WHEN POP MET NOSTALGIA - MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH BOMBAY VIKINGS

If you grew up in the 1990s or early 2000s, your playlist wasn’t complete without Indi-pop. It was when MTV played music, Channel [V] felt magical, and the only “streaming” we knew was rewinding our favorite cassette tapes after playing them one too many times.

At the heart of that musical revolution stood one band that blended the cool of the West with the soul of India: Bombay Vikings.

Before Spotify algorithms and YouTube remixes, there was Neeraj Shridhar, the smooth, scarf-wearing frontman whose voice could make even a ghazal feel like a pop anthem. Bombay Vikings didn’t just make music; they made fusion cool.

Their songs were a perfect handshake between Hindi and English, a bilingual charm that felt modern yet comfortingly desi. Kya Soorat Hai, Woh Chali, Hawa Mein Udta Jaaye, Chhod Do Aanchal, and the evergreen Zara Nazron Se Keh Do weren’t just tracks; they were emotions wrapped in melody.

You could play them at a college fest, a long drive, or a heartbreak. Their beats had Western swagger, but the lyrics tugged at Indian heartstrings, like denim over a kurta.

Music back then felt real. The videos were charmingly cheesy—pastel suits, convertible cars, pure 90s innocence. You didn’t need lavish production; a simple melody and the right mood were enough.

Every song had a story sometimes of love, sometimes of mischief, sometimes of longing. And while today’s remixes turn classics into dance numbers with little emotional depth, Bombay Vikings revived old Hindi songs with respect. They didn’t just remix; they reimagined.

When Woh Chali played, you didn’t roll your eyes; you smiled, because it felt like music made by someone who loved it as much as you did.

The 90s were a creative playground for Indian pop. Lucky Ali sang of lost souls, Euphoria made us dance, Alisha Chinai brought sass, Silk Route charmed, and Bombay Vikings added urban, playful, effortlessly cool music - modern yet nostalgic.

I still remember rewinding their songs on my Walkman, the tiny click before the track started, the faint hiss of the tape. Sometimes, I’d sit by the window, watching the rain while Kya Soorat Hai played in the background, feeling emotions I didn’t yet have words for.

Music wasn’t about likes or shares then; it was about memories. You didn’t skip tracks, you lived with them, learned the lyrics, even the wrong ones, and sang along with unshakable confidence.

Bombay Vikings captured the spirit of anticipation and belonging. Their songs weren’t just background music; they were part of growing up, part of a simpler time when love meant landline calls, not blue ticks.

Even now, scrolling through Spotify and typing “Bombay Vikings,” I relive that mix of nostalgia, melody, and the unmistakable scent of the 90s. Some music doesn’t age; it only deepens.

If I were to describe Bombay Vikings in one word, it would be timeless. They didn’t just give us music; they gave us a soundtrack to our youth, the score to first crushes, heartbreaks, and carefree afternoons.

Even today, when someone asks about my favourite band of the 90s, I smile and say, “Bombay Vikings because they didn’t just sing songs; they sang memories.” 🎶

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025