Musicals may not be very common in Indian cinema, but the ones we do have are truly special and unforgettable.
When we think of Indian cinema, music instantly comes to mind. Our films are known for being packed with songs, from romantic duets to high-energy dance numbers. But the thing is that just because a movie has a lot of songs doesn’t mean it’s a musical. That’s a common mix-up. The idea of musicals, as a genre, comes largely from Western cinema and theatre. At its core, a musical is a story told through music, not just accompanied by it. Characters don’t break into a song for the sake of it; rather they use music to express their thoughts, and emotions, and even move the story forward. The songs are not a part of the narrative; they are the narrative.
Now, in a country that loves music as much as India does, it’s surprising that we haven’t made too many true musicals. Maybe it’s because Indian audiences enjoy music in films, but not necessarily as the main storytelling tool. Still, every now and then, some filmmakers have dared to break the norm and created beautiful pieces where the music remains at the center. So this World Music Day, let’s celebrate those rare gems. Not all of them may tick every box to be called a musical, but they come close enough, and they deserve the spotlight.
The list must begin with Satyajit Ray’s timeless 'Gupi Gyne Bagha Byne' trilogy, perhaps the finest example of a musical in Indian cinema. These are stories told through music. Melody forms the very foundation of the narrative, driving plot, emotion, and transformation. In the first film, 'Gupi Gyne Bagha Byne', the moment Gupi and Bagha receive their magical boons, the power to create spellbinding music, they immediately burst into song. It’s instinctive. Their first instinct isn’t to talk, but to sing. When they visit new places, like the kingdom of Shundi, they express admiration through joyful, poetic melodies. When a war is about to erupt between two kingdoms, it’s a grand musical performance that both announces and establishes the crisis. And in the film’s most iconic climax, it's music, performed by Gupi and Bagha, that stops the war entirely. Their song puts everyone, including the enemy army, into a peaceful trance. No bloodshed. Just music.
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In 'Hirak Rajar Deshe', the second film, the duo faces a tyrant who brainwashes his citizens. Here, music becomes rebellion. With the help of a schoolteacher, they fight back, and it’s less with swords but more with a song. The satirical “Dori dhore maro taan, raja hobe khan khan” (not technically a song but something rhythmic) dismantles the king’s regime as rhythm leads resistance.
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By the final film, 'Goopy Bagha Phire Elo', directed by his son Sandip Ray, the two are older, wiser, and ready to pass on their legacy. But again, it is music, and only music, that helps them expose evil, restore balance, and bring peace. The world literally changes with their tune.
Bollywood usually treats songs as decorative detours, inserted to only entertain, even if it means pausing the plot. 'Jagga Jasoos', directed by Anurag Basu, embraces the true spirit of a musical, where music is storytelling. Jagga, portrayed by Ranbir Kapoor, has a stammer - he can’t speak fluently, but he can sing. That single character choice transforms the film’s narrative structure. Every conversation, every feeling, and every shift in the plot is expressed through rhythm and rhyme. Music becomes Jagga’s survival tool i.e., his language of love, fear, confusion, and hope. “Ullu Ka Pattha”, for instance, is less of a fun travel montage, and more about the awkwardness and chemistry of two unlikely companions slowly warming up to each other. “Khana Khake Daaru Peeke Chale Gaye” turns a plot twist into a courtroom musical, using tempo shifts and lyrical repetition to deliver humor and information simultaneously. “Galti Se Mistake” externalizes Jagga’s internal chaos, and “Phir Wahi” becomes a haunting memory loop, expressing his longing for a father figure.
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While 'Jagga Jasoos' may not fully land its grand vision, it proves that Bollywood can do musicals right.
