Krisdayanti: The Life Story Behind Indonesia's Diva

In Indonesia, very few singers are called a diva and have the whole country agree with the title. Krisdayanti is one of them. For more than thirty years her voice has been part of weddings, radio shows, television concerts and family gatherings across the largest island nation on earth. People who have never met her know her songs by heart, and people who were children when she first became famous now play her music for their own children. She is known simply as KD, two letters that are enough for millions of fans.

Her story is not only about music. It is about a girl from a small cool town in East Java who sang her way into the biggest studios in Jakarta, became a star, married another famous musician, lived her family life in front of the cameras, and then walked into politics and won a seat in the national parliament. Few singers in the world have made that kind of journey, and almost none have done it while staying in the public eye the whole time.

Krisdayanti was born on 24 March 1975 in Batu, a town in the hills near Malang in East Java. Batu is known for its cool air, its apple orchards and its mountain views, a quiet place far from the noise of Jakarta. Her family loved music, and her older sister Yuni Shara also became a singer. The two sisters grew up in a house where singing was normal, not special, and where a good voice was something to be proud of. From an early age Krisdayanti sang at home, at school and at local events, and people around her began to notice that her voice was different from other children’s voices. It was strong, clear and full of feeling, even when she was still very young.

A Girl From Batu With a Voice Too Big for Her Town

Batu in the 1980s was a small town where everyone knew each other, and a talented child did not stay a secret for long. Krisdayanti sang wherever there was a chance to sing. She performed at school gatherings, at neighbourhood celebrations and at small local shows. Her family encouraged her, and her sister Yuni, who was also finding her own way as a singer, showed her that music could be more than a hobby. The sisters were close, and they shared the same dream of singing for bigger crowds than the ones in their home town.

Life in Batu was simple, and that simplicity shaped Krisdayanti in ways that stayed with her. She learned to be polite, to work hard and to respect the people who came to listen. In a small town, the audience is not made of strangers. It is made of neighbours, teachers and family friends, and a singer learns quickly what it means to sing for people who know her name. That early training gave her a warmth on stage that later audiences in huge concert halls could still feel. She did not sing down to people. She sang to them, as if each person in the crowd mattered.

As she grew older, her ambition grew with her. Batu could not hold a voice like hers for long, and she began to look toward bigger stages. In her teenage years she took part in singing contests, including a televised contest in Singapore that brought young singers from across Asia together. Competing far from home at that age took courage. She was a teenager from a small Indonesian town standing in front of judges and cameras in another country, and she had to believe that her voice was good enough. The experience taught her how to handle pressure, how to prepare a song properly and how to keep singing even when her nerves were shaking.

Those early contests did not make her a star overnight, but they gave her something just as valuable. They gave her contacts, confidence and a sense that the music world was bigger than Batu. She began to spend more time in Jakarta, the centre of Indonesia’s music business, where record labels, television studios and concert promoters all worked. Jakarta was loud, crowded and competitive in a way Batu never was, and many young singers arrived there full of hope and went home disappointed. Krisdayanti stayed, kept singing and kept learning how the business worked.

Jakarta, Hard Work and the First Records

Jakarta in the 1990s was the heart of Indonesian pop music. Television music shows were watched by millions of people, cassette tapes were still the way most fans bought music, and a singer who appeared on the right show at the right time could become famous in a single week. Krisdayanti worked her way into that world step by step. She recorded songs, appeared on television and performed at shows wherever she was invited. There was no single moment when everything changed. There were many small moments, and each one taught her something new about singing, about the audience and about herself.

Her early recordings showed a singer who could handle both soft love songs and bigger, more dramatic numbers. Her voice had power, but it also had control. She could sing quietly and make a room go silent, and she could rise to a big note without losing the feeling of the words. That combination is rare, and producers began to notice it. She was not just a pretty voice. She was a singer who understood a song, and that understanding made listeners trust her with their own feelings. When she sang about love, people believed her. When she sang about waiting or loss, people felt it was their own story too.

In those years she also learned the less glamorous side of a music career. Recording sessions could be long and tiring. Promotion meant travelling, giving interviews and smiling for cameras even on days when she was exhausted. A singer in Jakarta had to be professional in every sense, not only on stage but in the studio, in meetings and in front of journalists. Krisdayanti built a reputation for taking the work seriously. She arrived prepared, she knew her songs, and she treated the people around her with respect. That reputation mattered as much as her voice, because the music business is small, and people remember who is easy to work with and who is not.

