Back in the High Life Again by Steve Winwood became my anthem of choice as I eased back into Bhajan Day practice at Chinmaya Mission Sacramento—trying to decompress after a month of immersive Carnatic music in India. A month of sheer sonic bliss—and yet, somehow, it wasn’t enough. Fifteen days of Margazhi concerts in Madras felt like a fleeting dream, an appetizer to an infinite feast.
But oh, what a feast it was. In those two weeks, I managed to catch my favorites—some more than once, because once is never enough: Sudha Ragunathan, who makes you feel the music before a single note has fully landed. Sikkil C. Gurucharan, whose voice carries something ancient and completely alive at the same time. T.M. Krishna, who makes a concert feel like a conversation. And a handful of others I’ll be chasing for the rest of my rasika life – Sowmya Srinivasan, Sriranjani Santhanagopalan, Lalgudi Krishnan & Viji Lalgudi, Sandeep Narayan, Kunnakudi Bala, and Trichur Brothers. Every performance, every note, every nuance reminded me why this season is sacred.
The magic, though, wasn’t confined to the stage. Between concerts, I found myself chatting with legends— R.K. Shriramkumar, Arunprakash Krishnan, Mridangam Sai Giridhar, Muruga Boopathi, Akshay Anantapadmanabhan, Embar Kannan, Thiruvaarur Bakthavathsalam Mama, Kamalakiran Vinjamuri, and Sowmiya Narayanan – the kind of unassuming, quietly extraordinary people who make you realise that true artistry rarely announces itself. We talked about music the way you talk about something sacred: carefully, gratefully, with a little awe on my side and a lot of generosity on theirs. Along the way, I ran into fellow rasikas—Radhakrishnan Iyer, Arvind Sundararajan, and, once or twice, Sridhar Iyer. It was a reunion of souls bound by melody.
Now I’m back on the other side of the planet, yet my heart still hums with the afterglow of that music. The vibrations of Madras refuse to fade – they’ve followed me across the planet and taken up residence. Driving to Bhajan Day practice, I’ve traded one playlist for another—Al Stewart, Dire Straits, Fleetwood Mac, Gerry Rafferty, and my all-time favorite saxophonist, Phil Kenzie. It’s a different kind of transcendence, but the question remains the same: why do I love music so much? Maybe it’s in my name—Gita—though ironically, I can’t carry a tune or even lip-sync convincingly.
So here’s my humble plea to the universe: in my next life, may I please be a musician? A percussionist with the rhythm of the gods, a violinist with perfect pitch, a vocalist who can make hearts soar. Please?
