Bengaluru-based rock band Parvaaz’s long-awaited third album Na Gul Na Gulistan (Urdu for “Neither Flower Nor Garden”) starts off with the sound of chants of revolution on “Hu”—a sample that reflects the unrest that’s stirring around the world in 2025, and a track that mirrors the unsettled musings within the minds of the artists as well. The act, formed in 2010, haven’t released an LP since 2019’s Kun—their one other full-length offering to date was Baran in 2014—and they emerge on this record with eight new tracks that grew out of those pangs of uncertainty, despair and doubt in the quartet’s own lives as well as the planet around them. The band—which features Khalid Ahamed on vocals, Fidel Dsouza on bass, Bharath Kashyap on guitar and Sachin Banandur on drums—describe Na Gul Na Gulistan as a “dialogue on hope—fragile, fleeting and often lost”. They jointly tell Apple Music: “The album traces the contours of despairing human desire to make sense of it.” Vulnerable right from the sonorous, psychedelic guitars that ring out on second track “Talafi” all the way to the titular closer—a sprawling, angsty, dreamy number that channels hope at the same time and features Turkish musician Ömer Göktepeliler building tension on the tambur—Na Gul Na Gulistan is an album that pulls you in and takes you on a journey into the spaces both within you and without. The echoing, U2-esque soundscapes on “Dogma” and the nimble, bluesy folk-rock of “Kauaʻi ʻō‘ō” are clear sonic highlights, alongside the impactful contributions in certain tracks by Turkish musicians such as Şükrü Tırkış, who adds soulful clarinet to the mournful, anthemic “Khwab Gah”. The foursome tell Apple Music that “the toughest part was aligning our individual ideas into a unified narrative” when it came to putting this ambitious record together. Below, they take us through the multiple stories behind its songs. “Talafi” “The song captures the tension between outer cheer and inner chaos. It wonders why sadness keeps finding its way into every story and why joy feels so temporary. There’s a spiritual quality in the lyrics—a search for meaning in the middle of confusion, fear and unanswered questions. It’s a portrait of someone trying to break free from the weight of past grief while navigating a world that keeps demanding explanations.” “Dogma” “The song reflects a world where even silence has its own noise, where unspoken feelings create a storm louder than words. It acknowledges the strange awareness of living in chaotic times and yet also the simplicity we carry like an old, familiar burden. The imagery of clouds, rain and the intoxication of sorrow shows how [emotions] gather, break and pour out.” “Faani” “This song feels like someone quietly admitting how tired life has made them, yet [they are] still choosing to live. The heart is fragile and confused, stuck between the weight of old memories and the hope to begin again. The world around them feels hollow and uncertain. Inside, pain sits like a grave with no closure—but the heart keeps moving, searching for something gentle enough to heal it.” “Kauaʻi ʻōʻō” “This is a song born out of longing. It is a reflection on loss, memory and the ache of things that can never return. The song draws its inspiration from the now-extinct Kauaʻi ʻōʻō bird, once known for its hauntingly beautiful call—a call that when last heard remained unanswered. “The song first took shape when Murad [lyricist Syed Murad Gilani] and Khalid sat together, chasing a feeling we couldn't quite name. Nothing we called it ever felt right. The names we tried didn’t hold the ache the song carried. “Then one day, Khalid remembered the Kauaʻi ʻōʻō, the extinct Hawaiian bird, and thought of that lonely recording of the last male singing out for a mate who would never answer. It was the one people call ‘the saddest song ever heard’. That moment hit us hard. Our song already felt like that, like a duet where the second voice never comes in—a conversation with silence. It was as if the song already knew its name. We just had to catch up to it. “The sound you hear in the track is an actual recording of that last call, taken courtesy of the Macaulay Library at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and Thane Pratt in 1987. To us, it felt like the perfect echo of how loss lives within us—soft, enduring and strangely beautiful.” “Zor-o-Zar” “The song captures the exhaustion of a soul trying to stay honest in a world built to break it. It burns from within, struggles from without and still tries to make sense of a universe that refuses to slow down. Power traps the spirit, sorrow clouds both heaven and earth, and the heart—bold as it is—keeps stumbling through the fine print of life. What remains is a plea for voice, for courage and for a return of the magic that once felt possible.” “Khwab Gah” “The lyrics of this song explore the feeling of being emotionally split, appearing composed while turmoil quietly brews beneath. Nothing around them offers comfort—and the sorrow feels without end. It’s the quiet tale of a heart worn out, hurting, yet still trying to hold itself together. And in this journey, the ‘khwab gah’ (dreamlike surrender) becomes that strange inner room where dreams unfold—some are comforting, some unsettling, some making perfect sense and others slipping away without meaning.” “Na Gul Na Gulistan” “The final track of the album dives headfirst into the profound ache of losing hope, both earthly and eternal. It starts with a breathtakingly honest confession from a soul who sees ‘neither flower nor garden’, and transforms into a vibrant crescendo, reassuring us that even when flattened by life, there’s always a horizon worth striving for. It’s a gentle, persistent reminder to lean a little further—where a steady, unshakeable ray of hope is waiting to be caught.”