The Melodic thread of my Life

If I could define the soundtrack of my life, it would begin and end with a raga — Reethigowlai.

Some songs stay with you like scents from childhood, clinging gently, unexpectedly comforting you through different phases of life. For me, Reethigowlai has been that ever-present fragrance, soft, soulful, and unforgettable.

My home was always filled with music. Not just any music, but music that had a life of its own.

My parents, both avid music lovers, treated (still treat) songs like sacred relics.

From the crackle of a transistor radio to cassettes spinning in tape recorders, from Doordarshan’s black-and-white nostalgia to colorful channels like SCV and Sun Music, every corner of our home echoed with timeless melodies.

One song that etched itself deep into my childhood memory was “Chinna Kannan Azhaikiran”*. My dad often tuned into it on the radio. A soft hum that would rise in the stillness of early mornings or settle quietly in the background during lazy Sunday afternoons. I didn’t know then what made it so beautiful, but I remember how it lingered with me. Days after hearing it, I would still find myself humming its gentle notes while playing or studying.

As I grew older, I learned that the song was set in Reethigowlai, a raga in Carnatic music known for its graceful yet emotional appeal. One of the very first keerthanais I learned from my music teacher was "Paripalayamam Shri Padmanabha Murare"* by Shri Swati Thirunal, one of the revered trinities of music. And that too was set in Reethigowlai.

REETHIGOWLAI …It is one of those rare ragas that can make you smile and cry, all in the same breath. It holds joy in one hand and melancholy in the other. Sometimes, even a raga that enters your heart carries a deeper connection. It becomes part of your soul.

During my school days, I watched Mudhalvan movie in the theatre, it left a deep impression on me. But what truly stayed with me was the song “Azhagana Ratchasiye”*. I loved it so much that I kept humming it at school, during lunch breaks, even while doing homework. My friends would tease me, calling it my ‘theme song’!

Little did I know then that this, too, was born from Reethigowlai.

It felt like the raga had quietly walked with me into my teenage years, shaping my musical tastes, without me even realizing it.

Then came college. A time of freedom, self-discovery, and long drives. In 2008, one song became my everyday companion: “Kangal Irandal”* from the film Subramaniyapuram. It was fresh and breathtakingly melodic. I listened to it every single day while driving to college. It became my morning ritual, my silent preparation for the day ahead.

There was something hauntingly beautiful about the way the voices wove through the music. It made you pause, think, feel. I later found out that this song, too, was composed in Reethigowlai. And yet again, the raga had found its way into a new chapter of my life. Quietly, gently, but persistently.

As life moved on, so did I. Work, responsibilities, and routine slowly took over, but music never left my side. In 2018, I found myself drawn to a Malayalam song called “Jeevanshamayi Thaane Ennill”* from Theevandi. Even though I didn’t understand every word of the lyrics, the melody spoke to me in a language beyond words. It was meditative, emotional, healing. I would play it on repeat during late-night walks or while sipping chai on my balcony.

And just like old times, I discovered almost by instinct now, that it was set in Reethigowlai.

It amazed me how this one raga had become a quiet constant through every milestone in my life. From the soft lull of childhood to the excitement of teenage love, from college nostalgia to adult introspection — Reethigowlai had been there through it all.

Now, in 2025, a new song has claimed a special place in my playlist: “Vaanam Parthu Kidanthene Mazhaiyai”* from the Tamil film Dragon. The moment I heard it, I felt something stir inside me. The voice, the arrangement, the orchestration, everything felt familiar yet new. I played it once. Then again. And again. It felt like meeting an old friend in a new city.

Yes — this too, is composed in Reethigowlai.

Seven years after “Jeevanshamayi,” the raga had returned again, in a new form, reflecting yet another version of me. Reethigowlai has been the emotional thread connecting my life’s story.

Each song had entered my life just when I needed it. It had cheered me up, soothed my pain, kept me company, and made me feel understood. That is the magic of this raga. It carries joy with a touch of sadness, and sadness with a touch of joy. It bends, curves, rises, and falls, just like life itself.

Carnatic music, with its vast ocean of ragas, holds this unique power. Each raga is like a mood, a moment, a mirror. And among them, Reethigowlai has become mine.

As a child, I dreaded the daily grind of Carnatic music practice my Amma insisted on. But now, I’m endlessly grateful to Amma for planting in me the gift of music 💓💓.

Music, after all, is not just sound. It is memory. It is therapy. It is magic. And in my life, it has been a healer, gently pulling me through the past, present, and even toward the future.

As I write this, “Vaanam Parthu Kidanthene” plays in the background. I smile, knowing the raga will find me again, in some new form, in some new season of life.

And when it does, I’ll know..... I’ve come home again !!!!