'Rockstar' isn’t a musical in the traditional sense like 'Jagga Jasoos', but it’s a masterclass in using music as narrative. Here, director Imtiaz Ali lets the music speak for the characters. Every major shift in the story, every emotion that Janardan a.k.a. Jordan feels, finds its expression in a song. For instance, “Jo Bhi Main Kehna Chahoon” is Janardan’s bottled-up voice. He wants to scream, express, and be heard; and this song captures that restlessness perfectly. “Katiya Karun” reflects his early innocence, his playful chase of love, untainted by pain or fame. But everything changes with “Kun Faya Kun”, which is a spiritual turning point. In the calm of the dargah, Janardan sheds the wannabe rockstar mask and connects with something deeper. So in a way, "Kun Faya Kun" marks the beginning of Jordan. Then comes “Sadda Haq” - raw, rebellious, loud. This is Jordan at war with the world and with himself. His pain is public now. “Naadan Parindey” is where the heartbreak bleeds through — the voice of a man torn between two worlds, unable to return to the innocence he left behind. There’s that haunting line, “kaaga re kaaga re mori itni araj tujhse chun chun khaiyo maans, khaiyo na tu naina more, khaiyo na tu naina mohe piya ke milan ki aas..", which means "crow, I have so much of request to you, eat (my body's) flesh, but do not eat my eyes, don't eat my eyes as I have a wish to see my lover.." It’s Jordan’s life. A body without peace. A soul trapped in chaos.
And that's how 'Rockstar' becomes a journey told entirely through music.
Rajiv Menon's 'Sarvam Thaala Mayam' tells the rise of a Dalit boy, Peter, from a carefree cinephile to a passionate mridangam player. Here again, music becomes Peter’s identity, his rebellion, and his redemption. The film beautifully breaks the stereotype of Carnatic music being an elite preserve, showing how rhythm belongs to everyone. “Peter’s Theme” evolves throughout the film, reflecting his personal and musical growth from raw street drumming to refined stage performance. Songs like “Varalama” and “Maayanadhi” carry emotional depth, not just showcasing technique but reflecting Peter’s internal shifts - his frustration, love, and desire for acceptance. Even the training sequences aren’t montages but rhythmic dialogues between him and his guru.
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The climax, set in a percussion contest, is just Peter and his mridangam, speaking volumes through taal. It’s not about proving his worth to others anymore; it’s about finding peace within the beat.
When A.R. Rahman turns screenwriter and producer, you know that music will breathe through it. '99 Songs' is Rahman’s ode to the healing, destructive, and transformative power of music. Through the story of a boy chasing dreams and love, it shows how sound shapes identity, emotion, and purpose.
The protagonist, Jay, is a struggling musician who believes a great song can change the world. And that belief becomes the film’s spine. Each track here moves the story forward. “O Aashiqa” captures the rush of first love, while “Teri Nazar” haunts the emotional fallout. The jazzy, chaotic “The Oracle” reflects Jay’s breakdown, and “Jwalamukhi” becomes the moment he rises again.
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The film is visually composed with shifting moods and frames like movements in a musical piece.
Before 'Gully Boy' made Indian rap mainstream, there was Q’s 'Gandu'. This Bengali cult film isn’t only experimental in visuals or storytelling but also a musical revolution where rap becomes the voice of rage. Gandu, the protagonist, is an angry, disillusioned young man trapped in poverty and purposelessness. He doesn't speak much. But his rap is gritty, explosive, and soaked in frustration. Through his verses, he vents his hatred for a world that constantly humiliates him, from his strained relationship with his mother to his loathing of societal norms.
Thus, the music here becomes a confrontation. Each rap in the film feels like Gandu punching through the fourth wall. And the editing plays right into this rhythm (sharp cuts, jarring visuals, and sudden shifts) that reflect the turbulence in Gandu’s mind.
Q lets music scream. In that sense, 'Gandu' is one of India's boldest musical statements of all time, proving that songs can be raw truth, not just entertainment.
'Bandish Bandits' is a beautiful jugalbandi between tradition and modernity, and discipline and desire. At its heart is Radhe, a young classical singer from the revered Rathod gharana, whose life, home, and soul are soaked in sur and riyaaz. For his family, music is sacred, inherited, and lived. His grandfather, Pandit Ji, breathes music like oxygen, and the family’s entire existence revolves around its preservation. When Radhe falls in love, it's primarily with the idea of music beyond boundaries. The series slowly builds from calm, structured ragas to chaotic, soul-stirring crescendos. And by the finale of Season 1, when Radhe brings the rain with his performance, it becomes a form of liberation. That scene, where music, love, pain, and rain collide, hits like a tidal wave.
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What makes 'Bandish Bandits' special is how it blends classical with contemporary, creating a fusion that feels both rooted and refreshing. Season 2 pushes further, questioning Gharana's ego, hierarchy, and purity. The music here becomes a lens to view identity and change.
Happy World Music Day!
