Basic Income for the Arts

Big news for the creative world — and something India could truly take inspiration from. 🌞🎨

Ireland has just made its Basic Income for the Arts permanent!

Artists, writers, musicians, and performers will now receive around €325 a week (~₹1.25 lakh/month or $1,500) a steady income that lets them focus on creating rather than merely surviving.

The initiative began as a 3-year pilot in 2022 with about 2,000 participants, and it worked so well that it’s now here to stay. The Irish government calls it “an Investment in Imagination.”

And rightly so. Because when creativity isn’t suffocated by rent or bills, it begins to pay attention to truth, to culture, to beauty, to everything that makes us human.

As all societies grapple with the growing threats that AI poses to jobs and livelihoods, many policymakers and researchers will now be watching Ireland’s bold experiment closely.

One reason Ireland has managed to break through global hesitation around such policies is its strong public support not just from artists, but from citizens at large. The roots of this support go back to the COVID-19 lockdowns, when the value of art, culture, and shared imagination became undeniable, and furlough programmes helped people survive sudden job losses.

This could be a defining model for how societies choose to value creativity. Imagine if India took a step like this treating art not as a luxury, but as a public good.

If creative people had the time and stability to simply create, what wonders might emerge?

Read more here

Swar Sannidhya – Understanding the relation and interplay of musical notes

Embarking on a life-changing, eight-day odyssey led by Vidushi Anuradha Kuber and Dr. Chaitanye Kunte, alongside Shri Saumitra Kshirsagar and Shri Keyur Kurulkar. This experience was nothing short of transformative. Surrounded by such an exceptional group of individuals, I found myself deeply grateful for the opportunity to learn, interact, and grow in their presence. The support I received throughout the workshop was invaluable. I felt enveloped in a tapestry of wisdom, gratitude, and unparalleled learning.

Having attended numerous music workshops in Delhi, from half-day sessions to five-day intensive workshops, I've often heard the same question: "How to sing in a high tempo?" The quest for mastering high-tempo singing often dominated but was still challenging. On the very first day of Swar Sannidhya, Anuradha Tai dispelled this fear by making us sing a gat in Raag Maru Bihag, composed by Dr Aravind Thatte. We began with a slower tempo, memorising the composition, and gradually increased the speed. Before we knew it, we were effortlessly singing at 420 bpm, seamlessly synchronising our voices with the rhythm of the composition.

In the following days, we delved into intricate nuances of Raag Maru Bihag, Virndavani Sarang, Mishra Kafi, and explored the depths of Raag Yaman and Bhupali through Sargam Geet. We were immersed in the rhythmic cadence of Natvariye Tarana in Raag Audav Bageshri and embraced a melodic journey through a Raag Malika, weaving together diverse ragas based on the time in which they are to be sung. The pedagogy was simple and traditional where music learning is essentially a Guru-mukhi vidya. We weren't allowed to take written, video, or audio notes during the sessions. Instead, compelling us to internalise compositions and render them from memory, created small segments of raag elaborations, and presented them resulting in fostering a deep connection with the music. Only later did we record our learnings in notebooks for lifelong reference.

Dr. Chaitanya Kunte Sir sessions were equally enlightening. He explained various raag classification systems, both ancient and modern, detailed the nuances of identifying raag ang, and clarified our doubts with remarkable simplicity. His humorous approach made complex topics easily understandable and memorable. Engaging listening sessions enriched our musical palate, as archival treasures were unveiled, reshaping our perceptions and leaving an indelible imprint on our auditory sensibilities. Further, having learned Kunte Sir compositions previously during our regular classes, it was indeed a pleasure to meet him, sit in front of him, and learn with him.

Most of us have heard about the 22 shrutis in Hindustani classical music, but the concept often seemed elusive. Shri Saumitra Kshirsagar demystified the science and mathematics behind the physical configuration of Śhruti swara arrangement on a veena instrument, corresponding to 22 Shrutis in a Saptak. It was a mind-blowing exercise. Cracking the notes, close to the correct one felt like a victory. Saumitra ji didn’t just explain the concept on paper; he played and sang the shrutis, demonstrating their usage in various raags. He also showed us how to play these on the iTabla Pro app. I realised that most of us were hardly using this application to its full potential.

