Himesh Reshammiya is having a moment again — and honestly, it's glorious

Indian Express

22-07-2025

I wouldn't really call myself a Himesh Reshammiya fan. I don't listen to his music every day or follow his every move. But I do like his songs. Not necessarily for their musical brilliance or the meme-gold they have become over the years, but for the sheer wave of nostalgia they evoke.
There was a time when Himesh was everywhere. I was in college then, and every time I'd visit home, a small town where trends hit hard, his voice echoed from every speaker. Auto drivers played him on loop. College fest DJs had his songs on rote. Clubs, however questionable their taste, couldn't get enough of him. And of course, the boys all wore Himesh-style caps — in fact, it was practically a uniform. Whether you thought he was cringe or not, there was no denying that Himesh was the moment back then.
So when I saw the Cap Mania Tour announcement, my first reaction was — wait… people really want to go to a Himesh Reshammiya concert still in 2025? I mean, sure, nostalgia is powerful, but is anyone still listening to him these days?
The answer was a resounding yes.
His Mumbai show sold out. Then came the Delhi date. I was excited, but sceptical still. Would anyone I know actually want to go? To my surprise (and relief), a few friends were equally hyped. I bought the tickets — yes, despite the side-eyes and judgement from people who couldn't believe I was paying real money to watch Himesh Reshammiya live. But you know what? I really wanted to hear Tandoori nights in a stadium packed with fans.
And that Delhi show? Sold out, too. In fact, the demand was so overwhelming, he had to add another date. It was clear that people weren't just interested, they were excited. They wanted to see him.
The show opened with a bang. Or more accurately, with a floating, glittery red cap with the iconic HR initials. And out came Himesh, in full HR glory. Shades on. Overcoat and cap in place. He hadn't sung a word yet, and the crowd was already losing its mind. All these people cheering for a man who has been memefied to the moon and back? Wild, if you ask me.
He kicked things off with his iconic Tera suroor, backed by an army of background dancers and full-on Bollywood drama. What followed was a hit parade of Kehne ko saath apne, Yaad sataye teri, and Tere naam. Songs that, for many, soundtracked college heartbreaks and long-distance crushes.
And he leaned into that heartbreak hard. After almost every song, he'd pause and ask the audience to remember that person, the one who broke their heart or ghosted them. He wasn't just singing songs; he was building an emotional arc. Making you feel like your personal sob story had a soundtrack and that soundtrack was Himesh himself.
After a string of sad songs, he casually switched it up and said, 'Let's turn this into a club!' And just like that, the vibe flipped. He jumped into Hookah bar and then Tandoori nights, and the energy in the stadium exploded. It was theatrical, over-the-top, and so much fun.
What struck me the most was how unapologetically himself he was. He talked about the memes, the cap, the criticism. He even asked the crowd, 'Should I sing from my nose or throat?', a cheeky nod to the jabs at his nasal voice. Back in the day, people tore him apart for it. But here he was, years later, owning it.
That's the thing about Himesh. He became a joke for many, but instead of running from it, he embraced it. The cap, the shades, the theatrics — he turned every piece of mockery into branding.
Let's be honest — he was never 'classy'; he wasn't the critics' favourite; he wasn't conventionally cool. But he didn't need to be. Himesh carved out his own lane, and put his unapologetic stamp on it.
If there's one thing to learn from him, it's this: Embrace the cringe. The mess, the ridicule, the weird stuff. Own it so hard that people forget why they laughed in the first place.
Because when I was standing in that stadium, surrounded by 14,000 people singing along, chanting his name, and screaming for more — there was no shame, no cringe. Just joy and nostalgia. Just Himesh.
And that's kind of beautiful, isn't it?
[e-mail]