H wakes up and feels around for his glasses. With an eye-power somewhere around minus eight, he can barely locate his own face. With his other hand, he grabs his headphones. Then comes the phone. A few taps and the music begins to play. Only then does he get out of bed and head to the washroom.
This, to me, remains strange behaviour despite watching him do it every single day for years.
‘Gooood morning,’ I sing out, ‘Chai?’
No response.
Because, headphones!
Music for this generation is a solitary affair.
Growing up, for us music was a shared space. Our house had one radio – one large contraption the size of a microwave with a battery as large as a building brick. When Bekarar karke humein came on or the starting notes of Aaj kal tere mere pyar ke charche started to play the entire house listened. The day I learnt to distinguish Mukesh’s voice (the easiest to identify) it was celebrated like a minor achievement.
Vividh Barti remained our constant companion for years – one single channel, listened to faithfully.
Someone would identify the song at the first line, someone else trumped them by identifying it right by the opening bars while someone simply hummed along from wherever they were. Music belonged to the entire household.
When Chitrahaar came on, even the neighbours tuned in.
‘Has it started yet?’
‘Move aside give me space,’
We’d all gather in the living room. And we’d watch – no personal playlists, no algorithms.
My sister and I took it to a whole different level. Armed with blank cassettes, we would sit near the recorder and tape the entire show.
‘Nobody talk,’ we’d warn the family.
And they’d comply, even though as the youngest members of our joint family we barely had any authority. But this warning was heeded. At least they tried.
Not always successfully, though.
A cough, a giggle, a random comment, everything found its way to the recording. We listened to the songs over and over again and every interruption became a part of the song – every cough, every sneeze. Even now, when I hear those songs, the phantom interruptions play in my head.
Music feels far more private these days.
When I watch the children moving through the house with headphones attached like permanent body parts, I feel as though there is an entire section of their lives to which I have no access.
I know this is what growing up is all about. I know I should be okay with it.
Yet, a small part of me struggles.
‘Put your playlist on Google Home,’ I invite them.
What I mean is, ‘Share your music with me. Let me be a part of your world for a little while longer.’
‘I’ll make you a playlist with the ones I think you’ll like,’ N offers generously, completely missing the point.
It wasn’t always like this. There was a time, when they were younger, we listened together. While I introduced them to Few of My Favourite Things and Dancing Queen they got me singing to One Direction and Taylor Swift. Their favourites became mine too.
While they moved on to newer discoveries, I stubbornly refused to do so. Perhaps because it’s a part of their childhood I cannot let go just yet.
The children find this hilarious.
One day they discovered me singing along to Taylor Swift’s Shake it Off.
‘Maaa!’, protests H.
What?’ I say, ‘I like it.’
‘I’m so done with Taylor Swift. Listen to Lana Del Rey,’ advises N.
‘Or the Weeknd,’ H pipes up.
‘What kind of a name is The Weeknd?’ I ask, ‘Is it a man or a band?’
‘It’s one person,’ H replies with the exaggerated patience he reserves for explaining things to me.
‘Why is it spelled wrong?’ The editor in me can’t quite absorb this.
‘Because he left home and started making music on a weekend and he wanted to be different. He’s a brand, ma,’ H explains.
I try to wrap my head around this. How leaving home can become a person’s whole identity. How leaving home implies freedom and creativity.
I am overthinking, I know.
Perhaps, that is why the headphones bother me a little. Because they remind me that one day the twins too will walk out into lives entirely their own.
That said, the music will remain. I take comfort in that.
Whether it is Rafi or Swift, whether I’m happy or thoughtful, the children are home or not, music is what I turn to.
When the chores stare at me like an insurmountable task, when my thoughts are so noisy an audio book cannot make sense. I put on music. And when Kishore Kumar’s melodious Kya yahi pyar hai fills the home, the chaos begins to settle.
Then there are the lonely days. The chores are done, the children are away. The silence stretches. But when One Direction comes on with What Makes You Beautiful I am immediately uplifted.
Perhaps music has changed. It is no longer a shared family experience it once was. It belongs to individuals rather than households.
And yet, at its heart, it still does what it used to. It keeps us company. And sometimes, when the people we love are growing away from us, it helps us hold on a little longer.
(Picture created by AI).
This post is a part of ‘Mixtape Mood Blog Hop’ hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed under #EveryConversationMatters blog hop series.
I enjoyed reading your article. I have tried so many times but I can’t understand today’s music. I’m happy with my retro picks.
I have had long conversations with my teens about this new age music and perhaps I understand the angst but I still find melody missing. Our old Hindi film music married poetry with melody like no other genre could.
So many old memories got freshened up. Waiting for Chitrahar, exchanging casettes of Dil, QSQT, Aashiqui with friends.
Those were good times.
An extremely well-articulated write-up on the impact of music, and thank God, that the voices and faces of musicians might change but the positive impact remains the same even now. Through the theme of music, you have wonderfully woven the importance of adapting and accepting changing times while holding the past as close as possible. With Kishore, Rafi, Mukesh, and my favourite, Illayaraja and SPB, it takes very little effort to hold old music close to my heart. It simply stays!
True, music always stays with us in some form or the other.
Vividh Bharati shows and songs without ad breaks. Chitrahar and Rangoli were eagerly awaited. Now, we have Spotify and YouTube playlists. Those are family affairs on road trips. When all of us sing. But, otherwise, me included, I enjoy my me-time with music. I play songs loudly when I cook. I dance to the music I love. Of course, Gen Z prefers headphones.