We had two sessions on understanding the Tanpura, conducted by the immensely talented Shri Keyur Kurulkar. He taught us how to make, tune, change the strings, and take care of the Tanpura. During practical sessions, we tuned the Tanpura ourselves. Throughout the workshop, acoustic tanpuras were available at the venue for us to practice, allowing us to understand the different overtones. Spending time with this instrument was a highlight for me. I would quickly grab my meals and rush back to practice with the Tanpura. The younger students at the venue also helped me practice the bandish we learned along with playing the tanpura during break time.

In the sacred space of Swar Sannidhya, amidst the harmonious interplay of melody and rhythm, I found not just instruction, but illumination. Each note resonated with the collective wisdom of generations, offering a glimpse into the infinite expanse of musical possibility. As I reflect on this transformative journey, I am filled with gratitude for the privilege of being part of this immersive experience, where every moment was a symphony of discovery and growth.

Here is some glimpse of the eight days.

Swar Sannidhya was more than just a workshop—it was a profound journey into the depths of classical music, reshaping my understanding and appreciation of the art form. I can’t wait for the next session of the same and I hope to build up my knowledge and skill and come back better prepared for the next one.

Fear and flashbacks amidst Delhi's school bomb threat

Yesterday began like any other day, with the usual hustle and bustle of sending my daughter to school and getting ready for work. Little did I know that a simple news flash would reignite memories of past traumas that I might faded after the Covid onset. 

I was in my office, sitting on my desk, engrossed in my tasks when a colleague approached me, asking in which school my daughter studied. I replied with name of school not knowing what was flashing in the news. My colleague informed me about the treat received by schools and also that some schools are planning evacuation. My heart skipped a beat as I felt a chill run down my spine. 

Immediately, I dialled the school's number, the phone seemed to ring endlessly before someone answered. With bated breath, I inquired about the situation, relief flooding over me as I learned that my daughter was safe but would be kept inside until further notice. The school administration assured me they were taking necessary precautions, with police present and the premises thoroughly searched for any suspicious objects. They also mentioned I could pick up my child if desired.

Without a moment's hesitation, I rushed to pick up my daughter from school. On the way, I called my husband and he was unaware too as there was no communication from the school yet. The usually familiar route seemed unnervingly long yesterday, each passing minute filled with dread and apprehension. Along the way, I couldn't help but recall the chilling events of the past that still haunt me to this day.

The regular route to school seemed like an eternity, the sight of fire brigades and ambulances serving as stark reminders of the fragility of life. Memories flooded back of the terror attack on the Parliament of India in 2001, where my father worked. The streets of Delhi transformed into a warzone, and the Watch and Ward personnel who lost their lives that day were our neighbours – their absence a constant reminder of the horrors endured.

And then there were the 2005 Delhi serial blasts, a day when my family narrowly escaped tragedy by mere minutes. My mother and sister were in the vicinity, their usual trip to the local market for Diwali shopping spared by fate. The thought of how close we came to losing them still sends shivers down my spine.

As I finally reached the school and embraced my daughter tightly, I couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and sorrow. Gratitude for her safety, but sorrow for the world she's growing up in – a world where fear and uncertainty seem to lurk around every corner.

But the toughest part was yet to come – explaining to my 8-year-old daughter why she was being picked up early from school. How do you convey the darkness of the world to a child who believes in nothing but beauty and goodness? It's a delicate balance, wanting to shield her from the harsh realities of life while instilling in her a sense of hope and resilience.

Yet amidst all these, one thing remains constant – the resilience of a mother's love. Despite the fear and the flashbacks, I will continue to hold my daughter close, to cherish every moment, and to pray for a brighter, safer tomorrow.

