Chandrika Tandon interview: ‘Music has a way of getting into your soul’

Tandon shares the anecdotes about her childhood in Chennai, learning from her mother who played veena, her arrival and first purchases in the US, training from masters in India, and her younger sister Indra Nooyi. The vocalist says she keeps trying to flit between cultures in her head, and not to be bound is her mantra for the short life on this planet. Edited excerpts:

How has life changed after the Grammy? And has it sunk in yet?

Well, it's still early days. It just happened on Sunday, and Monday was an intense day. Tuesday was a travel day — I got back to New York from LA — so it hasn’t really sunk in yet. But in a sense, life won’t change that much because I have a lot of musical projects underway, and they will continue with great intensity. However, what the Grammy does is introduce our music to a completely new set of listeners. It allows us to meet more people who now have the opportunity to discover what we’re doing. From that perspective, the Grammy offers greater exposure. It’s less about me — it’s more about the music.

This feels like a full-circle moment — your first album, Soul Call, was nominated years ago, and now, 14 years later, you’ve won. Does this moment mean something specific to you or is music its own reward?

It’s more than just music being its own reward. Of course, I love getting recognition. I love that I was nominated. I love that many of my albums have a devoted, almost cult following, and I’ve had that for a while. But the reason I make music is because, first, it makes me happy. And second, I make it so that everyone who listens can sing along with it, engage with it, and connect with it. I strive to keep my music simple, accessible, and immersive. For me, making music has never been about fame or fortune.

Was there a specific moment when you decided to fully commit to music, even though you had an entirely different career path?

I’ve been singing for as long as I can remember — probably before I could even speak. In fact, when I was in second grade in Chennai, I was the solo singer in a play at Holy Angels Convent. Funny enough, speaking of life coming full circle, I included that very song in the album I released last year for my grandchildren. I still remember it. Singing has always been a part of me, but about 20 years ago, I experienced what you might call a spiritual crisis. I found myself questioning everything: What is success? Why am I here on this planet? Is life just about making deals, earning money, and achieving more in the business world? Or is there something beyond that?At first, these seemed like simple questions, but they grew into deeper, more complex reflections. I asked myself, What are the happiest moments of my life? What does happiness even mean? It was a tough but necessary period of self-exploration.

Many people only begin soul-searching when they experience a crisis — when something goes wrong. I was lucky. There was no crisis. Everything in my life was fine, but I still had the clarity to ask these questions. And in that process, I realised that my happiest moments were tied to music. At that point, I didn’t want to pursue music professionally. I just wanted to sing for myself —to sing well, to learn new songs, to explore ragas, and to deepen my understanding of music. I wasn’t looking to become a concert performer; I simply wanted to immerse myself in music.

That led me on a long journey to find the right teachers. But it wasn’t easy — many teachers wouldn’t accept me. First, because I wasn’t willing to abandon my entire life to train under them. And second, because I wasn’t a young, mouldable student starting from scratch. I had a family, a business, and responsibilities, so I had to find a way to balance everything. I did crazy things to learn music. My first teacher was at Wesleyan University—far from my home in New York. I begged for a 6 AM class, and I would drive two hours in the freezing winter, singing the entire way. I’d have a two-hour class from 6 to 8 AM, then drive back home, still singing in the car, and arrive by 10:15 AM — just in time to be with my daughter when she woke up.

From Monday to Friday, I was constantly travelling for work, often flying across the country and the world. But I found ways to bring music into every part of my life. In those days, I carried a Walkman and a box of cassettes on every flight. While most people dreaded long flights, I loved them. To me, a long flight meant uninterrupted hours of listening to music. Over the years, I took music more and more seriously, but I never abandoned my other commitments. I continued working in the business world while ensuring that music remained an integral part of my life.

Do you see your approach to composition as a kind of spiritual practice or does the creative process take on a life of its own?

For me, music is how I found myself. It is entirely a spiritual practice. Music led me to meditation. In Indian music, if you aspire to be a truly great singer, especially at the level I aimed for, you cannot succeed without deep discipline. My teachers, who were masters and brilliant artists, would often tell me, “Go and work on the sa for the next half hour.” Just one note — precisely that. Even now, my practice sessions aren’t about ragas; they are exercises with four notes, repeated in continuous sequences over and over again until I achieve precision.

But here’s the thing — you cannot find the stillness of a note until you find the stillness of your mind. That’s a process. If you’re distracted, fidgeting, or overwhelmed with thoughts, it shows. One of my teachers could tell when my mind wandered and would stop me mid-song: “I know you’re thinking about something else. Come back to the class.” That’s the level of mastery I was trained under.

