For Grammy-winning English popstar Ed Sheeran, getting to Murshidabad’s Jiaganj in West Bengal was a test of patience. Since his first visit to India in 2015, he was hooked to the wounded voice of the small town’s most famous resident and one of Hindi cinema’s most popular playback singers, Arijit Singh. In a recent interview to BBC Asian Network, he said he had heard the plaintive Tum hi ho (Aashiqui 2, 2013) and thought “it was the most beautiful song of all time.” But to record with Singh, he needed to persist through winding, potholed roads that led him to the far-flung town. “It was quite a mission to get there,” he added.
Sheeran and, more recently, top Dutch DJ Martin Garrix, drove for over five hours and 200 km from the hustle-bustle of Kolkata to reach Jiaganj. Once a trading hub, this small town on the banks of the Bhagirathi, known for Baluchari silks and historic Jain temples, has now added Arijit Singh’s name to its roll of honour.
When Sheeran finally arrived, the place, he said in the interview, it felt like home. It even reminded him of his home in Suffolk, England, where he lives and records. He came into similar unrushed mornings, where everyone knew everyone, and where there was the same comfort of being surrounded by people who didn’t want you to be any other version of yourself. It is here that Arijit and Sheeran collaborated on last year’s global hit, Sapphire.
Arijit Singh with Ed Sheeran in a screen grab of Sapphire
In the Shibtala Ghat area, where narrow lanes criss-cross, a multi-storey house stands apart. It is here, behind wooden gates that 38-year-old Arijit grew up and continues to live. Within its walls, the house holds the story of the boy with a mop of curly hair and a broad smile who left Jiaganj for Mumbai to become Hindi cinema’s most loved voice — except he never did really leave.
“He doesn’t live in a penthouse overlooking the sea in Bandra or Dubai; if you are lucky, you will see him stuck in a local traffic snarl on his scooty or attending a school committee meeting,” says a neighbour.
“To the outside world, he is a celebrity. To Jiaganj, he is parar chhele (the neighbourhood boy),” says another neighbour. Out buying groceries, waiting to pick up his children outside their school, Arijit is spotted intermittently. His beard, short kurta and a cotton cloth wrapped around his head have become a fashion template for many of the town’s young men, says one of his classmates.
After over a decade of defining Bollywood’s sonic landscape, when Arijit, who became one of the most evocative voices of romance and heartache, announced his retirement from playback singing this week, it caught the audience and industry off guard. On Tuesday, one of the most followed artistes on Spotify, said goodbye to playback singing. Says lyricist Raj Shekhar who has worked with Arijit in Hichki (2018), “The person in me who loves to listen to Arijit is a little disheartened… But as an artiste, I am happy. What is the meaning of success? It’s having the freedom to make your own choices, live life on your terms and express your art in a way that brings your heart joy”.
Arijit Singh’s house in Jiaganj (Partha Paul)
Born to a Bengali mother and a Sikh father, Arijit grew up in Jiaganj, a town once described by Lord Clive as more prosperous than London. It was here that Arijit started his training in Hindustani classical music. “His mother, Aditi, who trained in Rabindra Sangeet, was his first teacher. She passed away during the COVID-19 pandemic. His younger sister, Amrita Singh, has followed in the family footsteps as a playback singer,” says Dipankar Bhattacharya, assistant head master of the Jiaganj Raja Bijoy Singh Vidyamandir, where Arijit studied from Class I to X. “Even as a young boy, he was always singing. From Class V, we pushed him to perform in every cultural programme,” says Kamlesh Shaw who taught him Hindi in school.
A lane in Arijit’s neighbourhood (Partha Paul)
Arijit went on to train under Master Prabir Singh Choudhury and learnt Rabindra Sangeet from the well-known Hazari family. “Today, people pay lakhs to hear him but I would listen to him sing from the comfort of my home. But he hasn’t changed a bit. Even today, if he sees me, he will get off his scooty and touch my feet,” says Shaw.
It was in 2006 that Arijit first came into the spotlight as a participant in the reality show Fame Gurukul (Sony). He lost in the finals but was noticed. “I was just 18 then and the show put me out there,” Singh told The Indian Express in 2013. He wanted to stay back in Mumbai. An offer to record an album from Kumar Taurani of Tips allowed him to do so. But the album was eventually never released. Taurani thought that the time wasn’t right. But he kept paying Arijit a salary, “which after a while, I was embarrassed to take since I wasn’t doing anything,” the singer had said in the interview. He was ready to pack up when a call from composer Pritam in 2010 changed everything. He was looking for an assistant and Arijit’s name kept cropping up among his Bengali friends. Arijit went on to work with Pritam in a slew of films with songs such as Channa mereya (Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, 2016), Gerua (Dilwale, 2015), Kalank (Kalank, 2019), Ilahi (Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani, 2013) and Kesariya (Brahmastra, 2022) among others.
