Polymath: The Rebel Bridging Punk, Hip-Hop & Political Resistance in Music
From Daranti Crew to Qila Connect, Polymath’s journey through Pakistan’s underground music scene and beyond is a story of rebellion, raw lyricism, and unfiltered truth. In this exclusive Interview, he breaks down his artistic evolution, creative process, and the politics of hip-hop and punk.
Q) Every artist has that defining moment—the spark that sets everything in motion. If you had to trace your journey back to its very first pulse, where would it begin? What shaped your ears before you found your voice?
Polymath: Growing up in a tough environment, music was my escape—whether from economic struggles or emotional turmoil. Performing lets me reconnect with that inner child, the one that gets stomped out as we grow into caricatures of adults. One of my earliest memories is jumping on a bed, screaming along to a Backstreet Boys cassette at age six. Around the same time, my father introduced me to 2Pac. As I grew older, I explored rock, punk, and metal, and it was the latter two that truly pulled me in when I first picked up a microphone.
Q) Punk and hip-hop have always been voices of resistance and rebellion. When did you first realise music could be more than just entertainment? And how do you choose which themes to bring into your music?
Polymath: I was obsessed with politically and socially relevant music from a young age. I never connected with Bollywood or mainstream Pakistani music—it felt out of touch. Every song was about love and heartbreak while outside, bomb blasts were happening, the country was under dictatorship, and the economy was collapsing. And yet, love and heartbreak were all people wanted to sing about? They’d say, “But it’s relatable.” To whom? In Pakistan, people can’t even date openly, marriages are arranged for family reasons, not love. What’s relatable about our music industry? We should be singing about war, oppression against women, and the state’s genocidal activities. Even about how we can’t love properly, if anything.
By 18, I was knee-deep in politically charged music across genres—from Public Enemy to Napalm Death. I’d listen to these artists and think, “This is what we need in Pakistan.” The issues those Western bands were singing about? We were living them. I discovered a thriving metal scene in Pakistan, but it felt too metal and not enough punk. That gap is what led to the formation of my first two bands.
Q) Back in 2016, you co-founded Daranti Group, a collective that left a lasting impact on underground hip-hop in Pakistan and India. What was the vision behind its formation, and do you see the crew making a comeback?
Polymath: Honestly, I just wanted to write intelligent bars with people who had the same intent. At the time, Desi hip-hop was in shambles—filled with Bohemia copycats and feudal kids cosplaying as gangsters. But then I discovered the early Bombay scene—the whole B3 crowd—and it inspired me to build something similar in Pakistan. So I brought in rap veteran Jay Alvi and my metal homie Haivaan, and we started writing over old-school beats. No gimmicks, just bars over bullshit.
After the 2019 mixtape Dasti Bomb, I stepped away from rap to focus on punk but kept collaborating with newer, underground Pakistani artists whose work I admired. I attempted to put together an EP, but it never materialised.
Right now, Haivaan has left music, and Jay is focused on his profession. However, Uzair Khan joined Daranti last year and dropped an incredible mixtape filled with grimy, Griselda-style Urdu rap—I highly recommend people check it out.
Currently I’m finishing up a solo mixtape with songs I’ve had done for three-four years, unfortunately I was too occupied with the punk universe to properly dedicate time. Some of my unreleased verses ended up in the Qila Connect EP too.
As for Daranti Crew? It should always exist to fill a niche in the scene.
When we started, there was a gap we wanted to bridge, but now? Every other rapper is referencing obscure literature, using big words, and painting brutal imagery. So, what gaps remain for Daranti to fill? Some are thematic, some linguistic, let’s see. Even if we’re inconsistent, every drop will be an interesting document of the times.
Q) During my research, I discovered that even before co-founding Daranti Group, you were part of bands like Foreskin and Multinational Corporations as early as 2012. Having worked across different sounds and collectives, what do you look for in collaborators? Is there a particular energy or mindset that draws you to work with someone?
Polymath: The state of Pakistani music at the time pushed me to start my first bands, Foreskin and Multinational Corporations.
Foreskin was more provocative and tongue-in-cheek, while MxCx was where I fully channeled my political ideas into lyrics. Later, with Dead Bhuttos, we introduced Urdu infused with a Lahori Punjabi accent, and I carried that approach forward with Zanjeer by embracing native languages.
When collaborating, I look for two things. First, can I mentally connect with this person? Can we be friends, joke around, and just vibe beyond the music? Second, what are their core values as a human being? Not even their political beliefs—those can change—but their fundamental principles, how they treat others, and what they stand for.
