Is Art Forever? Maalavika Manoj On Music, Mortality, And Internet’s Memory

Singer-songwriter Maalavika Manoj, known mononymously as Mali, is now one of the most recognised names in India’s English music circuit — but her journey into music wasn’t linear. A business administration graduate who once worked as a podcast producer, Mali took a leap of faith in 2015, leaving Chennai for Mumbai to give music a real shot. “I gave myself six months to give music a shot. I said to myself, ‘If it has got to happen, it will happen,’” she recalled in an earlier interview with Forbes.

What followed was a slow, sure transformation of a hobby into a calling: she went from sporadic collaborations with the likes of AR Rahman, Dhanush, and Sapta to carving out a distinctive voice of her own in the indie space. Since then, she has released a successful EP, several standout singles—including the chart-topping “Mundane”—and earned a place on the stages of Lollapalooza India, NH7 Weekender, and Magnetic Fields. While her indie sound has garnered a loyal fanbase, Mali has also left her imprint on Tamil cinema, contributing to acclaimed soundtracks such as Achcham Yenbadhu Madamaiyada and Queen.

With her latest release, Dr. Dust, Mali takes a bold conceptual turn, exploring the darker themes of control, faith, and submission through the lens of cult dynamics—both metaphorical and literal. The track is as much a psychological portrait as it is a sonic experiment, drawing from her fascination with real-life cults and how power structures evolve, even within everyday relationships. In an interview with SheThePeople, Maalavika Manoj shares how YouTube documentaries, controlling relationships, and fiery rituals shaped her new release, 'Dr. Dust.' 

Inspired by a deep dive into cult psychology—through YouTube spirals, documentaries, and late-night reading sessions—Dr. Dust unpacks the themes of dependence, and blind faith. But what begins in the shadows of cults soon shifts into something more intimate and familiar. “We don’t have to go as far as cults to explore control,” she says. “There are people in controlling marriages. People with extremely controlling parents. It’s everywhere, in ways we don’t always recognise.”

The song emerged from this landscape of unease. In it, she created Dr. Dust, a fictional character embodying all the ways people and institutions manipulate others. Visually, the music video leans into the eerie beauty of ceremonial pageantry. Fire rituals, red handprints, cloaked followers—every detail curated to build a world of seductive allegiance. “We wanted to create a reincarnation-type cult,” she explains, “where power isn’t just passed on, but consumed, devoured, inherited.” The wall of handprints becomes a quiet nod to that ongoing cycle. One leader falls, another rises. Like history repeating itself. I’m not the first and I’m not the last.”

The most surprising part? When she posted a callout on Instagram to cast her fictional cult members, people replied instantly. “I got so many messages saying, ‘I don’t even know what this is, but I’m in.’” She pauses. “That was amusing… and a little alarming.”

From Living Room Gigs to Cult-Themed Sets: An Unconventional Journey

Growing up in a music-loving family, Mali was "the cousin with a guitar," performing covers at gatherings. Her story started in a home filled with music. With a grandfather on harmonica and parents who introduced her to everything from old film songs to global legends, she grew up surrounded by melody. The living room became her first stage. Later, in high school, she formed a band called Basin Bridge with friends and entered a talent hunt. “We came third,” she smiles. “That was big then.”

Despite a detour into business administration—a decision made to please practical concerns—music remained inevitable. “Songwriting became an addiction,” she says. “It was a way to express myself through sound, words, and visuals. I had full control.”

Even now, she finds inspiration in everyday moments. Breakups—hers or someone else’s. Awkward conversations at parties. Books. Dreams. 

“You don’t get to choose what inspires you,” she adds. “Sometimes the silliest thing can keep you up at night—and that becomes the song.”

Art in the age of content

But in today’s fast-paced world of short attention spans and viral reels, being a musician requires more than writing good songs. “We have to be content creators now,” she says. “That mystique artists once had? It’s gone. People expect access.” She’s still figuring it out, she admits, but is doing it on her own terms. Through puzzles, playlists, and stories—not dances.

And legacy? Yes, she thinks about it. Often. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m writing for someone who isn’t even born yet,” she says. With the permanence of the internet, she knows her music may travel far beyond her own time or geography. “So I try to make it timeless. Personal, yes—but universal too.”

With Dr. Dust, Mali holds up a mirror to power’s corrosive allure—and the patterns we’re doomed to repeat unless we notice the handprints left behind.