So I had to quiet my mind to perfect my music, which led me to deep meditation. I have done 10-day meditation retreats. I practice The Mind Illuminated (TMI), breathwork with Sudarshan Kriya, and other meditative disciplines. Eventually, this journey led me to a life of service. Because the deeper you go into meditation, the more you realise that happiness is incomplete unless you bring the world along with you. You cannot take anything with you when you leave this planet. You don’t even know the address of your next destination. So, in the little time we have, the only thing we can do is make our corner of the world better. That’s what music helped me discover — a divine, spiritual path. Is music a spiritual practice? Oh, my goodness, yes.

Also read: How Chandrika Tandon’s spiritual odyssey led to her first Grammy at 71

Now, when we talk about music for wellness, it’s important to recognise that mental health and well-being have become major conversations today. The wellness industry is a multi-billion dollar market, from meditation apps to self-care rituals. But music has always been a healing tool. We are simply connecting the dots now. Of course, you’re referring to Indian singers in this category, but devotional music has existed for centuries — bhajans, chants, and sacred compositions. Singers like Krishna Das, Jai Uttal, and Divya Prabha have introduced these traditions to new audiences. Some faced resistance — Indians weren’t always receptive to accents that didn’t perfectly pronounce Sanskrit. But their music has brought joy to hundreds of thousands of people. I believe this surge in attention is due to two key factors: The mainstream acceptance of this kind of music, and the increased focus on wellness as an essential aspect of life. It’s a beautiful confluence of circumstances.

In my own tradition, I specialise in Vedic chanting. But two albums ago, I experimented with Gregorian chants and large choir harmonies. My next project explores the fusion of Sanskrit chants with harmonised vocals. The vibrations they create are extraordinary, and this is something that needs deeper study and understanding. The other day, I received 20 to 30 emails from listeners who discovered the album because of the Grammy recognition. One woman wrote, "I’ve been playing ‘Pathway to Light’ on repeat. It transported me to another space of relaxation." She wasn’t Indian. She didn’t know Sanskrit. And yet, she felt the music’s power. That’s the magic — it transcends boundaries.

One of the most memorable performances I did was a multi-faith collaboration. We brought together African artists, Buddhist chanters, Islamic vocalists, Vedic singers, a Jewish cantor, and Greek Orthodox monks. Five traditions, one stage. We found commonalities in our sacred texts and merged them into a single musical experience. This was done for the families of 9/11 victims. I used Sanskrit words that had universal meanings — Let’s remember the goodness in people. What struck me was how deeply connected these traditions are at their core. Music, to me, is a bridge — to love, to peace, to understanding. It is the universal language of harmony.

When the Grammy was announced, many headlines framed your connection with Indra Nooyi, your younger sister. What kind of relationship do you share with her?

Well, she’s my sister, and I’m incredibly proud of her. I’ve always been proud of her, seeing her reach such great heights. I think the Indian press, in particular, loves to highlight these familial connections from a unique angle. But at the end of the day, this is about the music. It’s about people discovering and connecting with the music — it’s not just about fame or fortune. That said, my sister is an accomplished woman, and the Indian press knows her well. In our culture, the first thing people ask is, “Who’s your father?” or “Which family do you belong to?” We love to make associations. It’s neither good nor bad — it’s just how it is.

Coming back to music — this genre is, of course, your forte, and we spoke about the element of soul-searching in it. But what kind of music do you listen to beyond this? Do you confine yourself to just one style, or do you explore other genres?

Oh, I listen to everything! If you go through my albums, you’ll see that I’ve collaborated with a wide range of musicians. On Ammu’s Treasures, I worked with Béla Fleck, the world-class banjo master who has won multiple Grammys, as well as Kenny Barron, the jazz maestro and pianist, and Eugene Friesen, the extraordinary cellist. I love collaborating and experimenting. For nearly 30 years, I didn’t have easy access to Indian music in a concert-style setting because I was working all over the world. When I was in the US, I immersed myself in different musical traditions. If I lived in Brazil, I deeply explored Brazilian music. I travelled across the Northeast of Brazil — Recife, Fortaleza, Natal — places even many Brazilians haven’t visited. At one point, I probably had the largest collection of Brazilian CDs because every client and musician I worked with gifted me albums. Of course, that was before Spotify and YouTube took over.

I still remember when I first came to America. With my first salary of $5,000, I was supposed to cover my rent and food, but I spent nearly all of it on a Martin guitar and a sound system. That left me with just enough money to survive on rice and coriander chutney for weeks. But music was my priority. I had a collection of LPs — French songs, Stan Getz, Charlie Byrd, Keith Emerson, Greg Lake, Carl Palmer, King Crimson, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones. Interestingly, there was not a single Indian album in that collection at the time.

