The first day of a new semester at Svar-Ganga College of Music was always chaotic. The halls buzzed with nervous energy, echoing with the clatter of tabla beats and scales rising and falling like uncertain promises. For Nandini Murthy, this was supposed to be a fresh start. A chance to leave behind the suffocating expectations of her conservative hometown in Mangalore and the ache of her father’s recent passing. Here, amid the discipline of classical training and her scholarship dreams, she planned to find her voice—both literally and otherwise.

She was early, of course. Her kurta crisp, notes organized, hair braided neatly down her back. As she slipped into the practice hall, the scent of wood polish and incense grounded her. She sat on the mat, tanpura by her side, and began humming her morning riyaaz—her anchor. Her notes were steady, soft, reverent.