Bro, yeh toh full BT ho gayi (Bro, this is a full bad trip),” declares Siddhant Sharma, aka Calm, his eyes affixed to the TV screen in my living room as he pours himself a generous glass of Jack Daniel’s whiskey. In the corner, Abhijay Negi (nom-de-rhyme: Encore ABJ) is rolling joints like his life depends on it. He picked up 15 grams of weed from a friend the day before, and he’s on a mission to finish it before the two get on a flight back to Delhi later that evening.

It’s May 23, election results day, and the boys from Seedhe Maut have stopped over at my suburban Mumbai flat on the way to the airport. We’re supposed to be doing a second round of interviews, following up on our conversation in Delhi a couple of weeks earlier. Instead, we spend the evening getting wasted and watching the ruling party’s triumphant return to power.

“We laugh at the US for electing Donald Trump,” says Sharma, in a resigned voice. “But look at us.”

Admittedly, this isn’t the most erudite example of political commentary. The two young men – Sharma is nearly 23, Negi is 24 – don’t use the sort of political vocabulary and theory that’s in vogue with the analysts on TV, or the “woke” twitterati. Terms like “caste calculus”, “regulatory capture” and “electoral bonds” are nowhere to be found. They haven’t yet been bloodied in the culture wars of online activism, with its radicaler-than-thou posturing and tendency towards blue-on-blue attacks. Instead, their response to the election result is a direct and heartfelt, “We’re fucked.”

This same directness and emotional honesty also informs the duo’s music, which combines dark alt-trap beats with introspective lyricism and exuberant wordplay. In the two years since they signed to Delhi rap label Azadi Records, Seedhe Maut have become one of the most talked-about new acts in Indian hip-hop, Delhi’s icons-in-waiting, all set to take over from the Mumbai rappers who currently run the rap underground. Recent sets at BudX and Bira91’s April Fools’ Fest saw them upstage much bigger acts on the lineup, with hundreds of fans singing along to their tracks. They’ve got a collaboration with UK rap/electronica biggies Foreign Beggars in the pipeline, and they’re also going to star in their own documentary very soon. They even had a major political party offer them `25 lakh to do a song for the election campaign (they refused).

Part of the buzz around them is thanks to their explosive live shows. At Azadi Records’ second-anniversary celebration at Mumbai’s Khar Social earlier this year, the opening bars of Seedhe Maut’s first track hit the crowd like a tsunami, igniting a mosh pit that sent bodies flying across the floor like billiard balls. But this is just one piece of the puzzle. In fact, Seedhe Maut’s secret sauce is their unique dynamic: Two young friends finding their way in a world gone awry. On Bayaan, their critically acclaimed nine-track debut album, Sharma and Negi channel the angst and frustration of middle India’s Gen Z as they confront an adulthood more complicated than they expected.

This generation has inherited a country that is no longer the India from their civics textbooks. Today’s young adults are navigating new rules of romance in the age of sexting and #MeToo, trying to unlearn toxic masculinity without the help of a gender studies education. They’re faced with the task of handling an impending environmental crisis that their “elders” seem to have no interest in fixing. All that, on top of the familiar conundrum of middle-class kids everywhere – whether to follow the safe, scripted path through life that their parents have planned for them, or to risk conflict and failure by setting off on their own. Seedhe Maut’s music and lyrics speak to these anxieties in a way neither mainstream mass culture nor gully rap do. Perhaps that explains their incredibly dedicated fanbase: 14-year-old boys who send them beats and religiously follow their videogame live streams on YouTube; teenage girls at gigs who cry when they play romantic ballad “Gehraiyaan” and wait hours at the gate to meet them, only to cry again. There are even a couple of guys who religiously follow them on tour, regularly popping up in the duo’s Instagram Stories from shows all over the country.

“They’re two boys just trying to be themselves when other aspiring rappers here are trying so hard to be ‘rappers’, if you know what I mean,” says Azadi co-founder Mo Joshi, on the phone from Chandigarh. “I think that’s why they have such an incredible connection with their fans.”