Over the years, I’ve been deeply involved in classical music and jazz. I was on the board of Lincoln Center for many years. I’ve lived in America for 47 years, and one of the best things about being in New York and travelling worldwide is that my mind remains open to different influences. I’ve spent time in monasteries listening to monks chant. I’ve recorded with the London Metropolitan Orchestra. My latest album, Shivoham: The Quest, connects the Bhoopali raga with Irish wake melodies. I keep trying to flit between cultures in my head not as a conscious effort, but because that’s how I listen to and understand music. I refuse to be bound by a single tradition. The mantra for my life is not to be bound by anything.

It really shows in the album — the richness, the vastness. Have the travels and experiences shaped your approach to music?

Of course, it does — because what it does is make you much more open-minded. In fact, when I conduct master classes and workshops with musicians — which I do often, as I’m involved with multiple music schools — I talk to them about this. I tell them that even if they are incredible musicians, it is still very important to listen widely. The logic often goes: There’s so much to be done in classical music itself, so I don’t have time to listen to anything else. The same reasoning applies to Indian classical musicians — mastering a raga can take years, even a lifetime. How does one find the time?

In fact, one of my teachers used to say, I don’t want to pollute myself by listening to other genres. That is one school of thought. But given where I come from — India, America, and, in a broader sense, the world — my cultural experience is inherently global. I don’t think in terms of fusion because I am fusion. There is so much of India in me, but there is also so much of other traditions. There is so much of America in me. For 47 years, I have lived in America longer than I lived in India, yet my roots remain deeply connected to India. I keep my traditions alive, even as I naturally blend influences. But my training has been very strong and very pure. I have worked with the most exacting masters — teachers who would push me relentlessly, making me practise the same note over and over. Even now, I continue to train with some of the most wonderful teachers and still do my exercises.

Also read: Alternative music, global healing: Indian-origin musicians strike a chord at the Grammys

I don’t always have the time to follow every artist closely. As you know, music is just one part of my life — I also have a business life and an academic life. So I don’t actively follow anyone’s music in a deep way. But if I hear something — be it a film song, a classical piece, or something from anywhere in the world — I am all ears. Because music has a way of getting into your soul, making it feel alive and excited.

Could you talk about the teachers you have learnt from?

Over the years, I have worked with an extraordinary number of teachers. It began decades ago with B.V. Raman and B.V. Lakshmanan, the twin brothers from a deeply traditional Carnatic background, who taught me for a couple of years. Then, I trained with T. Viswanathan, a great Carnatic music master and professor of ethnomusicology at Wesleyan University. He gave me a profound grounding in Carnatic music — particularly in padams and javalis. He was the brother of T. Balasaraswati, one of the greatest dancers of all time, and their style of singing is famously intricate and demanding.

Then I met Pandit Jasraj ji, who taught me extensively before entrusting my training to his most senior disciple, Pt. Girish Wazalwar. Girish Dada, who is no longer with us, gave me so much. I would travel to India, and he would set aside time to meet me in Chennai, Bangalore, or Delhi for 10-15 days at a stretch. We would work for 10 hours each day, non-stop, and I would return home with boxes of cassette tapes, filled with lessons on different ragas.

Veena Sahasrabuddhe was another of my teachers — she taught me how to open my voice. Veena Tai had one of the most glorious voices in Hindustani music, and she also had a vast repertoire of Nirguni bhajans from Kabir and Nanak. She taught me many of them. I also trained with Vijay Kichlu, founder of the Sangeet Research Academy (SRA). Even for my first album, he was the one who connected me with Pandit Tejendra Narayan Majumdar, who later became my collaborator for many albums. Tejendra ji, a true maestro, received the Padma Shri this year. I also trained with Subhra Guha and Sanjay Banerjee.

There is an entire network of teachers I have worked with, and I try to have practice sessions with whoever I can. I also collaborate with amazing musicians like Kenny Werner. Our composition sessions often feel like lessons because he approaches the same song I sing with an entirely different improvisational approach. While I stay within the constraints of my key and raga, he is happy to explore and then return, encouraging me to do the same. I’ve learned so much from that.

Of course, my first music teacher was my mother. She was a brilliant singer, always playing the veena. Many of the songs I learned in my childhood in Chennai were from her. To this day, I am always learning — if I like a song, I will take it away, think about it, and perhaps even compose something different from that tune. This is how I roll.