Minaxi’s new single “Mahiya,” from their forthcoming album Z of A, arrives not just as a song but as a short film—a piece that leans into the quiet hours of the night where love and loneliness blur. The title, translated from Hindi as “dear one” or “lover,” opens a window into an intimate world, where memories are both soft and sharp, and where emotional echoes drift like fog through half-sleep.
“Mahiya is a nocturnal track about love, loneliness and nostalgia,” the band shares. “It speaks about how one has befriended this loneliness that creeps up in the middle of the night and reminds them of moments held dear–a familiar voice, a poignant sound, a visceral memory.” The song approaches these feelings like a game of cat and mouse: “The more you chase them, the more elusive they become.”
Musically, “Mahiya” takes cues from Sufi traditions. Its structure channels the flow of a qawwali—repetitive, devotional, trance-like—and does so without ornament. The delivery is subdued but emotional, anchored in the spoken-word intro:
there is a murmur in my heart
that unfurls like a gust of wind in the silence of the night
speaks sweet words in the depths of sleep
teaches me to swim for a lifetime in the ocean of dreams…
These lines set a tone of meditative recollection. What begins as dream logic drifts into broader themes of acceptance, absence, and the persistence of love in memory.
The short film (watch above), released alongside the song, adds another layer. “One interpretation of these moments held dear is through the game of cricket,” the band notes, a deliberate nod to the cultural weight of the sport in India. “It is a monumental part of our lives… and the video pays homage to the sport and the human connection it brings.”
The film acts as visual documentation of how memory embeds itself in the physical world. Cricket, especially in its rawest form—gully cricket played on streets and fields—is not just pastime but social glue. The video captures “the joy, frustration, and raw emotions of the game—where every swing of the bat and every heated debate over a close call was a moment of shared experience.”
More pointedly, “Mahiya underscores the importance of physical interaction and community in an increasingly digital world,” offering a contrast between screen-based isolation and tactile memory.
No slogans or loud declarations here—just a careful build of music, memory, and meaning. “I no longer fear the emptiness I feel in the crowded streets,” the narrator says in “Mahiya.” It’s not comfort, but recognition. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.