Bro, supplee lag gayi (Bro, I have to give a supplementary exam),” complains Negi, looking up from a textbook as I walk into the bedroom of Sharma’s Tilak Nagar bachelor pad a couple of weeks earlier. A huge Seedhe Maut poster takes up most of the wall behind him, while Manchester United merch and a couple of framed CD covers – Bayaan and their debut mixtape 2 Ka Pahada – make up the rest of the decor. One corner, with a desk and a computer, is the duo’s combined home studio and gaming den. In between our interview and a recording session for a track on label mate Tienas’ upcoming album, Negi is trying to cram subjects like advanced mathematics and coastal engineering so he can finally get his civic engineering degree, six years in. Sharma, on the other hand, is taking much pleasure in his friend’s misfortune. “He’s going to put this in the article,” he cackles. “There goes your street cred.”

More than anything, Seedhe Maut are like an odd couple from a sitcom. The older, quieter Negi is an introvert whose idea of a good time is just chilling at home with a spliff. He doesn’t drink much, and used to hate nightclubs before he met Sharma. With his gaunt face and kohl-tinged eyes, he radiates a quiet, brooding intensity. In contrast, Sharma is an ebullient extrovert who starts every other sentence with Delhi’s signature elongated “Brooooo”. Sharma goes through life with a joie de vivre that’s infectious, greeting every new development with multiple-exclamation-marks excitement. Never seen without his oversized square specs, he’s the life of every after-party. “It works out great, because Calm can go out and mingle with people easily, do the networking,” says Negi. “That really helped us get gigs and stuff, especially in the early days.”

They’ll often complete each other’s sentences. During interviews, you sometimes feel like a third wheel – they can keep a conversation going for hours with little more than a few encouraging nods from your end, jumping from tangent to tangent. They don’t deploy the filters usually used by artists when speaking to the press, either. A question about their latest live show can lead to anything from anecdotes about meeting Ranveer Singh at the GQ Style & Culture Awards in March this

year (“He had a speaker playing “Apna Time Aayega” in his pocket as he walked in, abhi tak film promotion chal rahi hai bhai”) to gentle ribbing about each other’s romantic escapades.

The two met three years ago, at the first rap cypher organised by Spit Dope Inc, a Delhi battle rap platform founded by Negi and fellow Delhi MCs Kode, Abxom and Snub. Negi was already a familiar face at jams and cyphers at the time. Hailing from unfashionable East Delhi – or Jamnapaar – the Eminem and Big L fan had started off rapping in English, like many of his contemporaries, but quickly transitioned to raw, combative Hindi rap.

He and Sharma, the rebellious son of two school principals, hit it off instantly. They decided to write together as a multilingual duo – Negi rapping in Hindi and Sharma in English – and Seedhe Maut was born. The name came from a phrase Sharma’s brother loved to use, a Delhi analogue of London grime’s “sick”. “It basically implies that you have to give it your all in anything you do,” says Sharma. “It’s quite dark and sharp, and that’s how we wanted our sound to be. Always aggressive, in your face. No half measures, just seedhe maut.”

Once they started writing songs together, it quickly became apparent that this creative partnership was bigger than the sum of its two parts. Negi wields his voice like a scalpel, his Hindi lyrics showcasing a mastery of alliteration and metaphor that rivals that of Mumbai gully rap pioneer Naezy. He draws from the same well of inspiration as Sahir Ludhianvi and other Hindustani lyricists of Golden Age Bollywood, with their subtle interplay of pathos and clever wordplay. Sharma’s writing is more direct, but what he lacks in lexical dexterity, he more than makes up for with his relentless flow and crushing delivery. He’s the virtuoso of the braggadocio verse, his voice dripping with contempt as he demolishes opponents in machine-gun staccato.

The duo spent the latter half of 2016 putting together the songs for 2 Ka Pahada, which went on to make serious waves in the Indian rap underground, grabbing the attention of hip-hop heads all over the country. Within a month of the mixtape’s release, Azadi had signed them on for a record deal. Seedhe Maut had arrived.

“It was a no-brainer really,” says Joshi, of the decision to bring the duo into the Azadi fold. “They were already creating music that had the potential to go beyond the hip-hop scene and appeal to a wider audience. That’s evident from the number of female fans that come to their gigs.”

Along with the teens, the ageing rock scene cynics, celebrities and even a few parents, Seedhe Maut attract the most diverse audience you’ll see at a rap gig. Much of that has to do with the success of Bayaan. While 2 Ka Pahada was essentially a vehicle for the two rappers to show off their versatility and skills on the mic, Bayaan is a much more cohesive document of their lives and ambitions. Released on December 28 last year, the record didn’t get nearly as much press as it deserved because publications were busy putting out their end-of-year coverage. But it hit a nerve with kids who’d been primed for it by the hype being built around Zoya Akhtar’s Gully Boy.

