The Breath I Found

Growing up in Kerala and now living in Hyderabad, I am nine years old and I go to fourth grade. Music has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. My grandma first taught me the "Happy Birthday" song on the piano when I was five. She noticed I could pick up tunes easily, so she asked my father to find a tutor. Since then I have been learning piano. My father plays too, and sometimes we play a few songs and post them on Instagram. That felt normal and happy for a long time.

Then two years ago everything changed. My family had a major road accident in Kerala. It was the worst thing I have ever been through. My chin, my hand and my legs were fractured. My lower jaw was displaced and my upper jaw went inside. I lost my front teeth. My clavicle was displaced. My lungs and lower abdomen were punctured. My liver was enlarged. I had a head injury. I was put on a ventilator. I went through many surgeries and I even had a cardiac arrest. The doctors revived me. I was in so much pain. I could not walk. I could not go to school for nine months. My parents were badly hurt too. My grandmother, even with her own health problems, took care of us. It was slow and hard to get better. I still have pain sometimes in my hands, legs and jaw. My jaw correction is not done yet.

During that time my grandma bought me a flute. Maybe she wanted me to have something to hold on to. I remember holding it and feeling empty. I could not play. I felt sad and useless. I didn’t know how to make the sounds. It was hard to breathe and blow into it because my chest and jaw hurt so much. My grandma told my father to find a tutor who could teach me the technical parts. He found Flute Gandharvas and we started classes.

The exact moment I decided to learn the flute was not like a big movie scene. It was quiet and small. One afternoon, after another painful therapy session, my grandma sat on my bed and put the flute in my hands. She looked at me with patience and said, “Try once.” I did not want to try. But then she played a small sound on it and smiled. That tiny sound felt like a little light in the dark. I wanted that light. I wanted to make that sound myself. So I decided to try. I chose to keep coming to class even when it was hard.

The early days were rough. I cried in every lesson. I felt frustrated because I couldn’t do what other kids could do. Once I got so angry that I hit my flute and its cork moved out of place. My father bought me two flutes after that — one in C scale and one in A scale. He wanted me to have the right tools. But blowing was still so difficult. I could not hold my breath. My jaw hurt when I tried. I wanted to give up many times. I remember sitting on the floor and thinking, “This is too much. I can’t do it.” I almost stopped going to class. The pain, the fear, the tears — they felt like too much to push through.

My grandma never let me give up. She started teaching me yoga. She would sit with me every morning and show me breathing exercises. At first it felt strange. I was tired and my chest felt weak. But the breathing slowly helped. The exercises made my lung feel stronger. More than that, they gave me a way to calm down when my head was full of fear. I learned to take one breath at a time.

The moment something shifted inside me happened in a small music room. It was a regular class with Harsh sir from Flute Gandharvas. I had been practicing the breathing for a few weeks. That day, before starting, my grandma helped me calm my breath. I took a long, steady breath and tried to blow. For the first time, the note came out clear. Not perfect. But it stayed. I felt my chest open a little. I remember the exact feeling — a warm, surprised relief. I looked up and my teacher nodded. My grandma had tears in her eyes and she smiled at me. I cried too, but they were different tears. They were small happy ones. In that moment I realized I could do this if I kept trying. It changed how I saw myself. I was no longer just someone who got hurt and could not walk or play. I was someone who could work on a small thing and make it happen.

After that day I practiced more. I still get frustrated. Sometimes my hands or jaw hurt and I want to stop. But now I use the breathing I learned to calm down. If I feel scared or angry, I put the flute near my mouth and breathe slow. It helps. At school, if I get nervous in front of the class, I think of that steady note and it makes me breathe right. I don’t shout or break things like I did when I was angry before. I talk to my parents or I play a few notes. The flute helped me learn patience.

My grandma sits with me in the flute classes. She helps me write the notes. She times my practice and takes videos. Those videos show me how I have improved. My father plays piano and sometimes he plays while I play the flute. My mother is teaching me violin now too. I feel grateful to God, to Harsh sir, to the mentors and teachers, and to my family for not giving up on me. Their help means everything.

Holding the flute today feels very different from the first day. Back then I held it and felt weak. It felt like something I could fail at. Now it feels like a friend you can trust. The flute is light in my hands. When I bring it to my lips I feel calm and ready. I can choose the tempo of my breath. I can make a small song and share it. The instrument that once reminded me of pain now reminds me of my strength.

Sometimes people ask me why I keep learning after such a big accident. I tell them it is because music gave me a reason to breathe again. It gave me a way to face pain without giving up. If my story helps even one person find the courage to keep going, I will be the happiest kid. I now know that I can learn patience. I can practice. I can breathe. I can make music.

— Adved A Warrier