By the late 1990s she was no longer a newcomer. She had a name, a growing group of fans and a place in the Indonesian music scene. But she had not yet had the one song that would define her, the song that people would still be singing decades later. That song was coming, and when it arrived, it would change the scale of her career completely. It would take her from being a well-known singer to being one of the most famous voices in the country.

Menghitung Hari and the Making of a Diva

The song that changed everything for Krisdayanti was “Menghitung Hari”, which means “Counting the Days”. It is a song about waiting for someone you love, counting the days until they return, and it caught the feeling of longing in a way that millions of listeners recognised at once. The melody was gentle and memorable, and Krisdayanti sang it with a tenderness that made it feel personal, as if she were singing about her own life. The song became a huge hit in Indonesia, and it is still the song most people think of first when they hear her name.

“Menghitung Hari” did more than sell records. It gave Krisdayanti an identity. Before the song, she was a talented singer among many talented singers. After it, she was a star whose voice carried a particular kind of emotion, warm, sincere and strong. Radio stations played the song again and again, television shows invited her to perform it, and fans learned every word. For a singer, a song like that is both a gift and a responsibility. It opens every door, but it also means that every new song is measured against it. Krisdayanti accepted that, and she kept recording, kept performing and kept proving that she was more than one hit.

The years around the turn of the century were her great years as a recording star. She released albums that sold well, performed in big concerts and became one of the leading female singers of her generation. She was often grouped with the other great Indonesian divas of her time, and the comparison was a compliment. In a country with hundreds of millions of people and a huge appetite for music, standing at the top of that list meant something real. She had earned it with years of work, and the public could hear the work in every performance.

Her success also took her beyond Indonesia. She performed for Indonesian audiences abroad and took part in music events in other Asian countries, including a well-known song festival in South Korea where singers from across the region shared a stage. For an Indonesian singer, performing in front of an international audience was a proud moment, and it showed how far her music had travelled. She was no longer only a star at home. She was a representative of Indonesian pop music, and she carried that role with pride.

Love, Marriage and Life in the Spotlight

Krisdayanti’s private life became almost as famous as her music, because she married one of the most famous musicians in Indonesia, Anang Hermansyah. They married in 1996, when both were young stars, and their marriage joined two of the biggest names in Indonesian pop. They had two children together, a daughter named Aurel and a son named Azriel, and for years the family was one of the most watched families in the country. Fans followed their music, their television appearances and their family life with the same interest.

Living a marriage in public is hard, and the Hermansyah family learned that lesson in front of millions of people. Every happy moment was celebrated in the press, and every problem was discussed just as widely. Krisdayanti and Anang worked together musically as well as raising a family, and their partnership produced songs and performances that fans still remember. But a public marriage carries a weight that a private one does not, and over time the pressure grew. In 2009, after thirteen years of marriage, the couple divorced. The news was covered across Indonesia, and it was a painful time for the whole family, especially for the children.

Krisdayanti rebuilt her life after the divorce with the same determination she had shown in her career. In 2011 she married Raul Lemos, a businessman from Timor-Leste, and they went on to have two more children, a daughter named Amora and a son named Kellen. Her family grew, and she learned to balance the demands of being a mother of four with the demands of a public career. She has spoken over the years about how important her children are to her, and about how motherhood changed the way she saw her work. A singer who is also a mother sings differently, she has suggested, because she understands love and responsibility in a deeper way.

Her children have grown up in the public eye, and her eldest daughter Aurel has herself become a well-known singer and public figure. That is a rare thing, a mother and daughter both famous for music in the same country, and it says something about the musical home Krisdayanti built. Her family story, with its happiness and its heartbreak, has made her relatable to millions of Indonesian women who have faced the same challenges of marriage, divorce, remarriage and raising children while working. She did not hide those parts of her life. She lived them openly, and people respected her for it.

Concerts, Television and Staying on Top

A singer’s career is not only about records. It is about being seen, year after year, in concerts, on television and at big national events, and Krisdayanti understood that from early on. She became a regular presence on Indonesian television, performing on music shows, appearing as a guest star and later serving as a judge and mentor on singing competitions. Television kept her close to the public even in years when she was not releasing a new album, and it introduced her to younger viewers who had not been born when “Menghitung Hari” first came out.

