Echoes of tradition and modernity: Udaipur's musical celebration unfolds this weekend

For me, the idea of ‘rooted yet global’ lives beyond the mere idea of marrying genre. It lies in my core intention. Growing up with music from across India and the world, my true curiosity lies in very responsibly yet boldly blending. During the set, I’m thinking about honoring the classical sensibilities I’ve grown up with while allowing space for contemporary textures and improvisation. It’s never about ‘fusion music,’ as people often call the bastardisation of forcefully juxtaposing art forms from either side of the hemisphere. It’s using knowledge of culture, my roots and various art forms and allowing for that to breathe in the present moment, in the context of modern language, contemporary music and technology.

Since I’ve visited multiple times, Udaipur is most definitely a sarangi for me. Deeply emotional; both blissful yet heart wrenchingly deep. It’s an instrument that’s eerily close to the voice. The rather varied landscape of the city — be it hill roads or water bodies — the stillness allows for the echo of the instrument to linger beyond.

I imagine a classical guitar or maybe a charango and a sarangi quietly talking about how emotion sits in the space between notes. Despite their differences, both instruments carry an intimacy that’s almost vocal. I think they’d bond over restraint and the power of what’s left unsaid and how silence can sometimes carry more meaning than sound itself. What’s interesting is I’ve actually used the two in parallel in the same piece of music in compositions of mine for my film scores.

When I walk on stage, I carry my village, my people and my stories with me. The roots are always there with me, in the melodies that come naturally to me and in the honesty of the words. But at the same time, I know these songs are travelling far beyond where they were born. During my set, I let the folk spirit guide me and allow modern sounds to simply support the emotion. I want the music to feel grounded, but free, something that speaks to where we come from and where we are going together.

To me, Udaipur feels like a sarangi. It has a voice that feels human, soft, emotional and full of history. Just like the city, the sarangi doesn’t shout; it speaks to your heart slowly. The lakes, the old walls and the silence between them feel like long notes that stay in the air, reminding you of everything that has lived there before you.

I imagine my acoustic guitar sitting with a sarangi, quietly tuning themselves. They would bond over feelings, love, loss, longing and hope. One comes from old royal courts and folk gatherings, the other from roads, rooms and long journeys. But both exist to carry stories. I think they would agree on one thing: no matter how times change, emotion is timeless and music is just a way of remembering that.

Indian Ocean’s music has always been rooted in India. But because our sound uses guitars, drums, bass; we have a global approach to presenting traditional Indian sounds. That’s how we channel it. In our set, you’ll hear Syrian Christian hymns that are almost 2,000 years old. You’ll hear something from the puranas, in Sanskrit, again a few thousand years old. Alongside that, there will be contemporary poets, like Kabir Das.

It can’t be just one instrument. My first instinct is to say the sarangi. To me, the sarangi encapsulates so much of what Rajasthani folk music is about. But then again, it could be the khartal or it could be the halwaas. I really have no single response because Udaipur itself is a multifaceted city. I wouldn’t reduce it to one instrument. Udaipur is, in many ways, a celebration of Rajasthan itself.

If I had to take one traditional Rajasthani instrument backstage, I would choose the khartal. What fascinates me is how something so simple can create such a complex range of sounds. I imagine the khartal in conversation with an octopad. The khartal would say, “you can produce a range of sounds that I don’t but I can create rhythm patterns that would be hard for you to do.” And the octopad would reply, “my frequency range is far greater than yours. I can do other things.” And then both would say, “let’s have fun together,” and create something magical. But you realise it could just as easily be the sarangi talking to the bass guitar, so there isn’t really one answer.

India and Africa are cousins in terms of culture, cuisine and clothing. It is only natural that our music will resonate with the Indian people through its rhythm and percussion.

The Cameroonian instrument associated with this world is, for us, the meudjan (an instrument similar to a piano, with wooden keys and a calabash that allows the keys to resonate and amplify the sound). It is an instrument that combines the gentleness and calm of a lake, the strength and quiet power of the mountains and a sonic beauty reminiscent of the palaces of Udaipur.

`499 onwards. February 6, 6 pm onwards and February 7 and 8, 3.30 pm onwards. At Gandhi Ground, Udaipur.