“There’s a new wave of rap fans who don’t want to listen to mainstream hip-hop any more, and I think we tapped into that,” says Sharma. “I don’t think they’ve ever heard music that uses the language they do when they’re just hanging out. In the same way that Naezy connected with people in Mumbai by using the slang and language of the streets, I think we represent the Delhi-wala style.”

Unlike 2 Ka Pahada, which was written and recorded at a frenetic pace, Seedhe Maut spent most of 2018 getting Bayaan ready under the guidance of label mate Sez – who handled the production on the album

– as well as the Azadi co-founders. Co-founder Uday Kapur even convinced Sharma to drop the English and rap in Hindi, a move that has worked well. But more than anything, Bayaan is the sound of two friends pushing each other to outdo themselves lyrically and vocally, and enjoying it thoroughly. They remind me of Run The Jewels, the two American rap alchemists

who found a way to turn their personal chemistry into musical gold. In the case of Bayaan, the result is a record that seethes with barely restrained rage and revels in its destructive impact.

Lead single “Shaktimaan”, a crowd favourite, is an ode to the power of the Indian everyman who oozes a self-assurance that borders on arrogance. Referencing the 1990s Indian superhero – along with Salman Khan, Shah Rukh Khan, Popeye and chole bhature – the track is propelled by Sez’s grimy flute-and-bass beat. The flute acts as a motif that runs throughout the album, as do the dense and plentiful Indian pop culture references. “Dehshat” is a sinister dose of North Indian aggression, the sonic version of a Delhi street brawl. Braggadocio cut “Meri Baggi Mera Ghoda” takes the familiar bit of North Indian doggerel (“meri baggi mera ghoda, jo na naache bhen ka lauda”) and transforms it into a down and dirty club banger.

But there are also more introspective and reflective moments on the album, and it is these that seem to inspire the most devotion from their Gen Z and female fanbase. The poignant “Gehraiyaan” starts with a recording of a young girl speaking on the phone with a friend about sneaking out to catch a Seedhe Maut show – not the sort of demographic you see represented on the average Indian rap record. The track itself is a surprisingly tender portrayal of young love, and the self-flagellation that follows your first real break-up. The song is also a subtle “fuck you” to the idea of fuckboy masculinity, though it’s delivered from a point of empathy rather than judgment. And then there’s the flute-driven “PNP” (Paisa Nasha Pyaar), a song that blends personal heartbreak, social ills and political commentary into a ringing indictment of contemporary India.

These aren’t necessarily the themes that dominate Indian underground rap, which has taken the narratives of the “struggle” and the “gully” to heart. Negi and Sharma are not shining a light on Delhi’s seamy underbelly, or speaking for the subaltern and the marginalised. Though they touch on these issues frequently, Seedhe Maut are primarily concerned with the more universal difficulties of being a young person in contemporary India. They’re more interested in mining the one vein in global popular music that never runs dry: teenage angst. Until now, India’s never really had a big teenage angst moment in popular music, aside from the odd soundtrack cuts from a cult Bollywood film (Rockford, Udaan). Outside of elite urban bubbles, Indian teens were thought of as either overgrown children or adults-in-waiting. But India today has over 600 million people under the age of 25 – more than half the country’s population – and a large chunk have more access to global culture and disposable income than ever before. They know their aspirations and struggles will define the country’s future.

The album ends with the uplifting and empowering “Chalta Reh”, all the anger and sadness of the preceding songs now transmuted into an ironclad resolve. Your parents may not let you go out on dates or choose a creative career, your friends may stab you in the back the first chance they get, the music industry and the world at large may scoff at your ambition to do things the right way. But, Seedhe Maut seem to be saying, that’s all background noise. “Jaane de,” they tell you. “Chalta reh.”

NOW READ

Wait, who is Austin Butler? Everything you need to know about the new Elvis

Netflix India announces 5 new originals, including shows produced by SRK & Anushka Sharma

GQ Playlist: Ed Sheeran throws a big pop collab party – and everyone’s invited

> More on Entertainment