Her concerts were known for their polish. She dressed beautifully, her band was tight and professional, and she knew how to build a show so that the audience stayed with her from the first song to the last. A Krisdayanti concert was not just a singer standing and singing. It was an evening, a full performance with feeling, humour and moments of quiet that made the big songs hit even harder. Fans who saw her live often say that her voice sounded even better in person than on record, and that is the highest praise a singer can receive.

Staying on top for decades is harder than reaching the top once. Music tastes change, new singers arrive every year, and the industry itself changed completely during her career, from cassettes to compact discs to streaming on phones. Krisdayanti adapted without losing herself. She recorded new songs, collaborated with younger artists and kept performing, while holding on to the style that made her famous in the first place. She did not chase every trend, and she did not pretend to be someone she was not. That steadiness is one reason her career lasted so long.

She also became a figure people turned to for big national occasions, the kind of singer whose voice is trusted to carry an important moment. Singing at a national celebration or a major event is different from singing at a concert, because the audience is the whole country, and the song has to mean something to everyone. Krisdayanti’s voice, warm and dignified, suited those moments. She had become more than a pop star. She had become a national voice, and that is a rare and serious honour.

From the Stage to Parliament

In 2019 Krisdayanti did something that surprised many people, even those who had followed her for years. She entered politics and stood for election to Indonesia’s House of Representatives, the DPR, as a candidate for the Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle, known as PDI-P. She stood in the East Java electoral district that included her home region, and she won. A singer who had spent her life on stage was now a lawmaker, sitting in parliament in Jakarta and voting on the laws of the country.

The move made sense in its own way. She had spent decades travelling across Indonesia, meeting people from every walk of life, and she understood the concerns of ordinary families because she had sung for them for so long. Politics gave her a different kind of stage, one where the work was slower, harder to see and often frustrating, but where the results could change real lives. She spoke about wanting to serve the people of East Java, about education, about culture and about the welfare of artists and creative workers, people whose lives she knew from the inside.

Being a celebrity in parliament brought both advantages and difficulties. People knew her name, which helped her win votes, but it also meant that everything she did was watched closely. Critics asked whether a singer belonged in politics, and supporters said that parliament needed people who understood real life, not only career politicians. Krisdayanti took the work seriously, attended sessions, joined commissions and learned the slow business of making laws. She served one term in the DPR, from 2019 to 2024, and when she stood again in 2024 she did not win re-election. She accepted the result and returned to her music and her family life.

Her time in politics remains an important part of her story, because it shows a side of her that music alone could not show. She was willing to leave the comfort of the stage, where she was loved and applauded, and enter a world where she was judged, criticised and sometimes ignored. That takes a different kind of courage from singing in front of a crowd. Whether people agreed with her politics or not, few could deny that she had tried to serve, and that she had done it openly, under her own name.

What Krisdayanti Means to Indonesia Today

Today Krisdayanti is in her fifties, a mother of four, a grandmother in the making of a musical family, and still a singer whose name opens doors. She performs, she records, she appears on television, and she remains one of the first names people mention when they talk about the great Indonesian female singers. Her career has lasted for more than three decades, which is a lifetime in pop music, and it has survived changes in fashion, technology and the music business itself.

Her legacy is not only her songs, although the songs are the heart of it. “Menghitung Hari” will be sung at Indonesian gatherings for many years to come, and her other recordings remain part of the country’s musical memory. Her legacy is also the example she set. She showed that a girl from a small town in East Java could become a national star through talent and hard work, that a woman could rebuild her life after divorce, that a singer could become a lawmaker, and that a public figure could stay dignified through both triumph and trouble.

For young Indonesian singers, she is proof that a long career is possible, and that it is built on more than a single hit. It is built on showing up, on singing well, on treating people with respect, and on being willing to grow. Krisdayanti grew from a child singer in Batu into a diva, a mother, a television figure and a member of parliament, and each stage of that journey added something to the voice that people hear today. When she sings now, the audience hears all of it, the girl from the hills, the young star, the mother and the lawmaker, and that is why her voice still matters so much.

Songs, Albums and the Sound of a Diva

Beyond the hit songs that everyone knows, Krisdayanti built a large body of recorded work over three decades, and that catalogue is the foundation of her reputation. Her albums moved from the pop sounds of the 1990s into the more polished productions of the 2000s, but her voice remained the centre of every record. Producers learned to build songs around her, giving her melodies that rose and fell with her voice, and arrangements that left space for her to breathe, to hold a note and to let a word land with its full feeling. That is why her recordings still sound good today, even though the technology of music has changed completely since they were made.