In such times, we must hold onto hope and stand united against the forces that seek to divide us. For it is love, courage, and solidarity that will ultimately triumph over fear. And as a mother, I will do everything in my power to ensure that my daughter grows up in a world where she feels safe, loved, and valued.

Failures are important milestones

Today, I am typing this directly on my blog. What prompted me to write about failure are the following incidents;

1. Yesterday, my daughter expressed reluctance to attend her tennis class because none of her friends were going; they were all preoccupied with preparing for their final examinations.
2. This morning, a message in the parents' WhatsApp group caught my attention.

As you can see from the image above, my daughter is studying in class 2. Is it sensible to subject them to such stress at such tender ages? We have a more or less fixed routine, which might change for holidays, festivals, or family events, but preparing for examinations is part of our daily routine. We practice what we learn every day. Does it seem silly to you?

After the mid-term evaluation PTM (parents-teachers meeting), my daughter asked me about her academic performance. I shared her progress honestly, acknowledging areas of improvement and slight declines. I told her that she has improved in Hindi and there is a slight decline in her performance in Maths. Science and English are the same, and overall, she did well. However, she only seemed to remember her performance in Hindi and Mathematics and reported the same to her dad. I was there during this father-daughter conversation, and I explained to her that moving from an A to a B+ is not bad. It can happen to anybody, and it will happen again. The important thing is to know where you stand and what you need to do about it. What I wish to convey through this example is that children also understand their academic performance, results, successes, and failures. It is important that they grasp the significance of these aspects. This can only happen if they are allowed to think and decide for themselves. If we continue to subject them to pressure, they will learn and perform for their parents, not for themselves.

Moreover, a 100% success rate is another disadvantage.

Let me share another example to explain this: My daughter won second place in a singing competition, and everyone around praised her performance. As a parent, I was also happy and shared this on social media. However, she was unaware of the compliments received on social media; she only knew about the compliments from the judges, other parents, and our relatives and friends. She is known for her singing abilities, and we have really worked hard for this performance.

But after winning this competition, she was on cloud nine, filled with pride that was so evident in her attitude. No matter how hard I tried to explain that it’s the hard work that matters, not the trophy, she remained overwhelmed with this victory. She needed to understand that her competition is with herself, and the aim is to be better than her past self. For this, I felt she needed to taste failure because this will happen eventually. Thankfully, she understood this very soon, as I participated in a singing competition a few weeks later and received the same compliments without winning or scoring any position. She was grounded without tasting failure but with the understanding that winning or losing doesn't matter, what matters is how well you prepare yourself and present with confidence.

Regarding the second matter, a message surfaced on the parents' WhatsApp group, originating from a fellow parent who is a native Hindi speaker. Despite my daughter's proficiency in Hindi, both written and verbal, she often expresses a preference for English and Science, citing Hindi as challenging due to the complexities of "bari matra" and "choti matra." I asked her why she found these matras confusing as she excels in dictations. Her response was illuminating: "Everyone says it's difficult." This sentiment was echoed in the morning message from the group. The pride we feel when our children can fluently converse in English is not the same as when they can recite a poem in Hindi. I often wonder why.

Interestingly, my daughter wasn't even aware of my proficiency in English until the COVID lockdown necessitated my participation in online meetings from home. In our household, we predominantly converse in Bengali, and I make a concerted effort to speak Hindi without interjecting English words into our daily exchanges. To her, I emphasised on beauty of Hindi language, highlighting its role in classical compositions (all bandish that she learns is in Hindi), and there is a wealth of captivating stories exclusively available in Hindi literature. 

Children absorb things from their surroundings; they learn much faster than we can think. Allowing them the freedom to explore and experience both success and failure is essential. Both achievements and setbacks serve as crucial markers in their learning journey. Creating an environment that fosters acceptance of both outcomes with a smile is vital. 

These reflections are deeply personal, and I invite fellow parents to share their perspectives and experiences on this journey of nurturing resilient and self-aware individuals. Let's learn from one another's insights and collectively empower our children to embrace the richness of both success and failure.

