I was born with a tongue that wouldn't move the way it's supposed to — thick, stiff, more lisp than language. Surgery eventually fixed the mechanics; the years of being laughed at fixed nothing else, and for a long time I couldn't play back a recording of my own voice without wanting to hit stop. So I wrote instead — poems, then songs, all self-taught, no formal training in any of it — because words on a page didn't need a voice to carry them. Then Suno let me sing into a mic and shape what came out. One night, everyone asleep, I tried it anyway. It was mortifying. I did it again. And again, until I found the genres — hip-hop, techno, soul, indie — where my raspy, rustic voice actually belongs, and let AI vocals handle the rest, where mine doesn't.

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That's the whole engine behind this: not talent, just refusing to let a childhood wound decide what I get to make. Everything starts as a poem — written in English, Hindi, or Kannada, whichever the feeling actually needs — and becomes a full production from there, over 200 songs and counting. You can hear all of it, my voice included, on my SUNO and Instagram profiles — that's where the songs actually live, and where new ones land first. I just want these creations out in the world, doing whatever songs are supposed to do for people who need them.