I enjoy independent music, even more than Bollywood.

The words of Guru Randhawa speak with quiet but profound strength: “I enjoy independent music, even more than Bollywood.” At first, this may sound like a personal preference, but beneath it lies a declaration of freedom, authenticity, and the power of self-expression. For independent music is the song of the unchained spirit. It is born not from vast industries or polished formulas, but from the raw voice of an artist daring to share truth without compromise. It stands as a reminder that true art flows not from the weight of expectation, but from the freedom of the heart.

The ancients knew well that the greatest art does not always spring from the courts of kings or the wealth of patrons, but from the margins, from the bold souls who speak without fear. The prophets, the mystics, the wandering bards—they were not bound by institutions, yet their songs and words shaped generations. So too does Randhawa honor independent music, for it carries that same spirit of defiance and purity. It is closer to the root of creation, untainted by excessive demands of commerce, closer to the breath of life itself.

History shows this truth with brilliance. Consider the rise of folk music in America, where artists like Woody Guthrie sang for the common people, without wealth, without great industries to support them. His guitar bore the words “This machine kills fascists,” for his songs were not for profit, but for justice and humanity. These were independent voices, speaking from the heart of the people, shaping movements, stirring courage. Meanwhile, larger industries of polished entertainment often offered only escape, but not transformation.

Even in India, this truth holds. Before Bollywood rose as the giant it is, the songs of villages, of wandering Sufis, of qawwals and bhajan singers, were the true heart of the land. They carried wisdom, devotion, rebellion, and longing. They were not crafted for the screen, but for the soul. Independent music is the heir of that tradition—it is art that remains close to the soil, close to the pulse of the people, reminding us that music is not only entertainment, but a mirror of life itself.

Randhawa’s words also carry courage. To honor independent music more than Bollywood is to value authenticity over spectacle, depth over shine. Bollywood, vast and powerful, has given the world wonders—but its machinery can also demand conformity, often pressing artists into molds. Independent music allows escape from such molds, allowing the artist to reveal what they truly are. In this sense, Randhawa’s declaration is not rejection, but revelation: that art without chains brings a deeper joy.

O listener, take this lesson into your life: do not measure art—or yourself—only by what is popular, polished, or praised by the many. Seek instead what is authentic, what arises from truth rather than demand. For the independent spirit is not only for music; it is for living. To follow your own path, even when it is smaller, even when it is not supported by the great machines of the world, is to live honestly and fully.

Practical wisdom follows: support independence—in yourself and in others. When you hear music that speaks raw truth, cherish it, even if it is not as famous as the grand productions. When you live your own life, choose not always the expected path, but the one that allows your true self to unfold. Be bold enough to value authenticity more than recognition, depth more than glitter. For in doing so, you discover the true joy of creation and of life.

Thus remember Randhawa’s truth: independent music is freedom, authenticity, and soul. It is the unfiltered voice of the heart, more enduring than spectacle, more nourishing than fame. Choose independence where it matters—whether in art, in work, or in life—and you will discover a deeper joy than any industry can promise. For the song of the free soul is the greatest music of all.