Shikriwal – Natya Alaapika Album Review: A Meditative Blend of Indian Folk and Hip Hop
Released: May 27, 2025 | 18 Tracks
After weeks of living with Shikriwal’s Natya Alaapika, we can say this: you can’t just skim it. It’s not an album you throw on in the background and forget about. On the contrary, it asks for your attention and in return, it offers something deeper.
Released quietly on May 27, 2025, it didn’t arrive with hashtags or viral hype—no big promotional machine, just 18 tracks that slowly revealed themselves with every listen.
Even before you press play, Natya Alaapika feels like a statement.
The cover shows Shikriwal in two forms: the focused archer, ready to claim his space, and the contemplative seeker, measuring the weight of every arrow. That tension between action and reflection runs through the entire record.
The title hints at the same idea. “Natya” is the drama, the performance. “Alaapika” is the melodic improvisation—the part you can’t script, though some also associate the word with a flute in Sanskrit.
What follows is part folk memory, part hip hop assertion, part quiet confession. And it’s worth every minute.
Shikriwal’s Place in the Scene
Before exploring the album itself, it helps to consider Shikriwal’s contribution to Indian hip hop.
As one of the flag bearers of Bhojpuri rap, he has consistently showcased the regional diversity that defines India’s music landscape. His songs stand out for their raw storytelling and the unfiltered emotion woven through every release.
For years, Bihar has been generalised and looked down upon, especially by audiences in northern India.
But artists like Shikriwal, Lit Trust, Arun Ydv, Samay and Manas are shifting that perception, offering listeners a clearer sense of the region’s cultural context and lived experiences.
Natya Alaapika marks a clear step forward—not only in Shikriwal’s approach to storytelling and emotion but also in the scope and polish of the production. Even the instrumentals alone evoke a powerful response, particularly on songs like “Kuiya Koop,” “Chirpata,” and “Anandmay.”
Across its 18 tracks, the album weaves together folk tradition, modern hip hop sensibility, and a spirit of experimentation that feels like a welcome surprise in a scene—and a world—that often focuses too much on safety and formulas.
Production and Themes
From its opening moments, Natya Alaapika frames itself as something more than a collection of songs. The project feels like a staged performance, moving between moods and ideas without ever losing focus.
The production constantly shifts—sometimes leaning into folk-inspired melodies and minimal arrangements, other times embracing polished, contemporary beats. This duality mirrors Shikriwal’s writing, which moves easily from personal reflection to assertive declarations of identity.
One of the record’s most consistent themes according to us is transformation. Throughout the album, there’s a sense of an artist reckoning with the past while trying to carve out space in the present.
Whether exploring regional heritage, reflecting on relationships, or asserting independence, the lyrics often circle back to a desire to evolve without losing connection to where it all started.
There’s also an undercurrent of vulnerability that cuts through the album’s confidence. Moments of joy and defiance sit alongside a quieter acknowledgement of uncertainty and fear.
The result is a body of work that feels layered and human, balancing braggadocio with self-doubt in a way that rarely feels forced.
Musically, Natya Alaapika thrives on unpredictability.
Long instrumental passages and unexpected shifts in tone keep the experience dynamic, sometimes even disorienting.
Yet even at its most experimental, the production feels purposeful—a deliberate attempt to push past formula and offer something that can’t be easily reduced to a single mood. And as a result, Natya Alaapika refuses to settle into a single mood or formula.
This is an album that feels expansive without losing focus—one that embraces contradictions and transforms them into something cohesive.
These contrasts make Natya Alaapika the most fully realized and ambitious project in Shikriwal’s catalog to date.
Standout Tracks
It’s rare to hear an album with 18 songs where nearly every one holds its own weight, but Natya Alaapika manages exactly that. For this review, the focus is on five tracks that best capture the project’s range and spirit.
1) Kaaya (Shikriwal, Abhi Shakti, Vilohitt, Ayush Mishra, Piyush Ambhore)
Kaaya feels like a quiet act of renewal and stands among the most beautifully composed songs in recent memory.
The layered production and chorus-like hook recall the first time the rock band Indian Ocean blurred the line between folk memory and modern songwriting—rooted in tradition but unafraid to drift into something more spiritual.
Lyrically, it reads as a meditation on impermanence and acceptance: the body as a vessel that will inevitably return to earth, the mind’s illusions dissolving into something simpler.
Yet even in its surrender, the track feels hopeful, as if letting go of control is its own kind of freedom. More than any other moment on the album, Kaaya sounds like a rebirth—one that arrives not with triumph, but with the quiet relief of finally stopping to breathe.
2) Mahabharat (Shikriwal, Yash Raj Mishra)
Mahabharat feels like one of the album’s most fully realized statements.
Built around a hypnotic blend of instruments and understated drums, it imagines everyday life as an endless Mahabharat—full of battles, betrayals, and shifting alliances.
The writing moves between personal disillusionment and broader observation, suggesting that the epic’s characters are still here in different forms, shaping the conflicts we face in families, friendships, and society.
What makes the track stand out is how it balances heaviness with beauty: the hook feels like a soft cry for something already gone, while the instrumental pulls everything into a trance.
It’s a song that lingers long after it ends, capturing the quiet exhaustion of fighting the same wars over and over.
3) Matrabhav (Shikriwal, Abhi Shakti)
Matrabhav is one of the album’s most tender moments. Over a reflective, almost lullaby-like instrumental, Shikriwal imagines speaking to a daughter—perhaps real, perhaps only in the future.
The lyrics feel like an act of manifesting, a way of willing her into existence while offering the guidance she may one day need. “I have this belief you will look like me, a bit like me, a bit like your mum,” he raps, balancing pride and vulnerability in a single line.
In an album often defined by self-assertion, this track softens the edges, revealing a different side of the artist: one rooted in care, hope, and the desire to pass something meaningful forward.
4) Tanashahi (Shikriwal, Xtermmiser)
Tanashahi stands out for its adventurous production and playful energy.
The beat feels restless and unpredictable, blending electronic textures and punchy drums that pull the song into a more modern space.
On the surface, it’s one of the more fun tracks here, full of irreverent lines and quick-fire references that feel like inside jokes.
But that modern sound isn’t just decoration—it mirrors the theme of the track, where ambition, distraction, and shallow validation blur together. Shikriwal delivers it all with effortless confidence, making even the sharpest lines feel casual.
It’s a reminder that he can create anything and still stay grounded in his own perspective.
5) Rajmukut (Shikriwal)
Rajmukut is Shikriwal claiming his place without hesitation.
Over a dark, almost haunted beat, he lays out why he sees himself as the king of Purvanchal hip hop.
There’s plenty of swagger here, but it never feels empty. Instead, he ties his pride to something bigger—his region’s history, the struggles that shaped him, and the need to stand up for real Bhojpuri rap.
Even when the lyrics turn confrontational, there’s an undercurrent of hurt and honesty that makes them hit harder. It’s a track that feels both fierce and grounded, and one of the record’s most powerful moments.
Closing Reflection
Taken together, these songs show just how much ground Natya Alaapika covers—bridging folk tradition, modern experimentation, and raw personal storytelling.
It’s an album that asks for patience but rewards it with something rare: a vision that feels both expansive and deeply personal.
The album begins with “Saranya”—a spiritual call that feels like stepping into a ritual. There’s drama, reflection, and a quiet intensity that hints something deep is about to unfold.
By the time we reach “Chirpata,” we’re on the other side. The pain has been named, the stories told, and what’s left is a kind of acceptance. A closing note that feels personal, almost like a letter left behind.
This project doesn’t chase perfection. It chases truth—and that’s what makes it resonate with us.
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