Dear Krishna,
Happy 50th and welcome to the club.
This feels like a good moment to pause and say thank you, both as a rasika writing about an artist and as a friend looking back with affection.
You have shaped my musical life in ways I did not even realize while it was happening. As a listener, you taught me to slow down, to stop chasing fireworks, and to sit with music that breathes. Your relaxed approach to singing, your refusal to hurry a phrase, and your unwavering commitment to music and musicality, even while questioning form, content, and structure have completely changed how I listen. I may not agree with all your experiments and explorations but I am sure that is the only way to expand the horizon. Personally, I no longer listen for the so-called high points. I listen for honesty, intent, and the silence between notes. That shift is entirely your doing.
I have followed you across cities, seasons, and contexts with the kind of dedication that would worry any sensible person. While living in New Jersey, I traversed from Boston to Washington DC, moving from one concert to the next. In Texas, it has been Houston to Austin to Dallas. We had a fair bit of fun in New York city and in Austin. How can I forget the Karpooram Narumo you sang sitting in our driveway!
The highlight of all my trips, of course, was December 2024, when you were awarded the Sangita Kalanidhi. I still remember arriving in Chennai after an absurdly long journey just to hear you at the Music Academy, sustained more by excitement than sleep. The hall overflowing, people listening from outside, the quiet intensity on stage, and you visibly moved by your own music at moments. Those images stay with me.
We have had our share of conversations, discussions, arguments, and disagreements, which is perhaps the most reliable indicator of a real friendship. I still remember the affection you have for my parents and especially for my mother. You gave a moving speech on her 80th birthday. I am glad there were occasions when I could help you in small ways, and I cherish those experiences. I am especially proud that I have been able to translate the lyrics of many Tamil songs you sing into English. Somewhere along the way, that effort helped me discover myself as a translator, and I seem to be doing reasonably well on that front.
I make presentations for a living, but you remain one of the finest presenters I have listened to. You have a rare ability to speak about deeply technical ideas without making a lay listener feel excluded. You never talk down, never oversimplify, and yet make complex ideas feel approachable. Many times, I have walked into your lectures knowing I would not understand everything and have always walked out feeling richer, more curious, and eager to listen again. That is a gift.
What I admire most, though, is the human being behind the musician. Your openness to other musical forms, your genuine collaborations, and your insistence on bringing accompanists to the center of the stage rather than keeping them in the background have quietly expanded the moral universe of our concert spaces. Your work in recognizing instrument makers and other non performing artisans who remain the backbone of our musical ecosystem. Especially your writing on mridangam makers, your collaboration with the Jogappas, your work in Urur Olcott programs, and such, have helped many of us see music not merely as performance, but as shared labor, shared history, and shared dignity.
You have never separated music from life, and that, to me, is your greatest contribution. You have shown that tradition is not something to be preserved in a glass case, but something that stays alive only when it is questioned, stretched, and loved fiercely.
I wish you many wonderful years ahead. May the coming decades bring you the same curiosity, courage, mischief, and depth that have defined your journey so far. And selfishly, I pray you continue to move, disturb, comfort, and enthrall listeners like me for many years to come.
With affection, admiration, and friendship.
Rajesh










