Shashwat Sachdev Interview On Dhurandhar And Beyond: “True Collaboration Feels Almost Divine”

Collaboration, for me, is never about hierarchy or authorship. It is about expression, about telling a story together in a way that feels emotionally true to what the director wants to say. What surprised me most while working with Hans Zimmer and James Everingham was how deeply they listened. They approached the process from curiosity rather than assertion, which immediately created trust. I never felt the need to step outside myself. In fact, what was expected of me was to be completely myself, shaped by my culture, my upbringing, and the musical language I carry. There was a universality in my music that they responded to, and that was deeply humbling. When collaborators are emotionally invested for the right reasons, the work stops being about individual contribution and becomes a shared search for truth.

My earliest influences were not individual artists as much as environments. I grew up immersed in Hindustani classical music while simultaneously learning Western classical piano. Cinema played an equally important role. It taught me how sound can live inside emotion, silence, and narrative. I often feel we are products of our environment more than our choices. We do not choose our family, our city, or our country, yet they shape us profoundly. I was born in India, to parents who introduced me to music before I even understood its weight. I remain deeply grateful to the universe for that alignment.

The true inspiration was always the writing. Aditya Dhar’s script and Shiv Kumar Panicker’s edit became the guiding force rather than any external sonic reference. We were chasing a collective vision—what the film wanted to express emotionally, not a genre or a trend. Aditya and Shiv are fearless about exploring what they do not yet know. That curiosity leads us into unexpected sonic and visual territories. For me, that is the mark of a true artist—the willingness to walk into the unknown and then decide, together, what belongs.

True collaboration feels almost divine. When it happens honestly, music leads and egos naturally step aside. None of us are thinking about what we are adding individually. We are chasing a shared purpose. Sometimes, the vision comes from the director, sometimes from me, sometimes from the editor, and often from the singer in the room. Collaboration only works when everyone listens selflessly and serves something larger than themselves.

The intention was never recreation. It was re-contextualisation. The original song carries deep cultural memor, and I wanted it to exist in the present without losing its soul. Hanumankind brought contemporary urgency and global rhythmic instinct. Jasmine Sandlas carried an emotional and cultural grounding that felt innate. Beyond that, we genuinely enjoyed working together. During The Ba***ds of Bollywood, we spent a lot of time exploring ideas, and that trust naturally extended into this song.

We had a rough version of the track but were waiting for the magic. One day, Aditya called me and suggested revisiting a Qawwali that had been sitting with us for a long time. That evening, when we blended it with the classical foundation we already had, everything aligned. The song moves between Darbari Kanada and Bhimpalasi. One offers gravitas and introspection, the other tenderness and yearning. That moment felt less like invention and more like discovery—as if the song had been waiting for us to arrive.

Beyond his artistry, what truly sets Diljit apart is who he is as a human being. I deeply enjoy his company and that warmth translates into the music. He carries legacy without being burdened by it. There is confidence without arrogance, ambition without insecurity. That balance is rare and it allows him to evolve while staying rooted.

The song was born from spontaneity. Magic was in the room when I sang a rough idea over the track, almost playfully. Reble stepped in at that moment and I shared a flow that was already forming in my head. She responded instinctively, and within a few hours of writing, production and mixing, the track came together. It was one of those rare moments where instinct, joy and trust align perfectly.

The difference lies entirely in intent. Reinterpretation comes from respect, understanding and listening. Appropriation comes from extraction without context. If you approach legacy material with humility, credit honestly and allow it to breathe rather than dominate it, the work remains ethical. Music has memory. It knows how it is treated.

We were consciously trying to build something larger than ourselves—something that felt epic and sincere. Lokesh Dhar, whom we fondly call Lokesh Bhaiya, carried immense belief throughout the process. He often reminded us that we were creating something special and that faith gave us courage. The response felt less like validation and more like resonance.

The track already existed, but Aditya and I kept hearing a modern revolutionary conversation within it. We wanted that dialogue to continue across the film. Hanumankind felt like the natural voice to respond to the question “Ez-Ez” poses early in the story, while the title track answers it in the climax. That symmetry was intentional.

Music existed before the script, during its writing, and long after the edit. The process was about finding discipline within chaos. That balance—structure inside freedom—is extremely important to me, both musically and philosophically.

Classical music defines the rules that allow all other forms to exist. You can only break rules once you truly understand them. It teaches patience, depth and listening. These qualities remain timeless in any era.

My upbringing was surrounded by great Indian fusion musicians and that naturally shaped my musical vocabulary. Fusion, when honest, reflects lived experience rather than novelty. It allows multiple histories to coexist without hierarchy.

My father maintained a library of over four thousand cassettes, catalogued meticulously like an archive. That discipline taught me reverence for music. The medium has changed over time, but the act of listening deeply remains sacred to me.

I do not see it as paving the way in any grand sense. If the work encourages curiosity, openness, and courage to collaborate without fear, then it has served its purpose. Music should invite possibility, not declare legacy.

There was no pressure, only play. Shah Rukh sir said something early on that stayed with me. 'If you are not having fun, you are doing something wrong’. That philosophy guided the entire process. When joy and honesty lead the way, the work finds its truth.