Suma Sudhindra is the kind of person who leaves you with more than just answers. With her thick, kohl-rimmed eyes and a presence that is both warm and quietly commanding, she carries the confidence of someone who has spent a lifetime pushing boundaries. Every challenge she has faced has only strengthened her resolve, and that resilience is reflected in the way she speaks—measured, thoughtful, and filled with stories that seamlessly turn into life lessons.

A celebrated veena exponent, teacher, innovator, and cultural leader, Suma has never been content with simply following tradition. Whether it was choosing music as a profession when few educated women did, pioneering fusion music despite criticism, or designing the patented Tarangini Veena to solve a problem musicians had accepted for decades, she has consistently questioned convention while remaining deeply rooted in classical music. Her work with the Indian Music Experience Museum, Chowdiah Memorial Hall, and countless students reflects the same philosophy: preserve tradition, but never stop reimagining it.

What makes time with Suma truly memorable is not just her remarkable journey, but the perspective she offers. She speaks with the conviction of someone who believes that knowledge must be earned through discipline, curiosity, and the courage to embrace change. Every conversation with her feels like a masterclass—not only in music, but in life—and long after it ends, her words continue to stay with you.

In conversation with Suma Sudhindra

Can you describe the journey of how you got into music?

I grew up in Basavanagudi, where it was common for children to learn music, dance, or a sport outside school. I began with vocal music before switching to the veena. Starting young made learning easy.

By the age of 20, I had completed my Vidwath examination with first rank in the state. Although I was winning competitions, I was planning a career in the IAS, banking, or teaching—not music.

That changed after I attended a concert by the legendary Chitti Babu. I knew I wanted to learn from him, though I had no idea how. By sheer coincidence, musician Shyamala Bhave heard me play, called Chitti Babu on the spot, and took me to Chennai the very next day.

Training under him transformed my life. It opened doors to the music world, and within a short time I was performing professionally. At 21, I left behind my other career plans and chose music instead.

How was the experience of competing against people who had a strong musical family background ?

It was actually quite easy because I wasn't very focused on winning. I simply took part in competitions, and wherever I went, I seemed to win a prize. I'd come back home happy, and everyone in college would celebrate. Life felt very simple then.

When I look at the next generation including my own daughters I see how different it is. They knew exactly what they want by the time they are in the 10th standard. We weren't like that. We simply followed the path everyone else was taking. It was a much simpler time.

What was your parents' reaction when you decided you wanted to pursue a musical career? 

Nobody expected me to come this far. The amount of hard work I put in during those two years surprised everyone. My father passed away when I was eight, and my mother thought I would probably teach music and perform a few concerts. She never imagined I would pursue it as a full-time career.

When I started, very few women were in the field, and we were among the first generation of educated women to choose music as a profession. It wasn't considered a conventional career then, unlike today, when many talented young people confidently choose music full-time. We were among the first to take that leap.

Can you describe the few battles that you had to encounter while making your mark as a musician?

I never saw those challenges as struggles—I enjoyed them. I've always loved taking on something difficult, and if I set my mind to it, I'll do everything I can to achieve it. Those challenges are what shaped me.

When I started, there were very few women instrumentalists, and a career in music demanded constant travel. It wasn't like a regular 9-to-5 job. I was among the first musicians to tour countries like the US and Singapore with the veena, and that came with its own set of challenges. But I chose to embrace them, and that's what made the journey so rewarding.

Is there something that your guru said or taught you that you still remember? 

Yeah, he told me not to imitate him. He said, develop your own style. He came to one of my concerts and said, I'm so happy you don't play like me. You will make it big. So that's one advice he gave me, and I stuck to it. And also because I had learnt veena for twelve years from a very different guru, it would have been a hybrid style anyway.

So it helped me to develop my own style. And because I didn't come from a family of musicians, it helped me to have an open mind. I was always open to a lot of ideas.

How did you develop your own music style?

It evolves. In classical music, everything takes time.

The thing is, you have to be focused and you need to do your riyaz the right way. What you see at the end of it is one hour of concert or two hours of concert, but behind that there is a huge practice, huge thinking which goes. I think if you do that, you develop your own style.

You formed your own band Megha, during a time when fusion was not very common. What made you go forward with the idea anyway?

Looking back, I feel everything in my life fell into place at the right time, much like how I found my guru. Around that time, veena player Vemu Mukunda invited me to perform in a fusion concert with the renowned trumpeter Maynard Ferguson, who was visiting India. Since Vemu was injured, he asked me to step in.

That experience introduced me to Bangalore's emerging fusion music scene. Fusion was still in its early days—we were among the first few bands experimenting with it. I loved pushing boundaries, and because I was open to exploring new ideas, it felt like a natural direction for me. 

What was the audience reaction to fusion music? 

