My Mother’s grandfather

was a renowned indian musician, and all nine of his children either sing or compose or play music. My earliest memories are of my grandmother’s music classes in the shed outside her house in basaveshwara nagar. There’s a large coconut tree in the front, and the cacophony of vegetable sellers and incessant traffic. but in the midst of dusty comic books and stacks of music literature I see

my grandmother

with a keyboard in her lap, a veena sitting next to her. every corner of the floor is occupied by a music student, sitting cross-legged, rapt with attention.

my mother

got her masters in Indian Carnatic music, vocal and veena. she can listen to a song and play it on the veena, like a real life magician. when she sings everyone stops. literally, it feels like the world just stops. her voice is the first I’ve heard, and the one I’ll never forget.

this is where I come from. these are the stories that make up the soundtrack of my life.