The VIC Fix

Calcutta had three clubs when he started — his first gig was a friend's terrace, cassette players and a mixer. Thirty years on: the DMC circuit, a Dubai residency, a Delhi techno scene he helped build, Jalebee Cartel on European stages, a record label running 13+ years, and a 2016 move to Berlin where nobody knew any of it — so he started again. A conversation about staying in a craft long after the scene that made you has moved on.

Thrash, trance, synthwave — same guy. A guitar at seven, a Goa psy-trance tape at ten, one of India's first thrash-metal bands at fifteen — then a studio he designed himself that quietly recorded a huge slice of Bangalore metal. Guitar on a Sunburn headline, synthwave as Tron 1982, signature tones a global brand ships under his name, all while running a family construction business. A conversation about what it costs to be good at something the industry has no word for.

From cabin crew to one of India's biggest Bollywood DJs — she handed back the uniform after her father died mid-flight, topped the DJ institute, then spent 15 years earning the 'celebrity DJ' label everyone now claims a month in. On the craft nobody films, the two songs that are actually hers, and Saheli — the women-first venture she built in a city she doesn't even live in.

The other half of the story. For nearly two decades he's been the man a manufacturer flies into rooms across India to teach DJs their craft — first Pioneer DJ, now AlphaTheta. He once flew to Singapore with an empty suitcase to carry home what may have been the country's first CDJ-1000s. He's put out a mix on the last day of every month since 2013 — 157 and counting, one of them finished with a broken leg — turned mastering engineer in lockdown, and still wears custom earplugs into every room. Part 2 is the gear, the discipline and the ears.

He walked into three empty floors on M.G. Road with no restaurant experience and ₹30,000 in his bank account — and built Juliet: the rooftop, Two Moons downstairs, Minx behind the door. Consultants nearly sank it before it opened and the kitchen walked out weeks after launch. He rebuilt it into one of Bangalore's most loyal rooms — six businesses now, DJs paid before they hit the stage, and a place he says he's already gifted to the city.

Thirty-four years in Indian dance music, and most people know almost none of it. He was Brute Force — the duo that ended up on Gareth Emery's number-one debut — co-founded Go:Madras, held a five-year Sunday residency at Fuga, and played Sunburn beside Carl Cox. It started at twelve, on his father's records in Madras.

Twenty-seven years freelance in one city, and still standing. He started DJing in Bengaluru in 1999 — before laptops, before streaming — with no agency, no manager and no club with his name on the door, and quietly put out 36 records rebuilt from old film music along the way.

A stranger at Comic Con gave him the name. A Tiësto edit gave him the career — and he's spent the decade since digging up forgotten Indian voices and moving rooms in fourteen countries, self-taught, no label, no manager.

He put a price tag on the one thing a DJ controls — the next song. The first product VIC ever tested, not sold.

Seventeen years being everyone except himself. On the voices we borrow, the ones we lose, and the one he finally decided to use.

Sunburn main stages, a global progressive-house co-sign, and a live saxophone almost nobody in India plays — built on an obsession with sound he still can't quite explain.

From a phone and an aux cable to 7 million views — he figured it out without waiting for permission.

Speed, sound, survival — the life behind the DJ set nobody tells you about.

From being called 'DJ Henry' at weddings to building Bangalore's most iconic party series.

Before brunches had DJs — one man changed Bangalore's nightlife forever.

Before the headlines, there was the hustle — and nobody told that story until now.

He built the venue Bangalore went into mourning over when it closed. He closed it himself.

Fifty years. Night by night, plate by plate.

From signage boards at 22 to building one of Bangalore's most iconic bars.

At 16, he was playing Bangalore's earliest clubs. He never stopped.

Behind every great bar is someone who understands more than just drinks.

From packed dancefloors at Fuga to artist tours — Rafi is the invisible hand that shapes how Bangalore parties.

One nightclub. One cassette. One moment that changed everything.

The Iceman of Indian hospitality — quietly shaping nightlife for decades.

From cabin crew to one of India's biggest Bollywood DJs — she handed back the uniform after her father died mid-flight, topped the DJ institute, then spent 15 years earning the 'celebrity DJ' label everyone now claims a month in. On the craft nobody films, the two songs that are actually hers, and Saheli — the women-first venture she built in a city she doesn't even live in.

