The Symphony of Silence: Life Without Music

Imagine a world devoid of sound, where the harmonious echoes of life’s melody cease to exist. For someone like me, who has lived through the deep resonance of Hindustani classical music, felt the warmth of Jim Reeves' country tunes, and been healed by the soothing hum of Raga Bihag on the flute, such a world would feel barren. Music is not just an accompaniment to my life; it is my most trusted companion, my brother in spirit. A life without it would be akin to a day without sunlight — cold, colorless, and incomplete.

From an early age, music has been woven into the very fabric of my being. The gentle notes of the harmonium, the intricate dance of my fingers on the keyboard, these instruments are extensions of myself. My passion for Hindustani classical music and the timeless Hindi songs of the 1960s, especially those sung by Mukesh, have been a constant source of solace.

 Mukesh’s voice, with its haunting sincerity, often feels like a bridge to another time, another me. I have walked the corridors of nostalgia, hearing his melancholy notes echo in my soul, bringing forth memories wrapped in warmth and familiarity. Without these songs, it is difficult to imagine how I would make sense of the ebbs and flows of life.

Equally significant are the English country songs, especially those by Jim Reeves and Kenny Rogers. Their deep, soothing voices tell stories of love, loss, and longing, much like the rustic folk tunes I cherish in Maithili, Bhojpuri, and Punjabi. Music, regardless of its language, transcends barriers. It speaks a universal truth that words alone often cannot convey. I’ve always found comfort in Gospel hymns and the chanting of Sanskrit shlokas, which bring me closer to the divine, and remind me that music can serve as a conduit to the spiritual.

As a Principal, my deep connection to music extended into the school I led. I took it upon myself to bring out an exclusive hymnbook for the school, carefully curating songs that would not only inspire students but create a spiritual bond within the school community. Personally engaging in training the school choir, I had the pleasure of working with both students and teachers, shaping their musical journeys and the musical identity of the school. Now, after retirement, I deeply miss those moments, the vibrant voices of the children, and the dedication of the teachers. Without them, the absence of that shared musical space feels more profound, leaving me nostalgic for a time when music echoed through the hallways and assemblies.

Classical ragas, especially Rag Bihag on the flute, have a unique ability to heal me in ways words never could. The delicate interplay between melody and rhythm transports me to a serene inner world. In this state, the chaos of the outside world seems distant, and I find peace in the purity of sound. When I hear various ragas played on different instruments by different artists, it’s as though I am communing with different facets of my own soul, each raga reflecting a different emotion or experience. Without such moments, life would seem emotionally stunted, like a conversation cut short before anything meaningful could be said.

Music is not just a passive experience for me; it is an active part of who I am. It has shaped my thoughts, my memories, and my identity. In the words of Friedrich Nietzsche, “Without music, life would be a mistake.” Indeed, music has been my constant in times of joy and sorrow, a companion during lonely hours, a balm for wounds unseen. In India, the tradition of music is not merely an art form; it is a means of spiritual connection. Whether through the bhajans sung in the temples or the haunting strains of a sarangi, music here is a pathway to both personal and collective healing.

The Western world, too, offers profound reflections on music’s significance. Beethoven, despite his deafness, composed some of the world’s most moving pieces, proving that music is not just something we hear but something we feel. His symphonies are testaments to the idea that music can convey what lies beyond the spoken word. For me, this idea resonates deeply — music is more than sound. It is emotion, thought, and a connection to something larger than myself.

In a life without music, I imagine I would feel profoundly alone. The harmonium and keyboard would stand silent, their voices stifled, much like my own inner expressions. The songs of Mukesh, the flutes playing Rag Bihag, the hymns of devotion — all would be mere memories, echoes of a time when the world still sang. Yet, I would cling to those echoes, for they are proof that music once existed and shaped my life in ways I can never forget.

In conclusion, a life without music is a life deprived of its heartbeat, its rhythm, and its soul. Music has been my teacher, my friend, and my confidante. It has lent meaning to the mundane and solace to the sorrowful. In its absence, I would still carry the music within me, in the memories and emotions it has carved into my being. Because music is not just what we hear — it’s who we are.

This blog, I hope, brings to light the depth of my relationship with music, a relationship that crosses boundaries of language, culture, and time. As long as there is breath in me, music will live, both in the sounds that surround me and in the silence that speaks its own melody.