There is something almost magical about music. A song can travel across continents, even if no one outside its place of origin understands a single word. Yet it can make the heart beat faster, the foot tap, and sometimes even bring tears to the eyes. Language gives it identity, but rhythm gives it life.
These connections are deeply personal. A Bengali lyric can bring back monsoon evenings with family gathered around a radio. A Marathi song recalls early morning practice sessions, the scent of wet earth drifting through open windows. Sanskrit chants echo like temple steps under soft sunlight. These are memories carried through time and generations.
This instinctive response is even more visible today. Audiences no longer wait to understand every word. A Marathi track plays on a phone in Delhi. A Korean hook fills a dance floor in Mumbai. A Spanish chorus becomes familiar without translation. Feeling comes first, meaning comes later.
Songs like Shaky Shaky, a regional Marathi track, reached listeners across India and beyond. Most could not translate the lyrics, yet the rhythm, the energy, and the joy stayed with them. APT., blending multiple cultures and languages, became a favourite around the world. The music does not explain itself. It simply arrives and lingers.
Music moves through vibrations before vocabulary. Rhythm enters the body. Melody enters the heart. Words follow if needed. Ghazals, chants, and folk songs in distant dialects have long carried emotion beyond comprehension.
Language in music is not about literal understanding. It is about colour and texture. Regional tongues carry the soil they come from. When music crosses languages, these colours are shared, not lost.
I sing in over fifteen languages, across classical, devotional, and contemporary styles, and this has shown me that the heart of a song transcends words. Even when listeners do not understand every syllable; melody, rhythm, and intent create an immediate connection. Songs like Why This Kolaveri Di, with its mix of Tamil and broken English, or Despacito, sung in Spanish, have proven this on a global scale. Emotion travels first, meaning comes later. Ekla Chalo Re instantly means an upbeat song- you know the meaning? Fine. You don’t know? Who cares? Let’s enjoy the song.
Multilingual singing keeps traditions alive by allowing music to reach new ears. Even without comprehension, a listener responds to a chant, a bandish, or a folk phrase. Rhythm and feeling travel beyond words. Devotional music, bhajans, and classical compositions retain their depth across languages, moving listeners through sentiment rather than translation.
Music lasts not because it is always new, but because it touches something shared in all of us. Language may define its origin, but feeling defines its reach. And when a voice travels through many tongues, it does more than survive. It thrives, carrying tradition forward, one heartbeat at a time.