Bring back the radio please

Remember when listening to music used to require an actual virtue called patience?

Somewhere between having a million songs available instantly on demand and letting an algorithm curate our entire emotional existence, we traded the thrill of anticipation for the boredom of total convenience. And honestly? I miss the golden era of Doordarshan’s Rangoli and Chitrahar. When Channel V and MTV came in it was just wow. Music channels actually played music, and television screens practically vibrated with raw, unfiltered energy.

Back then, music wasn't just background noise; it was high-value currency. Think about the intense corporate negotiations we used to pull with our parents just to catch Philips Top 10. You’d morph into a high-powered trial lawyer on a Friday evening: "If I finish my math homework, clean my room, and politely ignore my sibling, can I please park myself in front of the TV for the countdown?" It was appointment viewing. You weren't just watching a video; you were witnessing an unmissable cultural event.

Think about the sheer suspense of sitting by the stereo with your finger hovering over the record button on a cassette tape, praying the DJ wouldn't talk over the intro. You were riding shotgun on a sonic journey where you had zero control over what happened next. The mystery was half the fun. You never quite knew what was lurking around the corner, it could be a long-forgotten track that made you grin because you hadn’t heard it in ages, or the latest chart-topper dropping right when you needed it. Even the ads back then had a chaotic charm, giving you just enough time to grab a snack without losing the vibe.

"Music is the shorthand of emotion." Leo Tolstoy

Think about it: today’s streaming apps are like walking into a massive, heavily air-conditioned supermarket where every single fruit is pre-peeled, cubed, and identical. Sure, it's efficient. But tuning into old-school MTV or the radio was like stumbling into a chaotic, bustling midnight bazaar. You didn't always know what you were going to find, but the hunt and the occasional weird, wonderful treasure you brought home made it an actual adventure.

We proved this theory just this week. While driving out to a ranch, wrestling with a soul-crushing wall of traffic, the team decided to throw caution to the wind and blast a playlist of 90s Indie pop. You know Mohit Chauhan, Lucky Ali, Aaryans and of course Remo Fernandes going “ O meri munni !”

Let’s be brutally honest: some of those lyrics were objectively, toe-curlingly cringe. A few of those music videos made zero structural sense, featuring artists wandering around foggy historical ruins for no apparent reason. But the sheer joy, the glorious randomness, and the heavy wave of nostalgia completely transformed the car. Suddenly, a miserable gridlock turned into a stadium tour. We were laughing, screaming out the chorus lines, and watching a painfully slow journey turn into the absolute highlight of the day.

Nostalgia isn't just a casual trip down memory lane; it’s a strange, physical weight in the chest, a bittersweet ache for a version of yourself that felt everything just a little bit harder, and a little bit more purely. It’s the sudden realization that time moves forward, but a single three-minute song has the power to violently drag you back, making you 14 years old again in the span of a single drumbeat.

Now? Everything is too clean, too accessible, and entirely too predictable. If we want a song, we summon it instantly. But in curing all our musical delays, we accidentally paved over the sweet agony of waiting and the raw fun of unexpected soundtracks.

So, here’s to the days of countdown shows, high-stakes homework bargains, and letting 90s pop save you from a traffic jam. Sometimes, a little bit of chaos and a whole lot of nostalgia are the only things that can fix a weekend

Have a great weekend!