One of her best-loved albums after the breakthrough was “Mencintaimu”, released around the turn of the century, a record that showed her at the height of her powers as a romantic singer. The songs on that album were about love in all its forms: new love, lost love, patient love and love that survives distance and time. She sang them with a maturity that came from experience, and listeners who had followed her since “Menghitung Hari” could hear how her voice had deepened. She was no longer a young singer hoping to be heard. She was a diva who knew exactly what her voice could do, and who used it with confidence and care.

Her concerts in those years were also an important part of her work. A Krisdayanti concert was a formal, elegant evening, with a full band, beautiful dresses and a set list that moved from her earliest hits to her newest songs. She knew how to pace a show, when to sing a quiet ballad and when to lift the audience with a bigger number, and she knew how to talk to the crowd between songs, with warmth and humour. Fans who attended her concerts often say that they felt she was singing directly to them, and that feeling, of personal connection in a large hall, is one of the rarest gifts a singer can have.

She also recorded duets and collaborations with other Indonesian artists, and those partnerships showed her generosity as a singer. She did not try to outshine her partners. She blended with them, she listened to them, and she made the song better for both voices. That willingness to share the spotlight is part of why other musicians respect her so much. A diva who only cares about herself does not last. A diva who lifts other singers, who shares the stage and who treats her colleagues with respect, earns a place in the history of her country’s music, and Krisdayanti earned that place many times over.

Over the years, her voice itself became a kind of national sound, familiar to Indonesians of every age and every background. Young singers study her recordings to learn how to sing a ballad, how to control their breathing and how to put feeling into a melody without exaggerating it. Music teachers use her songs as examples of good singing, and her fans use them as the soundtrack of their own lives, at weddings, at family gatherings and in quiet moments alone. That is the true measure of a diva: not the awards or the headlines, but the way her voice becomes part of how a whole country feels, remembers and loves.

My Take:

I have spent a long time thinking about Krisdayanti’s story, and the first thing I want to say is that I admire how long she has lasted. Pop music is a young person’s game, and most singers who are famous at twenty-five are forgotten by thirty-five. Krisdayanti became famous in the 1990s and she is still famous now, in her fifties, and that is not luck. That is the result of a voice that was genuinely good, a work ethic that never stopped, and a personality that people trusted. I think we underestimate how hard it is to stay loved for thirty years. It means surviving new trends, new singers, new technology and new gossip, and still being the person people want to hear. She did that, and I respect it deeply.

What strikes me most about her is that she never seemed to be in a hurry to be someone else. She found her style early, a warm, emotional way of singing love songs, and she stayed with it. She did not chase every fashion that came along, and she did not try to sound like the newest star. In a world where so many artists reinvent themselves every year out of fear, there is something brave about knowing who you are and trusting that the audience will come to you. Krisdayanti trusted her voice, and the audience trusted her back. That is a kind of honesty that I think is rare, and I think it is the reason her songs still feel fresh when you hear them today.

I also think about the girl from Batu, and how far she travelled, not only in kilometres but in life. Batu is a quiet town in the hills, and Jakarta is a huge, loud, competitive city. To leave home as a teenager, to compete in another country, to fight for a place in the music business, that takes a kind of courage that is easy to miss when you only see the glamour of the finished star. I imagine her as a young girl on a bus or a plane, nervous and excited, carrying her voice as her only real luggage, and I find that image moving. She had no guarantee that any of it would work. She had only a talent and a willingness to work, and she bet her whole life on those two things. That bet paid off, but it could easily have gone the other way, and I think we should remember that when we look at famous people. Behind every star there is a young person who took a frightening risk.

Her marriage to Anang Hermansyah and the divorce that followed make me think about the price of living in public. I do not know the details of their marriage, and I do not want to pretend that I do, but I know this much: when your marriage is watched by millions of people, every argument becomes news and every sadness becomes entertainment for strangers. That is a heavy price to pay for fame. I admire the way Krisdayanti carried herself through that period. She did not turn her pain into a spectacle, and she did not use her children as weapons in public. She kept her dignity, she rebuilt her life, and she went on singing. I think that is a lesson for anyone who has been through a divorce, famous or not. You do not have to let the worst chapter of your life become the whole story. You can turn the page and write a new one.

