Harmonies Redefined – The Trailblazers series: Melodious journey of Aruna Sairam

It begins with her voice. Deep, resonant, and textured, Aruna Sairam’s voice does not conform to the sweet, high-pitched ideal often romanticised in Carnatic music. Yet, it is precisely this voice that has carried her across continents, connected her to audiences beyond language, and transformed the very perception of what a classical musician can be. Her music doesn’t arrive with thunder; it unfolds with quiet conviction, like a truth remembered. And behind that voice is a journey that defies linearity — rooted in tradition, tempered by inner doubt, and ultimately freed by a deep, personal search for authenticity.

Padma Shri Aruna Sairam, a renowned Carnatic vocalist, goes down memory lane to share how it was she “started loving” her voice and her voice started loving her back.

Born in Bombay (now Mumbai), into a home where music was not a career but a way of life, Aruna was raised in an atmosphere where melody was as integral as breath. Her parents, Sethuraman and Rajalakshmi, bound by a shared love for music, passed their devotion down to their children. Her mother (Rajalakshmi), originally from a village near Trichy (Tiruchirappalli in Tamil Nadu), brought with her the rich legacy of Tamil culture. While her father used to work with Indian Railways yet he ensured that music remained central to their lives. By the age of 10, her mother had already imparted the basics and an impressive repertoire of more than 200 to 250 pieces to Aruna. But, the idea of becoming a performer never occurred to her. She was also academically inclined, dreaming of a life in science. For many years, music was simply something she loved and not something she pursued as a vocation.

This began to shift with the arrival of her guru, the formidable T Brinda — Brindamma (Brinda amma) — whose decision to teach in Aruna’s modest home in Mumbai was in itself extraordinary. For 10 years, Brindamma spent three months annually with the family, to live and impart rigorous, traditional training to Aruna who was only 10 when she became a student. In fact, Aruna was added to Brindamma’s pool of students almost by accident since the latter had come to teach established vocalists but Aruna found herself swept into their orbit and became a “default student”. The discipline of those years shaped her fundamentally. Brindamma was warm but firm, and there were clear lines drawn in the sacred guru-shishya relationship. Thus Aruna’s respect for tradition was formed not only through notes and compositions, but also in the ethos of how music was lived.

Still, even with years of classical training behind her, she faced a unique internal struggle: her voice. Unlike the bright timbres celebrated in Carnatic circles, Aruna’s voice was darker, fuller, and sat in a lower register. “My biggest handicap was my voice,” she recalls with disarming honesty. For a long time, she felt out of place. It was not until she stopped trying to change her voice and instead began understanding it that something shifted. Through years of introspection and listening, and through countless hours spent absorbing the nuances of maestros across genres and continents, she came to this realisation that transformed everything: “There is nothing called an imperfect voice in God’s creation.” Her voice, which was once a source of doubt, became her identity. It took over a decade of deliberate work— learning how to use it, shape it, and, above all, express through it — before Aruna could finally say, “I started loving it (my voice), and it started loving me.”

This inward journey opened the doors to a fearless outward expansion. Once she made peace with her voice, Aruna began to explore beyond the formal borders of Carnatic performances. She collaborated with German and French musicians, flamenco artistes, jazz players, and north Indian classical stalwarts. Her work with artistes such as Shankar Mahadevan, U Srinivas, Dominique Vellard, and Vijay Iyer became expressions not only of fusion, but also of conversation. She did not approach these partnerships with the intent to impress, but entered into these with openness, curiosity, and respect. Whether it was composing for dance, performing jugalbandis, or merging Carnatic ragas with Gregorian chant, the through line was her sincerity. The turning point came when once in Chennai, which is a bastion of conservative Carnatic audiences, she performed with Vellard in a simple concert of just voice and tambura. The response received was overwhelming: a 15-minute standing ovation and a review in a newspaper calling it “a breakthrough idiom.” That evening crystallised her belief that when something is true to one’s essence, it will resonate even in the most traditional spaces!

Her relationship with tradition was never about blind adherence, nor was her experimentation an act of rebellion. She approached her innovations with reverence, often inserting rarely-heard compositions into rigidly structured Carnatic formats or speaking to her audiences on stage. This was something nearly unthinkable for a female artiste three decades ago. But she never saw these as acts of defiance. “No malice,” she recalls, adding, “Everyone comes from their own conditioning.” This is because her intent was always to build a connection between the artiste and the audience, between music and meaning. She would first sing, establish a musical bond, and only then would she gently introduce the story behind a composition, offering the listeners an emotional anchor.

Through it all, she remained grounded in her classical moorings and never stopped performing ultra-traditional concerts. She even chose to return regularly to conservative venues, to stay connected to her source. At the same time, she embraced the world — its languages, its sounds, its rhythms. Whether singing an abhang, a Bengali bhajan, or a Tamil kriti, she made each piece her own, not by imitating native accents but by offering something truthful. Thus her listeners never questioned her authenticity, and always felt a connection.

Spirituality quietly permeated her music. She avoids overt rituals before a concert, and her preparation is deeply inward. Silence, breathing, and reflection take the place of loud rehearsals. On the concert day, the home becomes a sanctuary where her husband and family, profoundly supportive, give her the space she needs. Once on stage, she surrenders entirely. “My audience is my God,” she says, adding, “Whatever happens, I will give my best.” At times, she experiences flashes of transcendence — brief, luminous moments that remind her why she sings — but these do not last.

Aruna’s career truly came into its own in her forties and fifties; a late blooming she attributes to the long inner preparation that preceded it. She has little time now to mentor full-time students in her own style, though she teaches online and conducts masterclasses. She passionately believes that classical music must excite the younger generation, and that it’s the responsibility of artistes to present it in ways that are relevant. She is also embracing technology, working with a small team to archive her recordings, and dreams of learning studio production as well as digital dissemination.

Despite her stature, Aruna remains remarkably humble, and sees her life not as a carefully plotted ascent but as a series of unexpected blessings. She speaks of her family with deep gratitude, of her collaborations as spiritual lessons, and of her audience as divine. Even her idea of a vacation is simple — quiet days at home, cooking, resting, doing nothing.

If there is a single composition that encapsulates her journey, it is a 16th-century Tillana she often performs, which is traditional and historic yet electrifying in its emotional impact. “It has changed my life,” says Aruna, whose music, like the Tillana, spans centuries yet touches the ‘now’. It invites listeners into a space where emotion, devotion, and innovation coexist.

Ask about her legacy, and she offers no grand declarations. Instead, she speaks of intention. “Everything is a bonus,” she says, adding, “I expect nothing and every time I sing, I try to give everything.” In those few words lies the essence of Aruna Sairam: an artiste who is shaped not by ambition but by surrender while being grounded in tradition yet open to the world, and always anchored in the truth of her voice.