Some of my earliest memories are not of toys or cartoons, but of sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of my guru, trying to catch the tune of a classical raga. Back then, my little fingers couldn’t even press the keys of the harmonium properly, and my mother would be right beside me, waking me at 5 a.m. for riyaz. At times, it felt like a burden because all I wanted was a little more sleep, but somewhere in between those sleepy mornings and stubborn rehearsals, I began to fall in love with music.
As I grew older, music stopped being just a subject; it became the way I understood myself. Representing my school on stage for the first time back in 2nd grade, with my heart racing under the spotlight, I realised that a song could hold both fear and pride. Winning fests wasn’t just about the certificates一it was about proving to myself that the hours of practice and discipline had a voice of their own.
Along the way, I found inspiration in others too.
Some of my closest friendships were born in the school band, sharing not just songs, but countless memories of laughter, rehearsals, and late-night dreams of the stage.
One special mention would be of this one friend whose guitar could turn even an ordinary afternoon into something unforgettable. The honesty with which he played reminded me that music isn’t about perfection—it’s about pouring your soul into every note.
Even today, music is my safe place.
I still laugh remembering how our keyboardist once accidentally played a tabla beat on her keyboard during practice, and our sitarist immediately tried to match it with a serious face as if it was part of the plan. Instead of a disaster, it became one of those inside jokes that still make us smile.
When I look back, I realise it wasn’t just about the medals or certificates, but about the countless hours of practice, the missed classes, the delayed assignments, the patience it taught me, and the confidence it gave me to stand on stage.
It’s been my childhood friend, my teacher, and my stage.