Bombay the Artist Finds Her Voice Without Compromise

There are no filters in Bombay the Artist‘s world. No manufactured backstory, no curated persona. Just a South England girl with Punjabi roots, now based in Mumbai, a sharp eye for aesthetics, and a heart that bleeds across mediums. She calls herself a storyteller more than a singer, and she means it. From fashion to film to songs that straddle languages and genres, she’s building her lane—paved with emotional, unflinching artistry, entirely her own.

Long before her name topped streaming playlists or fans messaged her saying her lyrics saved them, Bombay the Artist (real name Preeti Singhania) was just another face in Mumbai’s endless casting lines. It was a scene straight out of the movies she grew up watching, except this one wasn’t a dream. It was rejection, language barriers, empty pockets, and the crash of romantic ideas. But right before she left the city, she stumbled into a concert. On stage: Dua Lipa. In the crowd: a girl who had no idea she was about to unlock her real story. “The idea that I could sing and perform like [Dua Lipa], for Indians, in India—that changed everything,” she says.

On a song and a prayer: Music didn’t come through the radio in her house—it came through prayer. Gurbani, Kirtan, and Punjabi folk were the soundtrack of her childhood. Western pop wasn’t allowed, but she soaked up Surinder Kaur, Gurdas Maan, Chamkila, and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. That sonic lineage sits at the root of her work today, even when she’s lacing DnB drops with folk melodies. “I didn’t know I could write or sing until I tried,” she says. But when she did, it felt inevitable.

Talking truth: Bombay the Artist doesn’t write to perform. She writes to process. Her music is therapy, not theatre. She speaks about heartbreak, family pressure, and social justice with the clarity of someone who isn’t trying to impress you—just telling the truth. The only line she won’t cross? Dragging real people into her songs without consent. “That’s the only dilemma,” she says. “How specific do I get without hurting someone else?”

 A moodboard of contradictions: Elegant but raw, classic yet current. She namechecks Lana Del Rey, Tyler, The Creator, and Rihanna as influences, and her music reflects that palette—lush, cinematic, and unapologetically vulnerable. On the desi side, Amit Trivedi, Achint, and Javed Akhtar have her heart. “He’s written some of the most iconic pieces of music ever,” she says of Akhtar. “It’s a dream to work with him.”

Beyond the gaze: Despite carving a name in an industry that doesn’t always know what to do with South Asian women artists, she stays grounded. “I haven’t seen much of a difference in the industry yet,” she says. “The audience is king. If you’re doing your best, they see that.” Still, she’s keenly aware of how female artists are often boxed in. “You have to have a specific gaze to get ahead or make certain types of songs,” she says. “It’s a slow battle, but there are too many of us pulling our weight.”

Community is key: Artists like DRV and Boyblanck were early collaborators, hyping her up before the industry even knew her name. “Their encouragement told me I could do this for a living,” she says. Now, she gives that energy back to her audience. With over half a million monthly listeners on Spotify, she stays tapped in—DMs, BTS footage and responding to feedback. Her listeners don’t just stream her music, they grow with it. “They rarely dislike what I drop,” she says. “But I want their taste to evolve, so I try fusing what they love with new sonics.”

Case in point: her upcoming track, “Sufne,” a fusion of Punjabi folk and drum-and-bass. It’s experimental but rooted. Familiar but risky. And that’s her sweet spot. “I just want my listeners to be able to bump my music on every occasion,” she says. “There’s a BTA song for everyone.”

Audio-visual dreams: She has no interest in chasing trends or shortcuts. AI doesn’t tempt her. “I don’t use it. I write and compose myself,” she says. She sits with her producers, communicates her vision, and stays embedded in every layer of the process. Her ultimate dream? An album that doubles as a short film. Visuals are essential to her storytelling. And yes, she still wants to act. “Two birds, one stone,” she laughs.

The future: For her, there isn’t a master plan. There’s a feeling that she chases. “Every time I make a good song, I feel like it was a fluke,” she says. But the truth is, her evolution isn’t accidental. It’s deliberate. It’s rooted. And it’s here to stay.