Meanwhile, films were changing and transforming playback singing. A song was now demanding more than just a voice and texture and Arijit offered a sincerity that would go on to change the game, toppling the long-standing domination of male singers such as Sonu Nigam and Udit Narayan. It didn’t matter who the actor was, Arijit’s voice could suit everyone.
The singer’s sketch at Heshel restaurant (Partha Paul)
But most of the songs one heard on screen were recorded in his mint-green-walled home in Jiaganj. Arijit, who is reportedly out in Odisha for a shoot, has integrated an advanced, state-of-the-art studio into one of his homes. “It is equipped with high-speed Internet and professional-grade software that bridges the 2,000 km gap between Jiaganj and Mumbai. This allows him to collaborate, record and practise with composers and musicians in real time, making physical distance irrelevant,” says an acquaintance. “This is where he famously practised the hit song Jhoome jo pathaan (Pathaan, 2023). Access to the studio is strictly controlled,” says a local resident.
Shekhar says that he always sends various versions of one song. “But I have never heard anyone in the industry complain that Arijit is not recording from Mumbai or that something was lacking. Sometimes the words just start speaking when he sings,” he says.
Arijit’s retirement from playback has also come at a time when the industry ecosystem and the music labels within it have come to priortise instant impact over longevity of a song. In the space obsessed with numbers, virality of a song and its success on streaming platforms, Arijit’s stepping away from the film industry also feels symbolic. Playback singer Simran Choudhary, who sang for Aditya Dhar’s Dhurandhar (2025) says Arijit’s decision feels less like retirement and more like “an act of self-respect”. “Walking away at your peak takes enormous courage and forces us to question what success really means. The industry rewards repetition and speed. His decision reminds artistes they don’t owe the industry constant output. You are allowed to pause, evolve and choose your own rhythm,” says Choudhary.
Arijit Singh’s school (Partha Paul)
Arijit’s involvement in the town he grew up in is there to see in the sports academy he runs and in the restaurant that his father, Kakkar Singh, manages. Here, students can show their ID card and get a 50 per cent discount. He remains committed to the school he studied at. As president of its governing body, he aligns his schedule to its attend meetings.
In an age where nothing seems lived unless it’s recorded and shared and no place appears complete until one has planted oneself in it, Arijit has famously kept away from sharing his life or taking selfies with fans. Instead, he prefers to live a private life with his wife Koel Roy, his childhood friend, whom he married in 2014, as well as his two sons, Ali and Jul, and his father.
Heshel restaurant run by Arijit’s family (Partha Paul)
In Jiaganj, Arijit is not a star to be papped; he is a neighbour to be protected. A friend says, “We still have our addas. We don’t talk about music, we just talk nonsense, crack jokes. We are his safe place.”
At the family-run Heshel restaurant, Surinder Singh, sits at the reception, behind which is propped up a sketch of Arijit. “He hasn’t come here for the last year-and-a-half because of the crowds,” he says. Rounak Dey, who lives just a hundred metres from Arijit’s house, says, “He now steps out during odd hours so it’s very difficult to get a glimpse of him.”
But Jiaganj is not complaining. They know their boy is around.
Tatwamasi Foundation run by Arijit (Partha Paul)
Take Five: A curated list of Arijit Singh’s songs of love, loss and everything in between
Tum hi ho (Aashiqui 2): The melancholy of the melody, with Mithoon at the helm, took Arijit from the margins of a reality show to glaring spotlight. Tum hi ho turned him into the definitive voice of heartbreak in contemporary Bollywood
Laal ishq (Goliyon ki Raasleela: Ramleela): Grounded in Yaman, Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s favourite raga, the song draws deeply from a classical tradition that Arijit inhabits. His voice is fragile, even a tad wry in expression, as if this ode to love is sung to oneself and not to a room full of people
Phir le aya dil (Barfi): Despite a version by Shafqat Amanat Ali and Rekha Bhardwaj, Arijit’s version comes with a distinctive grit, its emotional weight carried with much tenderness
Kalank: Sung with a balance of warmth and energy, the title track is unfaltering even at its most demanding heights. Composed by Pritam, it stands out as the best bit in an otherwise dud of a film
Ae dil hai Mushkil: It was after a while that a song, introduced as the film’s first teaser, was successful in drawing audiences back to the theatres. Arijit sang with characteristic abandon, his voice splintering in the high notes, allowing listeners to enter the pain of the characters
