How pho turns liminal spaces into music | FP Exclusive Interview

In the frantic,  largely high-decibel world of contemporary Indian music, it is unfortunately common to overlook more artful approaches. 

For Pho (born Akriti Lal), this rule doesn’t seem to apply. With over 453,000 listeners on Spotify and being immensely cheered on when she is on stage, she appears to have made it big. Having transitioned from the rigours of a literature degree to the neon-lit, competitive stage of MTV Hustle, Pho has spent the last three years dismantling the art of the loud performances in favour of something more clandestine and true to herself — the sensitive, raspy intimacy of the interior monologue.

Her latest EP, Terminal 2, is a game in liminality, a project conceived entirely within the fluorescent purgatory of airport lounges. It arrives at a cultural crossroads in 2026, as the noise of digital personas begins to give way to remembering our own personal interiority. As she prepares for a landmark set at Lollapalooza India 2026, Pho remains a slight oddity: a reality TV alumna who has successfully retreated into the shadows to find her most authentic light.

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Partners in sound: Vaaman and Lambo Drive

Pho’s sonic identity is inseparable from her collaborators, a small circle of producers who have helped translate her melodies into high-fidelity R&B. Chief among them are Vaaman and Lambo Drive, two framers of the Delhi sound whose partnership with Pho began in the most serendipitous of ways.

"A funny story with Vaaman," Pho recalls, "is that I was making a track named Azad, my first independent release. I was trying to do it with another producer, but he wasn't available, so he passed on my number to his friend, Vaaman." At the time, Vaaman was a part-time producer on the verge of quitting. "We met at a metro station on the way to a studio, and he told me, 'This is going to be my last track. I’m not going to produce after this.' I remember thinking, "I don't care, man, I just want to get my work done."

Ironically, the chemistry was so full of spark that Vaaman never stopped. Since that 2020 metro meeting, he has been a cornerstone of her discography. More recently, Pho teamed up with Lambo Drive, a producer known for his visceral, textured beats for the likes of Seedhe Maut and Prabh Deep. "I met Lambo through Rijul (my manager) about a year and a half ago. I really admired his work for a long time, but I couldn't get a hold of him — I was always busy. This time, we eventually ended up working and we made almost an entire EP together."

Together, this trio has crafted a sound that defies easy categorization, a blend of Delhi lo-fi, airy indie-pop, and sharp, soulful R&B.

In Conversation: The Interview

For a listener who doesn't know anything about you, what is the "Pho experience"?

I think if you want to listen to really raw emotions — unfiltered stuff, not overly sugarcoated, you should listen to Pho. It’s always an emotional ride, through the lyrics, the words, the hook, the bridge, the outro. If you want that emotional rollercoaster, just get in.

You’ve been praised for this restrained, breath-led vocal delivery. How do you find the confidence to let your softness carry so much weight?

I don't think I've ever, up till now, really over-thought about, 'I have to do this because people like this' or 'this is what is trending.' I mean, it’s a good business mind, but I have a totally different approach. I make what makes me feel something. For Terminal 2, I wanted to translate what I was feeling through the vocals and the arrangement. I just wanted to translate that specific emotion to the listener.

The EP was born from hours spent in airport terminals. Why did that "in-between" state become your creative catalyst?

Right before I wrote Terminal 2, I had so many events going on — back to back. Before I could process one, a second would pop up. My brain wasn’t ready for that much processing. I was blank most of the time. I had just got out of a reality TV show and I was surrounded by people all the time because work was so much. I was just functioning like a machine.

Those solo travels from city to city were the only times I was actually a little alone. I’m just at the boarding gate or in the flight and I can really think about what is happening. I could either journal about it or write a song. I chose to write a song.

"YESMEN" is sort of a cornerstone of the EP. Was it difficult to release something so personal?

I’m not the kind of person who ever posts about how they are feeling. I don’t want to post, 'Oh, I got betrayed, guys. Shit, sad day.' I keep it to myself. But I did face a lot of things while making the EP. "YESMEN" covers a very intense phase, things I found really hard to talk about. It’s the kind of track I find really hard to perform, too, because I end up tearing up all the time. I didn’t want a conversation about it; I just wanted them to listen to what I felt.

How do you actually build these songs? Does the genre come first (because you seem to be brilliantly versed in so many), or the lyrics?

I don’t really decide any genre or lyrics. I just try to flow with the melody first. I try to form a melody — na, na, na, na — and then probably find a couple of words that fit. If it just hits the spot for me, I’m like, 'Okay, I’m going to write something around this word.' Then eventually we land on a genre. The melody always comes first.

If Terminal 2 were a film, how would you set the scene?

(chuckles) It would be a heartache movie. Usually, in Indian movies, the dude gets hurt and then he turns revengeful or successful. I’d love to reverse those roles as a social experiment and see how people react. Would they even go and watch it? People don’t care until a man gets hurt. This would be a social experiment as well. The color palette would be blues and reds — shades of light blues and darker reds.

You moved back home recently. How has that affected your perspective as an artist?

I moved out after the show because I needed to process everything, but I feel like that was a very crazy decision. I eventually went back home and it really humbled me. It kept me grounded. I try to be around really inspiring people now.I mean, I walk into the room and if I am the smartest person in the room, that makes no sense. That’s a waste of your existence.

The Sunday evening aesthetic

Pho’s trajectory reflects a wider cultural lull felt in every corner of India’s urban centers. The hustle culture of the early 2020s is being replaced by a desire for slow living and emotional literacy. Her aesthetic, which she describes as "Sunday evening stroll" style (sweatshirts, jerseys, and jorts), mirrors this shift. 

It is a somewhat snooty but admirable refusal to perform a pop star persona in favour of being a relatable human being.

"I have decided to keep a balance — like a veil — between what I actually feel and what I am saying," she notes. For Pho,music is the only medium where the veil drops. As she takes the stage at Lollapalooza, she represents a generation that is finally comfortable with its own emotions — or at least getting to be. 

"Just calm down," she says as a parting thought. "Chill. It's not that deep. And take care of yourself."