Some conversations with my child

I visited World Book Fair, hosted at Pragati Maidan, New Delhi about two weeks ago with my 7 year old. They had an amazing kids’ section with a variety of books on friction, science, history craft, music etc. My daughter was jumping and dancing with excitement, running from one counter to another. In one such stall, she was stopped to introduce to a book on Indian Gods and Goddesses. The staff there read the first page of the book for her and then turned towards me. He was very proud of the content of the book and was claiming it to be the best thing a child could get. I politely refused because if she believes in the existence of God, she will definitely believe in the existence of devils too for which I don’t think she is ready right now. 

This triggered me to write about some of the conversations that we (mother and daughter) have at home about religion, surnames etc. I am not sure how to tackle these, she is influenced by many things/beliefs in her surroundings. I would love to know if your child asks similar questions and how you deal with them. 

 

Watering the sun

One evening while returning from school cum daycare, she said, “Mumma, once I become an astronaut, I can go to the sun to give water”. She, for the last one and a half years, is saying that she wants to become an astronaut and a dancer. We had this conservation about her life goals earlier where she was confused to choose between one of two and I told her that if she plans well, she can be both. So I was aware that she wants to be an astronaut and the possible reasons I thought were the books she reads and movies she watches. I was surprised to hear that she wants to go to the sun to water it. I asked her why she wants to go and water the sun and if she knows that nobody has yet reached the sun because it is too hot. She replied, “because, everyone, in the morning, should water the sun, we can then have our wishes fulfilled.” I asked her what is her wish that she wants the sun to fulfil and did she had ever seen me watering the sun. I also asked her if she think the sun needs water or not. We really had a fun conversation. 

 

Family

There have been several occasions when my daughter asks me why I am not called “Snigdha Ghosh”. Once she said the same in front of my husband to which he immediately clarified that he is not the one prompting her to ask this. I didn’t need his clarification for sure 😊. She somehow thinks that a family is one that shares a common surname. My husband and our daughter use “Ghosh” as surname and I use my parental surname. We intentionally didn’t add both our surnames for our child and agreed that she will use her father’s surname. At the same time, I have always insisted on using just the first name while introducing ourselves, be it verbal or written. I have raised objections in front of her when someone says that one should always use full name. I have explained to her why I am Snigdha Kar and not Snigdha Ghosh, that I am daughter of my parents too, they are also my family and marrying and coming to Ghosh family doesn’t separate me from Kar family thus my name is Snigdha Kar. A family is not identified with surnames they use but with the bond of love that is there for each other. A family could be anything, not just father, mother, you and your siblings, it can be more, it can be less…love is what makes a family. 

 

What’s my religion?

I was quite shocked when she directly asked me what’s her religion. I was definitely not prepared for this and I didn’t get any context from her as well. My spontaneous reply to her was that she is born into a Hindu family but what religion she belongs to is something that she needs to identify as she grows. I told her that I am also born into a Hindu family, but I don’t follow the religion as such. I visit temples, mosques, churches and gurudwara, I sometimes do Buddhism chanting and she is aware about this. I also told her that as I have matured, I have decided to say mankind as my religion and nature as my god. She needs to grow up a bit more to understand and decide for herself and I don’t know what comes next in this series of questions. At home, we do not have any holy book or god’s idol. The sacred part of our home is our music corner. Respecting the instruments, books as well as food one eats is a must in our home. I love her compassion towards the small insects in our house. 😊

 

How can one be prepared for such questions!!!

"Would you say you are more of an environmentalist or an artist?”

I frequently heard this question wherever I go, be it at work, at my music class or at a family gathering. Everyone is keener to know the other “ME”.

For many years, my response to this has been, “an environmentalist”, not because it was necessarily true, but because I sensed it would win me more respect. As an undergraduate student, music had been my therapy, my cathartic release. But in this competitive world, I wanted to be seen as just as dedicated to my work as those around me, who appeared completely undistracted by unprofessional pursuits. So, I left my music by the wayside—but it wasn’t long before I felt a massive void in my life.

