In a small rented apartment in Mira Road, Mumbai, Aron Kollassani Selestin, who goes by the artist name Aksomaniac, comes alive each day. You’ll not find an entourage or studio-grade equipment in his apartment. Rather, you’ll meet an enthusiastic musician, his piano, and the quiet determination that brought him here from Trivandrum, Kerala.
“I had to move out of Kerala for multiple reasons,” he shares. Although cities like Bangalore were in consideration, it was Mumbai that called to him. He followed that instinct and found that it opened doors. “Once I came here, I understood it was the right decision. A lot more opportunities started opening up.”
Who is Aksomaniac, really?
Born and raised in Trivandrum, Aron’s introduction to music was anything but voluntary. “It was my dad and mom. They really pushed me into music very early,” he recalls. “I was six years old when they enrolled me in Carnatic music classes, along with my sister. Classic middle-class parenting: put your kid into music. At first, it was more for my sister’s sake, so she’d feel safer. I was just happy to nap in class.”
He later moved to tabla classes, not out of passion but to hang out with his school friends. He joined keyboard classes, too, but nearly quit by sixth grade. His own keyboard itself had broken, and his enthusiasm was fading. That was when his music teacher noticed something others hadn’t. “My teacher told my dad, ‘I know his practice records are fake. But his instincts are good. His progress when he actually plays is exponential.”
For some reason, my parents heard those words and decided it would be best to hone my skills. His parents, despite knowing his patchy track record with music, took out a significant loan of around two lakhs to buy him a piano. Aron still struggles to understand why. “My track record was so frivolous. I would get into something and quit. Even today, I don’t know why they trusted me with that investment. If I were a parent, I would never have done that.”
But that piano apparently changed everything. He soon started to practice, but this time, by staying true to his words. He had never known this kind of discipline before. Something about the stillness of the instrument, its size, and “the presence it commanded made it feel sacred”. He even sat for the grading exams, was evaluated by international boards, and developed a sense of confidence that came from structure. He also took pride in being a “competitive academic” student, which further added to his success to be better as a pianist.
But everything changed for the better, again, when the pandemic hit.
The Beginning of Aksomaniac
With schools closed and exams cancelled, life slowed for many, except for Aron, who saw this as an opportunity to make use of his time.
Without board exams to study for and no classes to attend, he decided to explore music on his own terms. He began practising for nine hours a day, every day. He even started uploading covers on Instagram in the artist name Aksomaniac, handling everything from vocals and instrumentation to mixing, mastering, shooting, and editing. He realised he was building multiple skill sets all at once. That creative discipline helped sharpen more than just his technical chops. “It made me comfortable in front of the camera, made me a better singer, a better listener.”
“I was just trying to practice,” he explains.
In parallel, Aron began to confront a cultural gap he had never truly acknowledged before. Raised in a Catholic household, Western media had been off-limits for most of his life. He had never listened to global pop or hip-hop growing up. It was not until he was in 11th grade that his classmate insisted that he listen to Frank Ocean.
“I didn’t grow up on Harry Potter or pop music. I went from Kalabhavan Mani to Frank Ocean and I didn’t understand a thing at first,” he says. “But that’s when I realised how much I didn’t know. I started listening competitively to catch up.”
In fact, his senior had called him up one day and asked him, ‘How serious are you about music?’ Aron told him that he was listening to albums top to bottom. He had missed so much growing up. That experience, rather than discouraging him, awakened something competitive in him. He started listening to albums like textbooks, determined to catch up on everything he had missed. “I wanted to fix, not knowing much about the music out there. I became a very academic listener. I’d listen to different genres at different times of day.”
This newfound curiosity eventually led him away from covers and toward original compositions. The first few songs by Aksomaniac were written using his poetry skills, along with assistance from his senior, who was the guitarist.
The First Song by Aksomaniac
When he wrote Nazar, it was the first time he attempted songwriting in Malayalam. It was not easy. Though fluent in the language, writing lyrics in it felt awkward. “It didn’t feel like me,” he admits. “I know how to write in Malayalam, but when I tried to do it in song form, it felt unnatural. I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing.”
He sent the lyrics to everyone he knew, asking for honest feedback. He wanted to know if it sounded natural, if it had a certain texture. People loved it, and some were shocked to hear it was his first time writing in Malayalam. “My mom got calls from aunties. Cousins reached out. It was validating in a way I hadn’t expected.”
More importantly, it helped him understand that Malayalam was an emotional language. It reached people in ways English could not. “There are certain things you just can’t translate. Like the word Manmadhan. In English, the meaning gets lost. Malayalam hits you in the gut.”
Even now, he finds writing in Malayalam difficult. It requires more focus and patience. But he is learning to enjoy the process. Recently, he wrote something in Malayalam without any intention of turning it into a song. And that, to him, felt like growth. “If you had told me a year ago that I would just sit down and write in Malayalam, I would have freaked out.”
Music means Honesty, Aksomaniac says
When asked to describe his sound, Aron does not hesitate to use the label “Malayalam R&B.” But he is careful to explain what that means to him.
“R&B is rooted in Black music. Over time, it became connected to hip-hop. And what hip-hop gave it was this principle of honesty. Of writing your own lyrics and speaking your truth. That’s the part I relate to the most.”
Aksomaniac points out an interesting difference between pop and hip-hop music. In pop, it’s pretty common for artists to play around with their stories, while in hip-hop, people usually expect honesty. “You won’t get called out for stretching the truth in a pop song. But in hip-hop, unless you mention it’s a concept album, fans are likely to expect you to keep it real!”
