For me, music and nature are not separate experiences. They breathe through one another. Our ragas, our notes, our shrutis all arise from the same universal vibration that lives in nature itself. I learn from it constantly. From birdsong, from the changing seasons, from waterfalls and rivers. Everything is already creating music, if one knows how to listen. And listening, truly listening, is where learning begins.
At the same time, animals, especially strays, teach me humility. Their innocence carries no ego, no performance, no pretense. They cannot articulate their pain, and so their suffering is silent. When a stray waits for kindness, it is waiting for a gentle voice to arrive from us. That sensitivity, that quiet attentiveness, is the same sensitivity required in singing a delicate phrase.
Because of this, my music cannot remain only a performance. It becomes a responsibility. As an artist, I must not create noise. What I offer must carry care. It must be softer, deeper, and above all, truthful. I sing to heal myself, and through that honesty, to heal others as well.
