Chandigarh-based pop-rock artist Naalayak has released his fourth record, MARAMMAT, that takes a deep dive into the process of healing and self-repair. This eight-track album definitely stands out as one of Naalayak’s most personal and polished works to date. As the title MARAMMAT goes, the album fittingly plays out like a journey of fixing the broken pieces of oneself after turmoil.
In the years leading up to MARAMMAT, Sahil has went through experiences that nearly derailed him; crises of trust, direction, and even a moment where he “lost [his] voice”. But rather than breaking him, these hardships became the soil from which the new album grew. MARAMMAT is the by product of the same process of loss, and rebuilding. Contrary to what one might presume from this premise, it isn’t a depressing listen at all. As most art is, it is a testament to human resilience.
As Sahil himself explains, writing this record reminded him that “vulnerability has its own strength, that even from wreckage, you can be rebuilt piece by piece.” That philosophy echoes throughout the album. The songs document the feeling of falling apart and the hard work of putting yourself back together, piece by piece. Even in its most pain-soaked moments, MARAMMAT finds a way to shine a light through the cracks, ultimately choosing hope and joy over despair.
Sound and Style
Musically, MARAMMAT sees Naalayak refining his signature blend of grungy rock and heartfelt poetry. He has always thrived on balancing raw rock energy with poetic restraint, and here that balance is sharper than ever. Many songs explode into fist-in-the-air choruses backed by crunchy guitar riffs, giving the album an anthemic rock punch. At the same time, there’s a clear focus on melody and lyrics, the arrangements never overpower the emotional core.
The production incorporates a diverse sonic palette. You can hear echoes of classic Sufi-rock grandeur and folk-pop warmth here, all wrapped up in a contemporary pop-rock sound that we’ve grown to love. Sahil’s voice is a highlight throughout: it breaks, burns, and rises with equal intensity. One moment he’s almost whispering a confession, the next he’s belting with gritty passion. This dynamic voice, combined with lyrics in Hindi (tinged with Urdu poetic flair), makes the listening experience intimate and intense.
Emotional Journey Through the Tracks
Each track on MARAMMAT represents a chapter in the broader story, and together they map out a journey from chaos to clarity. Here are some highlights from the tracklist that illustrate this progression:
The album kicks off with Gulfam, a track that doesn’t waste a second before pulling you into its wild mood. It’s playful and full of groove, but there’s tension lurking under the surface too. It feels like the kind of love you know might mess you up a little, but you still dive in headfirst. That recklessness is magnetic. Right after, Marammat steps in and flips the vibe completely. This is the moment the album looks inward. With this song we are unlearning stories we tell ourselves when we’re broken. There’s something about the way the track builds, slow and intense, that really drives it home. It’s heavy but honest, like ripping a bandage off and finally looking at the wound. Then comes 3AM Thoughts, which is as real as it sounds. It sits in that quiet space when the world is asleep and your brain won’t shut up. There’s comfort in the melody but also a weight.
As the album moves forward, Mann feels like a memory coming to life. It starts off soft and slowly grows until it hits you without warning. The song tells the truth about missing something that’s gone and learning to live with that. There’s a kind of peace in that honesty. And just when things start to feel too heavy, Filmy shows up like comic relief, it plays around with the drama of love and heartbreak like it’s all part of a scene in a movie. But even with the theatrics, it’s grounded. It knows exactly what it’s doing. On the other side of that is Sahil Ke Kinaare, which feels like watching the ocean in slow motion. It’s quiet, reflective, and holds space for sadness without drowning in it. You can feel the ache of waiting and letting go at the same time. The stillness of this one really stayed with me.
Near the end, Cauliflower throws a curveball. It sounds light and almost breezy at first, but the lyrics bite a little harder if you’re paying attention. It’s about the everyday weight people carry but don’t show, and that contrast between the melody and the message makes it hit differently. It’s subtle, but smart. And then there’s Chai Pe Malai, the closer. It’s cheeky, catchy, and kind of a reality check. There’s this line between comfort and stagnation that the song draws really well.
Final Thoughts
Listening to MARAMMAT feels like watching someone pick themselves up after a fall, dust off the pain, and slowly start to smile again. It’s a deeply personal record, one that doesn’t shy away from darkness, yet isn’t afraid to let light in. Naalayak’s strength lies in his honesty. There’s a sense that every lyric comes from lived experience, every riff and chorus earned through personal catharsis. That authenticity makes the album easy to connect with; as a listener, you might see reflections of your own heartbreaks and healings in these songs.
Critically, MARAMMAT is a near triumph. The cohesion of its theme and the tight 26-minute runtime means there’s virtually no filler, each song contributes to the narrative. If anything, one could argue the album ends a bit too soon; the journey is so engaging that I wouldn’t have minded a couple more tracks. But it’s hard to complain when the material presented is this solid. The production is polished but not overdone, and the balance between rock grit and melodic vulnerability is just right. Occasionally, the earnestness of the lyrics verges on cliché (heartbreak and healing are well-trodden subjects), but Naalayak manages to save us with his own twists.
Longtime fans will likely cherish how Naalayak bares his soul here, and new listeners might find this a perfect entry point, it’s both accessible and profound. By the time the final notes faded out, I felt not only that I had learned something about Sahil’s journey, but also that I had taken something from it for my own.