After working for more than 15 years as an environmental educator and communicator, the pandemic gave me an opportunity to think and reflect. Academically, I am a zoologist and I loved doing research. As a student, I was often told I excelled at it. And I think, that was the point where I started giving up on my passion for music. Humming a Bollywood song in bathroom was the only thing I never gave up. So, during the covid lockdown, I started learning Hindustani Classical music. The daily practice (riyaaz) is meditation for me, I feel blessed, I am calm, more focused and more organised at work and at home. And I must say, the joy of getting Sa (first music note) right as soon as you play the tanpura is out of the world.

I am lucky to be working with an organisation who are serious about the health and well-being of its employees. Since music has been my drug to happiness during the tough covid time, I thought of starting a music club at my workplace. A couple of colleagues came together and proposed this idea and it was approved in no time. We started calling ourselves "Soz Souls" and today we are a group of 60 people interested in vocal and instrumental music, both Indian and Western. 

We have theme based musical gathering once every month where people interested in music can come and participate. With a bit of hesitation about my ability to sing, I started performing in these monthly events without this feeling that I had anything to hide. My lunch time, and travel time conversation with colleagues of our cluster has changed after knowing that they are also interested in music. We now discuss raag music, western music, instrumental music etc. during our free time. Chatting with the other colleagues, I have realised many shared my concern that peers might interpret a passion for art as a lack of professionalism or, at the very least, a distraction. But over the course of these evening events, I found myself at peace with the two halves of my identity.

Since then, I have continued to embrace all of myself. While completing writing/designing tasks for GIZ, I sometimes hum lines of a song I heard on the way to office. Whenever time permits, I started participating in other health initiatives such as birding group meetings, soul food and 15 minutes activity break from my office desk.

The happy "me" is more productive at work and some peers have seen the value of this outside interest; others have been sceptical too. But when I have my own doubts, I think of many roles that we anyway play in our daily life, balancing professional and personal lives and I feel confident that having a passion for environment as well as music is possible.

So, yesterday when a colleague asked me the same question, I very proudly said, “Both.” 

What we are born with?

Do you see dead bird bodies sometimes on the road or in a park? A bird that died due to predator attack or illness or any other factor. We as adults conveniently ignore this right? But I remember, as a child, whenever we (myself and group of friends) saw a dead bird in our locality, we use to dig a hole on the ground and burry the bird.

No, this post is not about birds…

This is actually about what we learn as child. We, at age of 7-8 years already knew that the dead bodies must be burned or buried, otherwise the soul wander around, it doesn’t get peace even after death.

Yes, our action back then shows compassion toward that poor bird but looking back I am wondering why it was so important for a very young child to know that there is peace after death and one can get that if their dead bodies are burned or buried with respect, performing all rituals for religion they believe and for society. And then, there is concept of heaven and hell. Donating seems to be greatest virtue of an individual, a gate pass to the heaven. 

Our societal rituals also consider Kanya daan (donating your daughter to her husband during marriage ceremony) as the maha daan (greatest donation). This simple indicated that a female child is nothing but a property that father can donate. Here also, mother do not have the right to do Kanya daan.

We grow learning these but what is that we are born with?

I am born with brain (Central Nervous System), heart (Circulatory System) and eight other integrated systems that practically runs my body. This is all that I own. I do not own my female child, I just gave birth to her. She is an individual with her own body, mind and soul…

I feel the only thing I can donate is myself because that is what I was born with, all other things, are accumulate from this world, they are not mine. The blood in my veins can only live for approximately 120 days, it doesn’t stay there for lifetime. And when I donate blood, I am getting it replenish within 24 hours.  Blood is something that you own, donating it will make you happy and could save four lives.

I have taught my 6 year old daughter that when I die, my body goes to a hospital. My husband knows that no last rituals are to be done for me, I don’t want him to skip non-vegetarian food for 13 days just because I died. With the hope that I might help others to continue living, all my vital organs which can be transplant will go to the needed and rest of body is for medical students for practical demonstration. I don’t need any last ritual, and I sincerely hope my family remember this as my last wish.