Dreaming in Raags

I’ve been immersed in music for about three years now. It started quietly—almost secretly—as a side pursuit while I juggled a corporate job. But little by little, music grew from being a hidden part of my routine into the very essence of who I am. For the past two years, I’ve committed to it completely—body, mind, and soul.

Music has always been a part of me. I grew up in a rural, middle-class household where most people followed well-defined paths—doctors, engineers, businessmen. In that world, music wasn’t seen as a real career. But as a child, I sang at school events, relishing the moments I got to be on stage. Those small performances were my first taste of something greater.

After finishing school from a local CBSE institution, I moved to Delhi to prepare for the JEE. Eventually, I got into Thapar University in Patiala and pursued a BTech in Computer Engineering. Even there, music never left me—I kept performing and even won prizes in college competitions. Still, I kept it all in the background, never fully giving myself permission to dream.

Then came COVID. The lockdown hit during my second year of college, and I had to return home. In that sudden stillness, something shifted. With all distractions stripped away, I found myself constantly gravitating toward music. I tried to suppress it, convinced it was a phase. But the feeling only deepened. That quiet pull turned into a roaring need. I realized I wasn’t built for engineering—or the corporate life waiting at the end of it.

But when college reopened, placement season was in full swing. I told myself to be practical. I studied relentlessly, locked myself in rooms, barely saw the sun—and got placed.

Two weeks into that job, everything changed.

My father passed away.

I had dreamt of giving him my first salary, of asking for his blessing to pursue music. But fate had other plans. That loss shattered me. I stayed in the job, pretending I was okay, but inside, I was drifting—lost, numb, disconnected from life. Eventually, I couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. With support from my family, and more importantly, from within, I took the leap. I quit. No backup plan, no second option. Just faith.

That decision marked the true beginning of my music journey.

The hardest battles weren’t external—they were within. I had everything that looked “right” from the outside: a solid degree, a job, a stable path. But I felt empty. I was living a life that made others proud, but one that left me hollow. After my father’s passing, it only got worse. I couldn’t sleep. I spiraled into depression. My mind was a war zone, and I was barely surviving a life that didn’t feel like mine.

Through all of this, my brother became my anchor. He stood by me when I had nothing left to give. “I’m here,” he’d say. “Do whatever makes you happy. I’ll always be proud of you.” His belief in me never wavered. I don’t just look up to him—I worship him. His support gave me the courage to start again.

People often think struggle is about necessity. For me, it wasn’t. I had the option of living comfortably. But I chose the harder path. I chose music—not for fame, but because it was the only thing that made me feel alive.

I sought therapy. I gave myself time to heal. I started again—from scratch.

One of the toughest parts was balancing my day job with my passion. I would work overtime in IT, then rush to music classes late at night, barely sleeping. But the deeper struggle was emotional—smiling when I was crumbling inside. Pretending everything was fine when I was anything but.

Eventually, I made the call that would change everything: I resigned. Again—no roadmap. Just a promise to myself that I would try. I knew the road ahead was uncertain. But when you start walking in complete darkness, guided only by your inner fire—that’s where real transformation begins.

I found a guru and began formal training in Hindustani classical music. I built structure—daily riyaaz, learning raags, instruments, and even music production. The darkness hasn’t vanished—but now, I have a spark. A direction.

Today, I’m focused on building a strong classical foundation to support a versatile singing career. I want to sing across genres, especially in Punjabi and Bollywood music, which I love deeply. I’ve started recording, learning production, and playing instruments—not as a master, but as a devoted learner.

My dream? It’s big. I want to build a global fanbase—something timeless and universal, like Michael Jackson’s legacy. I want to take my name—and with it, the name of my village, my district, my state—to the world stage. Just like Diljit Dosanjh and Sidhu Moosewala did. I carry that mission with pride, every single day.

In the next couple of years, I want to develop my own sound, create original music, and perform on bigger stages. More than anything, I want my music—and my story—to resonate with people. I want someone out there, lost like I once was, to hear my song and feel less alone.

I didn’t choose this path because it was easy. I chose it because it was mine.

And every note I sing now is a step toward becoming who I was always meant to be.