I am also struck by her decision to enter politics. I will be honest: when a singer becomes a politician, my first reaction is usually doubt. I wonder if it is a publicity move, or if the person really understands the work. But as I look at Krisdayanti’s time in parliament, I find myself changing my mind a little. She won an election, she served a full term, she worked on committees, and she accepted defeat when she lost. That is what a real politician does, not what a celebrity does for attention. I think she genuinely wanted to serve the people of East Java, and I think her years of travelling the country as a singer gave her a real understanding of ordinary people’s lives. She had met them, sung for them, and listened to them. That is more preparation for public service than many career politicians ever get.

At the same time, I think her political career teaches a hard lesson about fame and power. Fame can win you an election, but it cannot do the job for you. In parliament, nobody applauds when you walk in, and your voice, however beautiful, does not pass laws. You have to read documents, negotiate, compromise and accept that progress is slow. I respect Krisdayanti for being willing to do that unglamorous work, and I also think her defeat in 2024 is part of the story, not a failure to hide. In a democracy, losing an election is normal. It means the voters chose someone else, and a public figure who accepts that gracefully shows more character than one who wins and becomes arrogant. She accepted it, and she went back to her music. That is a healthy way to live.

I think about her children, too, and about what it means to be a mother in the public eye. She has four children, and her eldest daughter Aurel has become a star in her own right. I wonder what it is like to watch your daughter follow you into the same difficult world, knowing exactly how hard it is. A mother who has lived that life can warn her daughter, can guide her, can protect her in ways that no one else can. But she cannot protect her from everything, and she has to let her daughter make her own mistakes. I find that part of the story very human. Krisdayanti is not only a diva or a politician. She is a mother who worries about her children, just like any other mother, and that is what makes her relatable to millions of Indonesian women.

There is something else I admire, and it is a small thing, but I think it matters. Krisdayanti has stayed polite, warm and professional through decades of fame. I have not heard stories of her being cruel to fans, or arrogant with the people who work for her. In an industry where ego is common, that steadiness is worth noticing. Fame can make people hard and selfish, but it seems to have made her more grounded, not less. Perhaps that comes from her small-town upbringing in Batu, where people knew each other and manners mattered. Perhaps it comes from being a mother. Whatever the reason, I think it is one of the reasons her career lasted so long. People do not only love her voice. They like her, and liking someone is a powerful thing in a long career.

I also want to be honest about what her story does not teach. It does not teach that talent alone is enough, because talent without hard work disappears quickly. It does not teach that fame makes life easy, because her life has had real pain in it, a divorce, public criticism, political defeat. And it does not teach that success is a straight line, because her path went from music to marriage to divorce to remarriage to politics and back to music, with turns that nobody could have predicted. What it does teach is something simpler and harder: keep going. Keep singing, keep working, keep showing up, even when the road turns in a direction you did not expect. That is the lesson I take from her, and I think it is a lesson that applies to any life, not only to a famous singer’s life.

When I listen to “Menghitung Hari” in my mind, I hear more than a love song. I hear a young woman counting the days, waiting, hoping, and I think that is what Krisdayanti’s whole career has been about, waiting patiently, working steadily and trusting that the days she counted would add up to something. They did. They added up to a life that most people would call extraordinary, and she built it one day at a time, one song at a time, one decision at a time. I think that is a beautiful way to live, and I think it is why, after all these years, Indonesia still calls her a diva, and still means it.

If I could ask her one question, I would ask her what she tells young singers from small towns who dream of Jakarta. I imagine she would tell them to practise, to be patient, to respect the audience and to never forget where they came from. I imagine she would tell them that fame is not the goal, and that a good life is built on family, on work and on dignity. I do not know if she would say exactly that, but her life says it for her, and that is enough for me. Her story is a reminder that a voice is a gift, but a life is something you build, and Krisdayanti built hers with care, with courage and with a song that still, after all these years, makes people stop and listen.

I also think about the way her voice has aged, and I find that beautiful. A young singer’s voice is fresh and bright, but an older singer’s voice carries something else: experience, memory and the weight of a life lived. When Krisdayanti sings now, in her fifties, I hear all the years in her voice, the young girl from Batu, the star of the 1990s, the mother, the lawmaker, and I think that is a wonderful thing. Too often, we treat ageing as a loss, especially for women in entertainment, as if a singer’s value ends when her youth ends. Krisdayanti proves that idea wrong. Her voice is richer now than it was when she was young, because it has more life in it, and that is something to celebrate, not to hide.

