Abhangwari literally means an unhindered pilgrimage. The concert is rooted in the philosophy of the saints embedded in Hindustani classical music. It is a journey through songs, interwoven with stories from the pilgrimage taking place right now as devotees begin their walk to Pandharpur.

If you look at the philosophy of saints across different cultures, languages and geographies, the values remain remarkably alike. No culture encourages dishonesty or unkindness. Abhang draws from that universal wisdom; it simply happens to be written in Marathi. Once the bhava, or emotional essence, comes through, language becomes secondary. 

Not really. I don’t think of Chennai as a city divided by musical traditions. I see Carnatic and Hindustani music as two siblings. I’m simply bringing one sibling to visit the other. Having said that, I’m always sensitive to the local culture and people.

Sincerity. I believe sincerity comes before discipline. Technique and craft matter, but if your intention isn't sincere, the arrow can never reach its destination. I think of myself as carrying the padukas of Lord Vitthal. Every concert in this musical yatra becomes meaningful because of that responsibility

I hope they leave with a sense of calm contentment. The actual wari (pilgrimage) stretches over nearly 250 kms and takes close to three weeks. The pilgrims endure physical hardship, yet the moment they reach Lord Panduranga’s temple, every trace of fatigue melts away. The concert follows a similar emotional arc. There’s energy, singing and dancing, but I hope people eventually find a quiet sense of peace through the philosophy of the saints and the melody of Indian classical music.

Gatra Veena came to me at 4.30 am one morning during my riyaz. The phrase itself appears in the Bharata Natya Shastra, the first foundational treatise on Indian classical music. Gatra Veena is defined as the veena of the skin. That got me thinking: if the body is the instrument, then who’s playing it? The bandish I ended up composing answers that question. 

Sada Majhe Dola came from a very different place. After my father passed away, I wrote on social media that whenever I touched his feet, I felt as though I had met God. Now, when I touch God’s feet, I hope I’ll feel as though I’ve met him again. I ended that post with Sada Majhe Dola Jado Tujhi Murti (May your image forever remain in my heart). A day later, the melody of that Abhang came to me. Those experiences have taught me that devotional music cannot be forced. It reveals itself when the mind is quiet enough to receive it.

Looking ahead, I’m continuing to take Infusion to newer audiences. Infusion explores how classical bandishes can find contemporary relevance through collaborations with jazz, pop and other musical forms. We’ve already presented it in Pune and Goa, and I’m looking forward to bringing it to many more cities. A few more projects are in the works; I’ll share those when the time is right.