When we first started playing fusion music, we faced a lot of opposition. Audiences loved it and came in large numbers, but many traditionalists felt the veena was a sacred instrument that shouldn't be used in fusion.

I never let that criticism stop me. Ten years later, many of the same people who had opposed my work were praising it. That taught me an important lesson: if you truly believe in what you're doing, don't be afraid to challenge convention. Change, especially in classical art forms, is rarely accepted immediately. But if you have the knowledge, the discipline, and the courage to stand by your convictions, you can make a lasting impact.

Did you have any inspiration, musicians you looked up to?

I drew inspiration from many musicians, beginning with my guru, who was a towering influence in my life. I also learnt from greats like K.V. Narayan Swamy and R.K. Srikantan, whose music and guidance I deeply admired. Lalgudi Jayaraman, too, had a lasting influence through the workshops he conducted.

Thanks to my guru, I was welcomed into the circle of some of the greatest musicians of that era. Legends like M. Balamuralikrishna and others would often visit, and simply being around them taught me lessons that no classroom ever could.

You also came up with the Tarangini Veena. Could you tell us more about the process? 

The idea for the Tarangini Veena came from years of frustration while travelling for concerts. On my very first international tour in 1982, my veena was damaged in transit. Unfortunately, it wasn't a one-time incident—for the next 15 or 16 years, every overseas tour meant repairing a broken instrument. Even dismantlable veenas had technical limitations, and I found myself spending more time fixing them than performing.

I knew there had to be a better solution. After years of research, working closely with veena makers, and shelving several unsuccessful prototypes, I finally developed the Tarangini Veena—a portable, concert-worthy instrument. It was a controversial innovation because it reimagined the traditional Saraswati Veena, and while many opposed the idea, just as many supported it.

Today, the Tarangini Veena is played by musicians around the world, and I hold a patent for its design.

You have had a long association with the Chowdiah Memorail Hall. How did that begin?

My association with Chowdiah Memorial Hall began alongside my musical career. Since ours was among the first generations to be fluent in English, I was often invited to emcee concerts. At one such event, the president of Chowdiah Hall asked me to become a member. I was a bit hesitant at first. Before I knew it, I had become the secretary, and over the years I also served as the president.

I've now been associated with Chowdiah Memorial Hall for over 45 years, and today I continue to serve as its secretary. Looking back, it was another opportunity that seemed to find me at just the right time.

Do you have pre-concert rituals?

Riyaz is a constant in my life—it's as essential to me as eating or sleeping. If I miss my practice for even a couple of days, I feel restless. I've always had something to work towards, whether it's a concert, a new project, or teaching, so my practice has never stopped.

I'm very disciplined about my riyaz and never hesitate to make sacrifices for it. I've missed family occasions and other commitments over the years, but I've never regretted those choices. For me, that dedication is simply part of being a musician.

You did mention you had undergo a lot of sacrifices, can you mention a few of those?

A career in music demands sacrifices, especially when it involves constant travel. There were times when I couldn't be there for my children while they were growing up or attend family functions. But I've never looked at those as sacrifices—they were simply part of the life I chose.

To excel as a musician, you have to be willing to put your art first. I don't regret the moments I missed because I'm happiest when I'm practicing, performing, and making music.

Can you take us through your morning routine?

When I'm at home, my day begins with either yoga or the gym. I teach an online class early every morning, and then I dedicate time to my own practice. Most evenings are spent teaching, unless I have a concert. On performance days, I don't teach at all—I focus entirely on preparing. My routine revolves around my music, and my practice always comes first.

Other than music what are some things you find joy in?

Beyond performing and teaching, I've always been deeply involved in preserving and promoting music. I served as the director of the Indian Music Experience Museum and spent nearly a decade helping build it from the ground up. Today, I continue to serve as one of its trustees. I've also been associated with the Sangeet Natak Akademi, served on the ICCR board, and remain actively involved in Bangalore's cultural scene through initiatives like the Bangalore International Arts Festival, where I organize workshops and bring eminent musicians together with students.

One of the projects I'm most proud of at the museum is the Instruments Gallery, which houses 108 Indian musical instruments. Many of these were incredibly difficult to source—some had become nearly extinct, and we had to travel to remote villages to find them. The entire experience was an education in itself. Music is something we usually experience through sound, but the museum challenged us to make it a visual and interactive experience. It was demanding, but immensely rewarding.

So, when did you move to Malleswaram? Is there anything you remember from back in the day?

I've lived in Malleswaram ever since I got married at the age of 20. Back then, it was a much quieter place, with fewer apartments, little traffic, and a slower pace of life. Today, the neighbourhood has changed tremendously. It's grown beyond what it was ever meant to be, and even something as simple as finding a parking spot has become a challenge.

Interview Snippets