The Second Chance at Krishna’s Instrument

I spend career in Mysore, surrounded by the steady, predictable rhythms of engineering. It is a good life, a "9 to 5" existence where logic and structure rule the day. If you saw me at my desk or walking through the streets of Mysore, you would see a regular guy doing his job. But inside, there has always been a rhythmic beat that started long ago, when I was just a young boy sitting in my music teacher’s home.

Back in Udupi then, music was a family affair. My father was deeply into it; he could play the harmonium and the tabla. So did my cousin, who could sing and play a few instruments.

I had an intuitive sense for percussion. I understood the language of the drums without having to overthink it. Naturally, I followed in my dad's footsteps. I started learning the tabla, and it felt right. My Guruji taught both the tabla and the flute. While I sat there with my hands on the tabla, I would watch the other students with their flutes.

I always wanted to learn it. Even as a child, there was a pull toward that hollow piece of bamboo. But as it often happens, life moved in one direction and I just didn't speak up. It wasn't that I was hesitant or afraid; it was simply a missed opportunity. I was good at the tabla, my father was happy with my progress, and so the flute remained a quiet "what if" in the back of my mind for many years.

Decades passed. I grew up, finished my studies, and became an engineer. But that regret never really left me. It was like a small splinter you can’t quite reach—not painful enough to stop your day, but always there to remind you it’s present.

Everything changed on a random day in mid-2024. I don’t know what came over me, but I felt a sudden, deep urge to finally address that old regret. I sat quietly and I simply prayed to Lord Krishna. I asked him to give me the opportunity to learn his instrument just once more. I told him I was ready now.

It sounds like a tall tale, but it is exactly what happened: as I finished that prayer, I was scrolling through Facebook. The very next reel that popped up was an advertisement. It was Harsh sir, looking right at the camera and asking, "Do you want to learn the flute?"

I sat there in silence for a minute. That was not an algorithm cuz I never searched "flute classes near me." I took it as a clear sign from the universe. I didn’t overanalyze it or wonder if I was too old or too busy. I signed up for his foundation masterclass immediately.

I’ll be honest—I was skeptical about learning an instrument online. I grew up in the good old-school days of Gurukul teaching, where you sit at the feet of your teacher and they watch every move of your hands. I didn't think a screen could replace that. But Harsh sir’s systematic approach blew me away. It was clear, organized, and felt very personal despite the distance. I was sold. I joined the foundation course without a second thought.

In the beginning, I felt like a little boy again. I remember waiting the whole day for my first flute to arrive. It was a straight flute, and I was so anxious to see if I could actually do it. To my relief, my musical background held me up. Because of the tabla and a little bit of piano I had picked up along the way, I could feel the music inside me. I was able to play the notes effortlessly in those first few classes.

But then came the transition to the side flute, and that is where I was truly tested.

It is one thing to have music in your head; it is another thing to make your body cooperate. I could blow into the flute accurately the first time, and I could play the basic "Sa Re Ga Ma" notes. But then I hit a wall with the "Pa" note. No matter how hard I tried, my finger just would not close the hole properly. I would stretch and reposition, but the sound would crack or remain airy. It was frustrating. As an engineer, I wanted a quick fix, a manual to follow. But the flute doesn't care about your degree. It only cares about your consistency and perseverance. I had to practice that one finger placement over and over, day after day, until my body finally understood what my brain already knew.

Just as I finished the first Bhupali raga, life got in the way. Personal reasons forced me to put my classes on hold. What I thought would be a short break turned into two years of stopping and starting. I would try to return, get busy, and drift away again.

During those two years, I had to find ways to keep my spirit from dying out. When I felt my motivation slipping, I turned to the masters. I would spend hours watching Hariprasad Chaurasia sir, Rakesh Chaurasia sir, and Praveen Godkhindi sir. I watched their fingers move like water over the bamboo. I watched their breath become melody. They were my North Star.

Then, a bit of magic happened right here in Mysore. The universe seemed to know I needed a push. I had the unbelievable opportunity to witness both Praveen sir and Rakesh sir performing live in my own city. Not only did I get to hear them, but I also managed to get a selfie with both of them. Call it a blessing. Seeing them standing there, so human and yet so gifted, was the ultimate "pump" of motivation. I realized I couldn't let my flute sit in its case anymore.

I rejoined the side flute batch with a new fire. I finished the foundation course, and I didn't stop this time.

Today, I am back on the path, joined the diamond course as well. I am dedicated to reaching a level where I can stand up and give a confident performance. The flute has taught me that time isn't really lost as long as you eventually find your way back. It has given me a sense of peace that my engineering work, as much as I value it, simply cannot provide.

If you are struggling right now—whether it is with the "Pa" note or with the bigger "Pauses" that life forces on you—I want to tell you something. There is a quote from the Anime - "Naruto" that I think about often: "Never give up without even trying. Do what you can, no matter how small the effect it may have!"

I am just a regular guy from Mysore who almost missed his chance. But I asked, I listened, and I practiced. Don't let your "what ifs" stay silent forever. Pick up the instrument. Try one more time. The music is waiting for you to let it out.

Blessings from Lord Krishna....

— Madhukar Mallya, Mysore