There is one more thing I want to say, and it is about Indonesia itself. Krisdayanti’s story could only have happened in Indonesia, a country of thousands of islands, hundreds of languages and a deep love of music. She sang in Indonesian, for Indonesian audiences, and she became a star without ever needing to leave her country or to sing in another language. That matters, because it shows that a singer can be great in her own language, for her own people, and that greatness does not need to be validated by the rest of the world. Indonesia gave her everything she needed: an audience, a language, a culture of song, and she gave it back a voice that the country will remember for generations. That exchange, between a singer and her people, is the heart of her story, and it is why I will always admire her.

I keep coming back to the idea of dignity, because it is the quality that holds her whole story together. She was dignified as a young star, dignified as a wife and mother, dignified in divorce, dignified in parliament and dignified in defeat. Dignity is not something you can fake for thirty years. It has to be real, and it has to come from inside, from a sense of who you are and what you stand for. Krisdayanti has that, and I think it is the reason people trust her. They may not agree with every choice she has made, but they believe that she makes her choices honestly, and that belief is worth more than any hit song.

I also think about the young singers who look up to her, and about what they learn from her example. They learn that a career is not built in a year, but over decades. They learn that a voice must be cared for, that an audience must be respected, and that a public figure must behave well even when nobody is watching. They learn that it is possible to be a star and a mother, a singer and a lawmaker, and that a woman does not have to choose one identity and abandon the others. Those are important lessons, and they are lessons that can only be taught by example, not by words. Krisdayanti teaches them by living them, and that is a powerful form of teaching.

When I think about her time in parliament, I am struck by how unusual it is for a singer to sit in a legislature, and by how much it reveals about her character. Most stars would never give up the applause of a concert hall for the slow, often thankless work of politics. She did, because she wanted to serve, and because she believed that her experience of Indonesian life, gained from decades of travelling and singing for ordinary people, had prepared her for public service. I may not agree with every position she took, and I do not know enough about her parliamentary work to judge it in detail, but I respect the willingness to try. It is easy to criticise from the outside. It is much harder to step inside and do the work, and she did that.

I think about her sister Yuni Shara, too, and about what it means to grow up in a house where two sisters both become famous singers. That is a rare thing, and it must have shaped both of them. They shared a dream, they shared a home, and they shared the experience of becoming stars in the same country at the same time. Sisters can be rivals, but they can also be each other’s greatest support, and I hope that is true for Krisdayanti and Yuni. Their story, of two sisters from Batu who both became divas, is a beautiful one, and it reminds me that talent often runs in families, and that a loving home can produce more than one star.

Finally, I want to say something about the song “Menghitung Hari” itself, because it is more than a hit. It is a song about waiting, about counting the days until someone you love returns, and I think that image, of counting days, is a perfect image for Krisdayanti’s whole life. She counted the days from Batu to Jakarta, from obscurity to fame, from marriage to divorce to a new marriage, from the stage to parliament and back again. Each day added up, and the total is a life that most people would call extraordinary. She counted the days, and she made them count, and that is a lesson I will carry with me long after I finish writing about her.

Frequently Asked Questions

When was Krisdayanti born?

Krisdayanti was born on 24 March 1975 in Batu, a town near Malang in East Java, Indonesia, and she grew up there before moving to Jakarta to build her music career.

What is Krisdayanti’s most famous song?

Her most famous song is “Menghitung Hari”, a song about counting the days while waiting for someone you love, and it remains the song most Indonesians think of first when they hear her name.

Why is Krisdayanti called a diva?

She is called a diva because she has been one of Indonesia’s leading female singers for more than three decades, with a powerful voice, hit songs and a long career at the top of Indonesian pop music.

Who was Krisdayanti married to?

She was married to musician Anang Hermansyah from 1996 until their divorce in 2009, and in 2011 she married businessman Raul Lemos, with whom she has two more children.

Did Krisdayanti become a politician?

Yes, she was elected to Indonesia’s House of Representatives in 2019 as a PDI-P candidate from East Java, served one term until 2024, and did not win re-election that year.

How many children does Krisdayanti have?

She has four children: Aurel and Azriel from her marriage to Anang Hermansyah, and Amora and Kellen from her marriage to Raul Lemos.

Yes, Yuni Shara is her older sister, and she is also a well-known Indonesian singer, so music runs in the family.