Dhanji’s Ruab.
These 2020s projects laid the substructure for what mainstream Indian pop-rap should sound like.

And then came Nanku Sharma (2020).

A tiny, tender, couch-recorded album released during a global pandemic — one that quietly became a touchstone. With barely 5,000 Spotify listeners at the time, Nanku (formerly Udbhav; sometimes Shaastriji depending on which era of fandom you belonged to) found himself catapulted to 30,000+ overnight. He’s never explained the name shifts, but his fondness for mononyms feels almost poetic.

What made this project timeless was its intimacy.

A Home Recorded, A Home Revealed

The album carries the softness of a house tour whispered under a yellow lamp.
The cover — a childhood picture of Nanku.
The title — eponymous, unguarded.
The vocals — close, warm, like he’s singing into your shoulder.
Production — dimmed, underwater, gentle distortions lapping through the mix.

You aren’t just listening. You’re visiting.

The drums feel like they’re coming from the next room; the synths blur like memories you almost remember; the verses feel breathed rather than spoken. There’s a deliberate “don’t overthink it” stitched into the project — the kind of looseness you get only when someone stops performing and simply exists.

The Breakouts

‘Kaafizyada’ was the sleeper hit — a smoky, slow-burning desi jam glittering with keys, an off-kilter video, and hyper-aware lyricism about modern love’s emotional potholes. Even today, it hits with the precision of a late-night confession. The YouTube upload is out of sync — he probably noticed. He also probably didn’t care. That’s the charm.

‘Jeenedo’ followed, balancing trap drums over a looping old Hindi sample — a fusion that shouldn’t work as well as it does.

The Underrated Gem

‘Abtak’ is a quiet masterpiece.
Every line is a question — dangling, unresolved.
The production by Toorjo Dey (a long-time collaborator known for blending classic Bollywood textures with modern arrangement) builds in patient waves and ends in a cinematic splash, like a fall into cold water.

Why Nanku Sharma Still Matters

It’s a seminal work — not because it’s loud, big, or technically maximal, but because it’s vulnerable.
It’s honest without trying to prove anything.
It’s a piece of desi hip-hop history made with the resources of a bedroom, the instincts of a poet, and the confidence of someone who trusts the music to speak for itself.

Go visit Nanku Sharma.
Sit with it.
Let it show you around the home it quietly builds in your head.

Listen here:

Apple: https://music.apple.com/in/album/nanku-sharma/1773286064
Spotify: https://spotify.link/YJ5V2feiQXb

About the Author — Mannav Jaisinghani
Mannav Jaisinghani is a Bombay-based writer, editor, curator, producer, photographer — and an unmistakably bold cultural voice. His work blends music criticism, visual culture, and narrative experimentation, making him one of the sharpest young commentators in India’s contemporary arts scene.