Rachna Srivastava Parmar recently put up this amazing post…Happiness Within
I too like music played out loud. I am still not okay with the idea of headphones though the children swear the audio quality os way better when you do use them.
I can relate to music being a shared experience of the house, Tulika. Chithrahar, rangoli, and the malayalam equivalent of chithrahar time, all of it we enjoyed together. Recording songs in cassettes and playing them and singing along and learning all the songs were all part of our growing up experience.
Now my teenage boy is like how you mentioned walking around with his headphones all the time. I don’t know the music he enjoys. Sometimes he makes me listen to a song he likes and I can’t for the life me understand why would anyone like that music. And he can’t understand how can we enjoy the Indian songs that we love to listen to.
This was such a beautiful and relatable read on many levels, Tulika.
Vinitha Dileep recently put up this amazing post…Fiction Monday – 309
Thank you Vinitha. I get what you’re saying in that our children have such a different tastes from ours. A part of me regrets not introducing them to my kind of music when they were younger. That might have made a difference.
There is such simplicity in your words Tulika, that touches the heart, whenever I come across your posts.
Music has always been integral to my life too. While I cannot listen to it while writing or reading, music does follow me, and we have either an Alexa or google home in each room of our house.
I was really struck by you pointing out that music used to be communal earlier, but for the younger generation one only hears the thump through their headphones/earbuds.
p.s. I do love Weeknd’s music!
Thanks so much Harshita. I too cannot read or write with music.
PS: The son will be pleased to know your music taste matches his :-).
Music is different for this generation, but I am glad we find ways to touch a common base. Of course for people like us who saw 3 mins ad (with no skipping option!) to listen to 2 min song, the premium services do not make sense. But that’s how it is these days. Very relatable piece.
Thanks Nilshree. Times change, music also changes but it’s power to move us remains.
What a beautiful, reflective post! Loved it! In our home, a ride in the car has become one of the only spaces for shared music, albeit the playlists are far more customised than the recorded songs of Chitrahar 🙂
Car rides are a great way for a captive audience. I’m all for customised playlists as long everyone is listening to the same songs. I still feel there’s a special kind of enjoyment in listening together.
Pertinent for our times. Though the way we listen has changed and families may feel more disconnected because of it, music remains an anchor. Whether it is classic Kishore Kumar or modern pop, music ultimately serves as a comforting companion that helps parents hold on to memories as their children grow away.
Absolutely. Music in whatever form one might like it, is always comforting to every generation.
I loved reading your blog post, Tulika. I remember those days when we all used to wait avidly for Chitrahar and Rangoli, apart from the Sunday movie. Such wonderful treats! Music really binds people together. The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins and My Fair Lady were the earliest musical movies I recall. Even today, I request Alexa to pay songs from Kashmir ki Kali, Brahmachari and Anand, the kind of music that has stayed on inside my head and heart for decades.
Oooh yes. My sister and I have a special place in our hearts for songs of the 60s. Shammi Kapoor was an absolute favourite.
What a beautiful reflection. Music may have moved from the family radio to personal headphones, but its magic remains unchanged—it still comforts, connects, and carries our memories. I especially loved the image of those old cassette recordings, complete with coughs and giggles. Some songs don’t just preserve music; they preserve moments.
That’s so well put – we really did preserve moments in those cassettes.
Oh, also forgot to mention…the radio in the image above is the kind we had back then. And i loved it more than the music system we have today. <3
We had the exact same one too.
Tulika, this is SUCH A BEAUTIFUL post!
I was walking down memory lane when you started with Vividhbharati and Chitrahaar, and the entire household listening and humming together. Oh, how I miss those charming days from the past! And, music it is that often helps distract me when the chores are piled high, or motivate me when I sit down to draw and my mind draws a blank. I could read this post a hundred times and still not feel satisfied, you know.
Oh, and today Kya yahi pyaar hai will play in my mind on the loop! It’s very much a part of my Spotify library. 🙂
Gawd! I love that song too. It has all the feels :-). Glad you loved the post.
I wrote a lengthy comment, hope you got it
I did I did.
What a lovely post Tulika. You made me sooooo nostalgic. I also had recorded songs from Rangoli and Chitrahaar. Every Wednesday Chitrahaar and Sunday morning Rangoli were something I used to look forward to. Songs came randomly, and the day, any of my fav song was played, I felt like my day was made. In my Grandma’s home, we had a gramaphone. I remember listening to Begum Akhtaar, it was such a vintage feeling. We also listened to ABBA and Beatles in the gramaphone. Then came the days of two-in-one. During my college days, I was extremely fond of MTV most wanted hosted by Shehnaz Treasuriwala, I used to listen to Enrique Iglesias, Britney Spears, Celine Dion etc there. I remember, my dad screaming from the next room to tune down. Thankfully, my son listens to music on a speaker, but he listens to Japanese?Korean songs. God knows why. Sometimes he listens to Ed Sheeran. Loved this post so much, I can keep on writing.
Uff Japanese/Korean! Do the kids understand the songs I wonder. All that matters is rhythm and beat which don’t support the lyrics at all. Give me an SD Burman or a Laxmikant Pyarelal over AR Rehman anyday. The poetry that Hindi film songs used to once have, is almost gone now.
And now I really sound like the old woman I am.