Margazhi

Margazhi season in Chennai is more than a time of year—it is an experience that unfolds like a well-loved ritual, blending devotion, music, learning, and community. The city slows down just enough to listen, as cool, misty mornings begin with kolams, temple bells, and the gentle beckoning of the sabhas/concert venues.

Imagine waking up to the sound of the Suprabatham, hurrying to catch an auto, and heading straight to the sabha for a rich filter coffee, two soft, spongy idlis, and a crisp vadai. Notebook in hand, you settle into the first few rows to listen to lec-dems by esteemed vidwans, absorbing insights that deepen your understanding of ragas and compositions. You spot eminent musicians quietly seated in the audience—a rare and thrilling sight—before breaking at noon for lunch. Full banana-leaf meals are savored alongside animated post-lecdem decoding conversations, where music spills into words.

With a full belly, you rush back for afternoon and evening concerts that leave both the hall and your mind ringing with ragams, new kritis, and even the side conversations—who sang what, what stood out, and which new color saree each musician chose that day. Sabha canteens buzz between sessions, serving not just food but familiarity, debate, and connection.

Rooted in spirituality and elevated by artistic excellence, Margazhi reveals Chennai at its most authentic. And today, with many concerts and lecdems available online, the magic of the season extends far beyond the city, allowing rasikas around the world to partake in and savor Margazhi from wherever they are.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Good Morning Effect

As we battle the chilly weather, I wanted to shine some light on an observation. My commute to work is incredibly tedious and long. It's not something that I fancy on a day where the temperature is cold enough to freeze boiling water. That being said, I realized while at home, staying warm, how much I missed the Good Mornings that I would hear not only at work, but also on the train. Every morning, rain or shine, when I walk to my desk, I am always greeted with a good morning from my peers. In turn, it is an automatic response for me to smile when returning the greeting. I end up smiling until I reach my desk and start working, which enables me to start my day in a good mood. On the train, the conductor, as he does his rounds for tickets says thank you to every single person as well as a good morning at every car. This not only wakes us all up, but also makes us subconsciously acknowledge that the morning is going to be "good". I've listened to many discussions...
Read more

Coffee

The frigid morning air caressed her, seeping through the woolen blanket. The dark clouds enveloped her house, shrouding it in a dewy shawl. Shuddering awake, she blinked the drowsiness away and stood. Grumbling slightly at the cold and even more at how late she was going to be for work, she hurriedly dressed and stepped out into the windy city...just as the first rain drops began to fall. As she commenced the tedious walk to her office, the aphotic skies menacingly followed, escorted by boisterous winds. The relentless rain finally forced her to accept that she would have to step indoors for a while. Spotting a little yellow cafe, she decided to go in and wait out the storm. Being late for work, already, what more would a few extra minutes do?! The cafe was a quaint little place; a few cozy sofas next to a bookshelf haphazardly adorned with old classics in various levels of wear and tear. The floor was an array of whimsically patterned rugs on which mismatched tables and chairs we...
Read more

In Loving Memory

The auto pulled up in front of a small provision shop. The quiet of the dawn was broken by the rumbling of the engine as it halted. The light was on in the shop, casting a bright glow in the otherwise dimly lit street. Colorful bags of Lays Chips were hanging, lazily waving in the morning breeze. Next to the shop, small but lively houses were lined up in two rows, forming almost a tunnel like appearance. Calling the space between the houses a road, would be too kind. The narrow strip hardly gave space for two people to walk side by side, yet large motorbikes stood parked precariously against the walls connecting the houses. Every house had one step under which a small groove was carved in to let excess water flow and drain. The steps themselves were decorated with intricate patterns painstakingly drawn in the morning light. Climbing out of the auto, the driver helped my father with the suitcases. Jammed in the middle of my carryon and my mother, I climbed out, eager to stre...
Read more