In Pakistan, I could usually sense this within minutes, but in Germany, it’s something I’m still figuring out! Hahaha.
Q) Your music has always been shaped by your surroundings, from Pakistan’s underground scene to your recent move to Germany. What sparked this transition, and how has the change in environment influenced your creative process?
Polymath: Some parts of the world rely more on exporting humans than any other resource—Pakistan is one of them. Especially among Punjabi and Pashtun communities, migration is almost inevitable—whether for better opportunities or simply a sense of safety.
Many of my seniors in the old rock scene left, as did much of our generation’s metal and punk musicians. I held on longer than most because I was running a DIY venue in Old Lahore called Inner City Art Center, but the country’s economic situation became so untenable that I had to look abroad—to live a little better and fulfill some childhood dreams.
What Germany added to my creative process was the push to step up—A LOT. In Pakistan, my friends and I were big fish in a pond we created ourselves. But here? You could stumble upon a local band with 50 followers, and they’d be one of the most professional, tightest groups you’ve ever seen. Every concert I attend in Germany is a learning experience. It’s like football—if you’re playing in the Premier League, you naturally push yourself harder because the competition is at such a high level.
Another major shift was in my writing. Performing hip-hop in Germany means most people don’t understand my lyrics—they hear my voice as an instrument. So I started focusing more on groove and musicality rather than cramming verses with heavy Urdu vocabulary. I still maintain my lyrical style, but now, I play more with syllables, rhythm, and flow—to make people move to the music.
Q) Qila Connect, your latest hip-hop collective with Indian artist Agaahi Raahi, feels like the start of something powerful. How did this collaboration come together, and what’s the long-term vision?
Polymath: It was a spontaneous project. We wanted to capture the realities of recent South Asian immigrants in Berlin and put this city on the map for global desi music, like London and Brampton have.
There’s no long-term vision since Agaahi Raahi may not stay in Germany, but I’m glad we made this record. Right now, our focus is on mastering the project and ensuring it reaches the right ears. If Agaahi stayed longer, we could’ve done tours and more releases, but that seems unlikely. Maybe I continue it with another Indian comrade, but it has to be someone who’s at least close to Farhan’s level – he’s a fucking beast.
Q) In an era where strong opinions often lead to division, how important do you think it is to have open discussions and debates rather than resorting to hate? How do you navigate creative and ideological differences, especially in music and collaborations?
Polymath: Punk is an ideologically driven genre. You don’t debate with a Nazi or a racist in that world—you punch them in the face. And that’s how it should be. There’s nothing more empowering for someone from an oppressed group than knowing that people from the “majority” will fight to defend you.
Hip-hop, in comparison, has been pulled away from its roots and absorbed into pop culture.
As a result, you find the same regressive elements of society seeping into it—dude bros promoting violence against women and minorities, all while being hailed as creative geniuses.
Punk, at least, has a politically informed culture. Hip-hop doesn’t always have that, which shifts the entire dynamic. So, I might give more leeway to a rap artist than I would to a punk musician when it comes to questionable views.
But honestly, this is also one of the main reasons I’m inconsistent with rap. Do I really want someone who believes Shias deserve to be shot for following a different sect of Islam to be my fan? It’s happened before. Someone took Haivaan’s song “Bund Utay Fayr” and shared it with a caption supporting sectarian oppression. Maybe that’s part of why he doesn’t want to rap anymore.
Q) If you could give one piece of advice to underground artists trying to break through, what would it be?
Polymath: Be unapologetically yourself. Expand your mind and ears. Read Frantz Fanon, Edward Said, Allama Iqbal, Habib Jalib. Explore weird genres only a hundred people listen to. The worst artists are the ones who only follow 3–4 mainstream acts and never read a book.
Q) Years from now, when people look back at your work, what’s the one thing you hope they say about Polymath?
Polymath: If they’re not insulting me in Punjabi, they shouldn’t be saying anything at all hahaha.
There isn’t much documentation on Polymath’s journey or the impact of Daranti Group, but their influence on underground hip-hop in Pakistan is undeniable.
Their 2019 mixtape, Dasti Bomb, remains a testament to their raw lyricism and unfiltered storytelling—a crucial piece of the region’s hip-hop history. As Polymath continues to push boundaries, his work serves as an important archive of resistance, rebellion, and artistic evolution.
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