Twenty-seven years freelance in one city, and still standing. He started DJing in Bengaluru in 1999 — before laptops, before streaming — with no agency, no manager and no club with his name on the door, and quietly put out 36 records rebuilt from old film music along the way.

A stranger at Comic Con gave him the name. A Tiësto edit gave him the career — and he's spent the decade since digging up forgotten Indian voices and moving rooms in fourteen countries, self-taught, no label, no manager.

Sunburn main stages, a global progressive-house co-sign, and a live saxophone almost nobody in India plays — built on an obsession with sound he still can't quite explain.

From a phone and an aux cable to 7 million views — he figured it out without waiting for permission.

34 years. No shortcut. No formula. Just music.

The Mother of Electronica — a title that was earned, not given.

Tabloids, trance, and the album India forgot.

What nobody tells you about 30 years as a DJ.

What does it really take to programme a night that people remember?

More than a female DJ — an honest conversation about what it really takes.

Speed, sound, survival — the life behind the DJ set nobody tells you about.

He walked into three empty floors on M.G. Road with no restaurant experience and ₹30,000 in his bank account — and built Juliet: the rooftop, Two Moons downstairs, Minx behind the door. Consultants nearly sank it before it opened and the kitchen walked out weeks after launch. He rebuilt it into one of Bangalore's most loyal rooms — six businesses now, DJs paid before they hit the stage, and a place he says he's already gifted to the city.

The man who helped build Bangalore's biggest F&B empire — starting at a nightclub.

He built the venue Bangalore went into mourning over when it closed. He closed it himself.

Power, perception, and public scrutiny — from law to nightlife and back.

From signage boards at 22 to building one of Bangalore's most iconic bars.

Beer's cold. Soundtrack's calculated. Vibe? Pure electricity.

He walked away from five-star corridors to build something real.

The Iceman of Indian hospitality — quietly shaping nightlife for decades.

From luxury hotels to India's biggest brewpub — building brands that Bangalore loves.

Brewing happiness daily — the man who turned a Koramangala corner into a nightlife institution.

Calcutta had three clubs when he started — his first gig was a friend's terrace, cassette players and a mixer. Thirty years on: the DMC circuit, a Dubai residency, a Delhi techno scene he helped build, Jalebee Cartel on European stages, a record label running 13+ years, and a 2016 move to Berlin where nobody knew any of it — so he started again. A conversation about staying in a craft long after the scene that made you has moved on.

Thrash, trance, synthwave — same guy. A guitar at seven, a Goa psy-trance tape at ten, one of India's first thrash-metal bands at fifteen — then a studio he designed himself that quietly recorded a huge slice of Bangalore metal. Guitar on a Sunburn headline, synthwave as Tron 1982, signature tones a global brand ships under his name, all while running a family construction business. A conversation about what it costs to be good at something the industry has no word for.

The other half of the story. For nearly two decades he's been the man a manufacturer flies into rooms across India to teach DJs their craft — first Pioneer DJ, now AlphaTheta. He once flew to Singapore with an empty suitcase to carry home what may have been the country's first CDJ-1000s. He's put out a mix on the last day of every month since 2013 — 157 and counting, one of them finished with a broken leg — turned mastering engineer in lockdown, and still wears custom earplugs into every room. Part 2 is the gear, the discipline and the ears.

Thirty-four years in Indian dance music, and most people know almost none of it. He was Brute Force — the duo that ended up on Gareth Emery's number-one debut — co-founded Go:Madras, held a five-year Sunday residency at Fuga, and played Sunburn beside Carl Cox. It started at twelve, on his father's records in Madras.

The Season 1 finale — and one of the most honest conversations about the live music business in India.

Before the massive concerts and the headlines, Boombox was just an idea between friends.

From packed dancefloors at Fuga to artist tours — Rafi is the invisible hand that shapes how Bangalore parties.

Behind every perfect wedding, someone ran the show with invisible precision.

From fashion design to full-house weekends — the woman running Bangalore's nightlife engine.

The man behind Bangalore's most epic nights — and the stories you never heard.

Behind every great bar is someone who understands more than just drinks.

Seventeen years being everyone except himself. On the voices we borrow, the ones we lose, and the one he finally decided to use.

In 2020, the headlines came. This is his account of what happened.

Before the headlines, there was the hustle — and nobody told that story until now.

