Two weeks ago, during his first-ever UK show, Hanumankind told the crowd to follow his lead—hopping right, then left, back and forth in sync. But the Indian rapper slipped and fell, finishing the performance in pain, supported by his DJ and fueled by the crowd singing along to his songs.
“We were ready to have a good time,” he says with a sheepish grin, sitting in an armchair at his record label’s office three days later. Turns out, he tore a ligament. “It was a battle inside me. The show was only a fraction of what I’d planned, but I gave it everything. London’s energy kept me going.”
Even without the injury, the 32-year-old star—born Sooraj Cherukat—has hit a challenging point in his fast-rising career. Tracks like Big Dawgs and Run It Up, boosted by action-packed music videos, have made him one of the most talked-about rappers worldwide. He’s collaborated with A$AP Rocky and Fred Again, and even performed at an event in New York last September at Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s invitation.
But as one of the few South Asian faces in global rap, he feels the weight of responsibility. “The past year’s been tough,” he admits. “I’m figuring it out.” While proud of his Indian roots, he adds, “A lot feels off. There’s a mob mentality, division over religion, background, caste—it bothers me. I’m in a unique position to shift perspectives back home.”
Born in Kerala’s lush Malappuram, Cherukat spent his childhood moving between Nigeria, Saudi Arabia, and the UK with his father. “I’d pick up songs in whatever language I heard,” he recalls. “I learned to connect quickly—that’s why words mean so much to me.”
At 10, he settled in Houston, Texas, just as the city’s rap scene was booming. Adopting a Southern drawl, he fell in love with chopped-and-screwed music while keeping his love for heavy metal—hinting at his rockstar edge today. As a teen, he’d burn CDs of beats, freestyle in cars, and soak up the scene.
He returned to South India just before turning 20—”the only place I had roots.” After finishing college in Coimbatore, he worked a corporate job in Bengaluru, treating rap as an escape. Open-mic nights helped him adjust his style for Indian crowds. “Friends would say, ‘Dude, you’re not bad—you should take this seriously.’”
So he did. By late 2019, he played his first major festival, NH7 Weekender in Pune. The crowd’s wild energy—from a handful to a packed moshpit—convinced him. “They were rowdy, vibing hard. I tore off my shirt and thought, Okay, I can do this.” He quit his job, wrote relentlessly during the pandemic, and soon signed with Def Jam India.
Now, he’s part of a movement pushing back—mixing boldness and raw honesty in lyrics that shift pace effortlessly.Indian hip-hop proudly rejects British colonial influences in favor of local expression, embracing the country’s rich linguistic diversity. As Cherukat explains, “India has hundreds of languages, each as deeply rooted as the next. Artists who rap in Hindi or regional languages bring incredible depth to their work.” His choice to perform mostly in English risked being seen as inauthentic at home, but it helped him reach a global audience.
Still, he finds ways to celebrate Indian culture. His track Run It Up features the rhythmic beats of Kerala’s chenda drums, and its music video showcases martial artists from across India. He even performed the song at Coachella with a live drum ensemble—his first U.S. show. “Most people don’t know what’s happening in my country,” he says. “Maybe I can open doors, change perspectives, and break stereotypes.”
Cherukat’s stage name includes a nod to Hanuman, the Hindu god of strength and devotion. The deity has become a cultural symbol, appearing everywhere from nationalist car stickers to Dev Patel’s film Monkey Man. But where does Hanumankind fit—traditionalist or progressive? “First, I make music for myself,” he says. “But with a platform, you can drive change through words and actions.”
Some fans criticized him for performing at an event hosted by Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi, whose government has faced accusations of democratic erosion and anti-Muslim policies. Cherukat defended his appearance, calling it “not political—we were asked to represent the nation, and we did.”
Yet his political stance is clear in his music. His 2020 single Catharsis condemns corruption, police violence, and the suppression of protests. “I’m not just preaching to the choir,” he says. “I want skeptics to hear my message and think, ‘Okay, he makes sense.’”
His new mixtape, Monsoon Season, blends mellow tracks like Holiday (featured on Colors) with high-energy collaborations with U.S. rappers Denzel Curry and Maxo Kream. It’s not a concept album but a collection of songs recorded before his rise to fame.
The title reflects his memories of Kerala’s monsoons—sometimes chaotic, sometimes introspective. “You can love the rain, the smell of wet earth, the way it heightens your senses. Or it can ruin your plans and make you hate it,” he says.
Currently recovering from a knee injury, Cherukat is preparing for a North American tour later this year. He admits he needs time to adjust to fame: “The attention, the responsibility, the lifestyle—it’s been overwhelming. I just want to get back to the basics: making music.”
Monsoon Season is out now on Capitol Records/Def Jam India.