This idea of emotional truth runs through his track Kanmashi, which explores a quieter, more internal form of intimacy, one that begins with being honest with oneself. The instrumentation carries the smoothness of R&B, but the beats and production choices draw from hip-hop, reflecting Aron’s own listening habits and influences.
“If you look at my Spotify stats right now, I’m a hip-hop listener,” he says. “That’s what I play the most. I’m a rap listener first. The producers I work with are mostly from that world, too.”
But his sound is more layered than simple genre tags can explain. His background in Carnatic music and the Malayalam songs he grew up with shape the way he approaches melody and phrasing. He does not try to erase that foundation. Instead, he allows it to blend naturally with global influences.
“My training and instincts as a Carnatic musician, and all the sounds I really grew up with, give me this inner-rooted Indian touch. That’s always going to be there in how I write or sing. And me wanting to be honest again puts me back into that R&B spectrum. So when I say I’m a Malayalam R&B artist, it ticks a lot of boxes.”
Leaving Engineering Behind
For someone who had always done well in academics, walking away from Engineering was not an impulsive decision. Aron had scored 95 percentile in JEE, secured admission in a competitive Computer Science program, and maintained a GPA high enough to guarantee job placements. On paper, he was set for a secure future.
But juggling two full-time lives, one in academics and one in music, was beginning to take a toll. He was sleeping just three to four hours a night. His days were spent attending classes, while his nights were consumed by recording, editing, mixing, planning social media content, and organising gigs. It was physically exhausting. “At the end of the day, you cannot really push your body so much,” he reflects. “My eyes used to hurt so badly, I would close one eye and edit with the other.”
He had already used up the two condonations allowed by his college for low attendance due to medical reasons. If he missed any more classes, he would have to repeat a semester. That was when Def Jam, under Universal Music, reached out with a record deal. It was the kind of opportunity that does not come around often. He knew he could not do both.
“I could not be at two places at the same time,” Aron explains. “If I didn’t have the attendance issue, I would have finished my Computer Science degree. I know how valuable that is, especially in this economy. I’m confident I would have passed with a good GPA. But I also knew this opportunity with Def Jam wouldn’t come again.”
There was an option to take a sabbatical and return later, but it came with complications. He would have to reappear for core examinations and re-enter a system he no longer believed in. He chose music instead. “It was still worth it,” he says without hesitation. “Because I dearly love music.”
His family, however, did not see it that way, at least not initially. For them, the decision felt like betrayal. They had worked tirelessly to provide him with security and education, and now he was walking away from both. “They come from a world where they turned everything around to get me to a place of stability, to give me an education,” he says. “Throwing all of that away to choose a life in music, which is a very frivolous industry, which even I didn’t fully understand, was something they could not accept.”
The road in Mumbai for Aron was also far from smooth. He recalls days when even affording three meals was a struggle. The glamour associated with the music industry was absent. What remained, however, was his commitment. With time, things have become more stable.
Finding Meaning at Def Jam
When Aksomaniac first heard from Def Jam, he wasn’t certain he would take it up. He was exhausted, conflicted, and unsure of what his next steps should be. The idea of working with a major label, especially while navigating a turbulent academic and personal life, seemed overwhelming.
“I was at a point where I knew I had to choose between music and academics,” he admits. “I told them clearly that I’m not going to do it. But they talked me into it. There was a lot of back and forth. Eventually, we found a middle ground, and from there, we really pushed forward with the project.”
The allure of being associated with a name like Def Jam did not lose out on him.“There’s prestige when you say you’re with Def Jam. People look at you a certain way,” he says. “But what I wasn’t expecting was the flexibility.”
As an artist creating something as specific as Malayalam R&B, Aron knew he was entering uncharted territory. The genre itself barely existed in the mainstream. He assumed he would be asked to compromise, tone things down, make it more marketable, and more palatable to the audience. But that did not happen. “They never asked me to dumb things down. Even when I wrote about queer stories or anything that might be considered ‘unorthodox,’ they supported me fully. That kind of trust, that’s what I needed.”
His relationship with the label has been defined not just by creative freedom, but by the people who offered it to him. He speaks with quiet gratitude for the team, especially a Malayali on the marketing team who acted as a cultural and emotional bridge. “She was the person translating what I was trying to do to the rest of the team,” he says. “And they actually understood. I was able to build real intimacy with them. That was important to me.”
Def Jam gave Aksomaniac a platform, but more importantly, it gave him room to be himself and that, he says, made all the difference. “I was leaving a lot behind for this life. I threw away a lot of support to choose music. Emotionally, logistically, it was hard. But the point is, I found a sense of comfort there that I never expected to find.”
Music in Progress
Aksomaniac has an upcoming EP, whose working title is called Vartamanam.
“It’s tentatively called Vartamanam. I’m still deciding on it,” he says with a laugh. “I’m quite a tentative person. But that word really stuck with me. It means ‘the present,’ but also has this layered meaning. I never expected to find a double entendre like that.” The ambiguity of the title mirrors where Aron finds himself at this moment.
The project will be released gradually over the coming months. “Three songs will come out over the next three or four months,” he says. “And they’ll all lead up to the EP, Vartamanam, tentatively.” The songs, like the title, are about now. It is music that does not rush toward answers. It simply allows you to sit with what is. And perhaps, for an artist like Aksomaniac, who has spent so much of his life oscillating between expectations and instincts, Vartamanam is his story and a declaration that he is here.
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