A lawyer who knows her contracts and an influencer who knows how nightlife really works.

Fifty years. Night by night, plate by plate.

What happens when the F&B industry meets exponential technology?

Before brunches had DJs — one man changed Bangalore's nightlife forever.

He put a price tag on the one thing a DJ controls — the next song. The first product VIC ever tested, not sold.

Calcutta had three clubs when he started — his first gig was a friend's terrace, cassette players and a mixer. Thirty years on: the DMC circuit, a Dubai residency, a Delhi techno scene he helped build, Jalebee Cartel on European stages, a record label running 13+ years, and a 2016 move to Berlin where nobody knew any of it — so he started again. A conversation about staying in a craft long after the scene that made you has moved on.

Thrash, trance, synthwave — same guy. A guitar at seven, a Goa psy-trance tape at ten, one of India's first thrash-metal bands at fifteen — then a studio he designed himself that quietly recorded a huge slice of Bangalore metal. Guitar on a Sunburn headline, synthwave as Tron 1982, signature tones a global brand ships under his name, all while running a family construction business. A conversation about what it costs to be good at something the industry has no word for.

From cabin crew to one of India's biggest Bollywood DJs — she handed back the uniform after her father died mid-flight, topped the DJ institute, then spent 15 years earning the 'celebrity DJ' label everyone now claims a month in. On the craft nobody films, the two songs that are actually hers, and Saheli — the women-first venture she built in a city she doesn't even live in.

The other half of the story. For nearly two decades he's been the man a manufacturer flies into rooms across India to teach DJs their craft — first Pioneer DJ, now AlphaTheta. He once flew to Singapore with an empty suitcase to carry home what may have been the country's first CDJ-1000s. He's put out a mix on the last day of every month since 2013 — 157 and counting, one of them finished with a broken leg — turned mastering engineer in lockdown, and still wears custom earplugs into every room. Part 2 is the gear, the discipline and the ears.

He walked into three empty floors on M.G. Road with no restaurant experience and ₹30,000 in his bank account — and built Juliet: the rooftop, Two Moons downstairs, Minx behind the door. Consultants nearly sank it before it opened and the kitchen walked out weeks after launch. He rebuilt it into one of Bangalore's most loyal rooms — six businesses now, DJs paid before they hit the stage, and a place he says he's already gifted to the city.

Thirty-four years in Indian dance music, and most people know almost none of it. He was Brute Force — the duo that ended up on Gareth Emery's number-one debut — co-founded Go:Madras, held a five-year Sunday residency at Fuga, and played Sunburn beside Carl Cox. It started at twelve, on his father's records in Madras.

Twenty-seven years freelance in one city, and still standing. He started DJing in Bengaluru in 1999 — before laptops, before streaming — with no agency, no manager and no club with his name on the door, and quietly put out 36 records rebuilt from old film music along the way.

A stranger at Comic Con gave him the name. A Tiësto edit gave him the career — and he's spent the decade since digging up forgotten Indian voices and moving rooms in fourteen countries, self-taught, no label, no manager.

He put a price tag on the one thing a DJ controls — the next song. The first product VIC ever tested, not sold.

Seventeen years being everyone except himself. On the voices we borrow, the ones we lose, and the one he finally decided to use.

Sunburn main stages, a global progressive-house co-sign, and a live saxophone almost nobody in India plays — built on an obsession with sound he still can't quite explain.

From a phone and an aux cable to 7 million views — he figured it out without waiting for permission.

The Season 1 finale — and one of the most honest conversations about the live music business in India.

A lawyer who knows her contracts and an influencer who knows how nightlife really works.

Before the massive concerts and the headlines, Boombox was just an idea between friends.

From packed dancefloors at Fuga to artist tours — Rafi is the invisible hand that shapes how Bangalore parties.

At 16, he was playing Bangalore's earliest clubs. He never stopped.

The mad, funny, and unbelievable stories that didn't fit in Part 1.

From signage boards at 22 to building one of Bangalore's most iconic bars.

Fifty years. Night by night, plate by plate.

What happens when the F&B industry meets exponential technology?

Behind every perfect wedding, someone ran the show with invisible precision.

Beer's cold. Soundtrack's calculated. Vibe? Pure electricity.

One nightclub. One cassette. One moment that changed everything.