There is a particular kind of silence that follows bands that have outlived their era — not absence, but endurance. It sits in the space between memory and motion, between what was once new and what somehow refuses to become old. And then there is Parikrama. In India’s ever-shifting musical landscape — where genres rise, dissolve, rebrand, and vanish into algorithmic fog — the veteran rock band remains something rarer: a constant. Thirty-five years on from a decision that was never meant to last beyond a few months, Delhi’s most enduring rock outfit is still doing what it has always done — showing up, plugging in, and playing as though the idea of stopping never quite made sense.
What began in 1991 as a brief post-graduation experiment in classic rock obsession has become a lifetime’s work for founder Subir Malik — organist, synthesiser player, manager, and reluctant custodian of a legacy he never set out to build. The original lineup included the late Sonam Sherpa alongside Subir, Nitin Malik, Chintan Kalra, Prashant Bahadur and Rahul Malhotra. The intention was modest. The outcome was anything but. Three and a half decades later, Parikrama is not just surviving; it is still expanding its own myth in real time.
Subir spoke to t2 with the calm of someone who has outlasted every predicted ending — for rock music, for independent scenes, for bands that refuse to evolve into brands. Excerpts.
How has the journey been over the past 35 years, and what do you believe Parikrama has contributed to Indian rock?
I don’t think any of us ever imagined this would last 35 years. It started in 1991 as a kind of farewell to music for me. I was supposed to join my family business and I had just a few months left of playing, so I went to a young group and said I want to play rock ’n’ roll before I quit. We’ll form a band, do a few shows, and that’s it. It was meant to be a four-month project. That was the idea. We got success immediately, and after that it just kept going — show after show, year after year. It never stopped. I don’t really think in terms of legacy. If anyone has taken something from what we’ve done, or learnt something from it, that’s enough. That’s an honour. We’re just people who kept playing. If there is any contribution, it’s that we never gave up. When rock was at its peak in India, we were there. When it disappeared from colleges, we were still there. We played 100 to 120 college shows a year at one point. Then suddenly that circuit died down almost completely. We didn’t stop. We kept going because we believed in rock ’n’ roll. And now it’s coming back again. We’re even doing college shows again. That feels good.
How do you manage to stay together without breaking apart creatively or personally?
We talk. That’s the main thing. Everything can be solved if you talk. Parikrama has never been the primary source of income for anyone in the band, not then and not now. That changes everything. There’s no pressure in that sense. So, what remains is pure passion. People travel two hours for rehearsals even now. That only happens when it’s love for what you’re doing. From the beginning, before we even properly started jamming, we sat together and made rules, a vision, a structure. We decided things like no alcohol before going on stage, punctuality, keeping ego out, staying grounded. Those rules still exist. And over time, we’ve just learned that anything can be solved if we stay open and speak to each other.
Did opening for Iron Maiden change your sound or direction in any way?
We had already written a lot of songs before Iron Maiden happened in 2007. Even our biggest songs, like But It Rained, existed before that. But yes, when we knew we were opening for 20,000 to 30,000 metal fans, we realised we had to adjust. We were more blues and classic rock then, so we made our sound heavier for that show. We did the same again when we went to the UK. The sound naturally became a bit heavier because of those experiences. But we were always writing across themes anyway. Open Skies composed in 1992 — it’s just a feeling of freedom, being on a bike, wind in your hair, looking at the sky. Don’t Cut Me Down was written in 1997 about deforestation, long before people were really talking about it. We recorded it properly only a couple of years ago. Translucent Night is about organ donation. Am I Dreaming, Tears of the Wizard, Demons of Time — those are influenced by Lord of the Rings, characters like Gandalf and others. It’s always been about whatever we see, read or feel in life. That becomes the song.
Would Parikrama have found it easier to start today in 2026?
In some ways it’s easier now because you can release music instantly. But in many ways it’s harder because there is so much overload. When we started, there was no Internet. You played one show, someone saw you, and that led to the next show. It was very physical, very slow, step by step. Today there are probably a hundred thousand songs released every day. In that, even very good music can get lost. So success was hard then, and it’s hard now. Just for different reasons.
After all these years, do you still feel nervous before going on stage?
It’s not nervousness anymore. It’s more like excitement. There’s always a small butterfly in the stomach before going on stage. That still happens. I think the day that stops happening is the day something is wrong. We go on stage with one mindset — that we’re going to have the best time of our lives.
What still keeps live performance exciting for you?
If we are enjoying ourselves on stage, the audience automatically enjoys it too. That has never changed for us. It doesn’t matter if it’s a college, a festival or a corporate show. The approach is the same. We go up there to have a great time. That’s it.
So Indian independent music is currently experiencing a renewed moment of visibility How do you view the current landscape and what excites or concerns you most about where it is headed?
I think the Internet has made the world much smaller than it used to be. Earlier, if you didn’t know someone, you simply didn’t know what was happening. Now, music discovery is much easier because everything is available at your fingertips. At the same time, what excites me is that if something is good, it can travel very fast now. A song can suddenly reach across the world if people connect with it. That’s a beautiful thing. But what also concerns me is the sheer volume. There are so many songs being released every day that even very good music can get lost in the noise. When you have such oversupply, it becomes harder for things to stand out on merit alone. So it’s both. It’s much easier to release and distribute music now, but much harder to be heard. And in that sense, it’s a very different kind of challenge compared to our time.
So one of Parikrama’s enduring strengths has been its ability to attract multiple generations of listeners. What do you think keeps your music relevant to younger audiences today?
I don’t know if it’s something we’ve consciously done to make it relevant. I think it’s more about how we are when we play. We still go on stage with the same feeling we had years ago — that we’re there to have a great time. We enjoy ourselves completely when we perform, and I think that energy naturally reaches people in the audience. It doesn’t really matter whether it’s a college crowd, a festival, a school show or a corporate show. We don’t change our approach. We just go up there and play like we mean it, and we try to enjoy every moment of it. And I think when you are genuinely having that kind of time on stage, the audience connects with that. That’s probably why younger audiences still connect with us — because the energy is real, and it hasn’t changed over the years.
Was there a song or moment that changed everything for the band?
Certainly, But it rained. It really made us a household name around 1999–2000. The video also helped it reach a much wider audience.
How have your dynamics within the band evolved over 35 years?
We treat the band like a family. And in every family there are disagreements, but you don’t leave the family. We don’t really have major conflicts, but when they do happen, they get solved because we understand each other so well now. In December 2024, we were supposed to play in Nagaland. One day before leaving, we found out our singer had a medical emergency. We were doing 11 original songs, and the organisers thought we would cancel. We said no, we are not cancelling. We got this kid from Bangalore, Megan (Rakesh), ready in about a day and a half. We rehearsed with her quickly and went and performed the show. We did not cancel.
How did the early struggles shape the band?
There was no real system for independent music back then. You couldn’t promote a show digitally. It was posters, word of mouth, and whoever happened to be there. We would play one college, someone would see us, and that would lead to another college. That’s how it worked. We travelled in second-class trains, stayed in hostels.
That was normal for us. Today things are much better for young musicians. Flights, support, everything. And that’s how it should be. But going through those early years taught us how to adjust to any situation.
What does the next chapter of Parikrama look like?
This is just the beginning. We have decided to release 50 original songs in the next five years. In the last two to three years, we’ve already released around 7 songs, plus a live vinyl with 10 originals. Only one of those songs, Open Skies, is currently on streaming platforms. The rest will come out as studio versions soon.