Singer-songwriter and composer Anurag Mishra. Photo: Courtesy of the artist
Singer-composer Anurag Mishra’s Behad isn’t here to shake you up. It’s here to sit with you, quietly, like an old friend who doesn’t need to say much to be understood. Some albums arrive loud and electric, demanding attention. Behad arrives like a slow sunrise — warm, unhurried, and quietly unforgettable.
At its core, Behad is about shared and buried emotions, but also ones that slip away before we can fully grasp them. Across 10 tracks, Mishra explores love, longing, nostalgia, and self-reflection, all wrapped in his signature acoustic and indie-folk sensibilities. The songwriting — by Alok Ranjan Srivastava — is strikingly simple yet deeply personal, the kind that doesn’t try too hard but still hits you where it matters.
It all starts with “Nadiya,” a song that feels like staring out of a train window, watching the world pass by. There’s something cinematic about it — the river imagery mirroring how relationships ebb and flow over time. It’s a slow burn, not because it drags, but because it takes its time, letting you sink into its world. “Faasle” aches with distance, both physical and emotional. Mishra’s voice carries a quiet kind of heartbreak, the kind that doesn’t need dramatic declarations to feel heavy. The production stays understated, allowing the weight of unsaid words to take center stage.
Right in the middle of the album is “Hota Hai Aisa Kahaan,” the emotional anchor of Behad. It has an old-world charm, something almost timeless, like a song you feel you’ve heard before even if you haven’t. It’s about the moments that slip through your fingers, the people who leave but never fully disappear, the kind of longing that never quite fades. There’s something deeply human about it, something that lingers long after the song is over.
Just when the album starts feeling too heavy, “Milna Mujhse Rozana” lightens the mood. It’s about love in the everyday — the comfort of routine, the quiet certainty of knowing someone is always there. The playful rhythm and jazzy undertones make it one of the album’s more charming moments, proving that Mishra knows how to balance melancholy with warmth. Then comes “Kayee Dafaa,” a song about love that doesn’t quite let go. The rhythmic guitar strumming gives it an energy that keeps it from sinking into sadness, making it feel more like a realization than regret.
“Kisi Tarah” slows things down again, more introspective and brooding, holding onto hope even when things feel uncertain. There’s a quiet strength to it, a resolve that builds without ever fully erupting. As the album nears its end, “Zaaya Zaaya” brings in a welcome shift in energy, one of the more upbeat moments on Behad, before closing with “Aashna,” a soft, deliberate farewell that feels like an exhale.
Mishra doesn’t rely on big crescendos or complicated instrumentation to make Behad work. He trusts in its simplicity, in the power of quiet emotions. It’s an album that grows on you over time, the kind you return to on slow afternoons or nights when your heart feels a little too full.
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