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For many years, I had this one quiet, persistent desire — to witness a song being created. Not just the end result we hum to, but the messy, magical, goosebump-y process of creation itself. I’ve always been fascinated by how a string of words — a poem, a couplet, a melody — comes alive when it’s paired with rhythm, instruments, and soul. It’s honestly mind-boggling.

Who sees that potential in those words? Whose vision guides the song? What do each of the creators think, try, discard, redo? I’ve had way too many questions — most of which I couldn’t even form into proper sentences. They were more like awe-struck observations ending in one word: how?!

On this path, I’ve often dreamt (still do) of being in the same room — or even just a fly on the wall — as my favourite duo, Dr. Salil Kulkarni and Sandeep Khare, create magic together. Their timeless show Ayushyavar Bolu Kahi has had such a hold on me. I keep revisiting their recordings, and every single time, their heartfelt words feel like they were written just for me. That show, those songs, always get me wondering — did the poetry come first? Or the melody? And if it was the poem, how did it find that perfect tune?

Anyway — back to my humble little dream. Over the years, I did nothing about it. I’d just sit with my questions, spiraling back into my “fly on the wall” fantasy.

Cut to a few months ago — I took up walking. Yes, pushed (read: lovingly bullied) into it by my trainer. At first, I walked in silence. No music. I thought I’d just stay with my thoughts and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. But very soon, I gave in to Spotify and YouTube, endlessly scrolling for that perfect track to match my pace.

But racy, fast-paced running playlists just weren’t my thing. They felt disconnected from me. So I started trying other languages. To my surprise, Marathi songs — my mother tongue — sat beautifully with my rhythm. Slowly, I began exploring more — from popular film songs to independent albums, and then to something divine: Marathi devotional music.

I struck gold with abhangas (अभंग)! The deep, soul-stirring music by stalwarts like Pandit Bhimsen Joshi and Pandit Jitendra Abhisheki filled my steps with strength. And modern-day maestros like Mahesh Kale ji too. He’s now a permanent fixture in my playlist. The power of their voices, the surrender in their songs, and the timeless devotion in their lyrics gave me rhythm, motivation, and peace.

And somewhere during these soulful walks, I stumbled upon Him — Lord Vithhala. Vithoba. Vithuraya. Mauli. Pandharinath.

His name — ‘Vithhala Vithhala’ — started accompanying me on every walk. It brought calm, energy, and a strange yet beautiful sense of connection. I felt like I had been invited into a deeply personal space with the divine.
And then came the human question: why now? why this?
But you know how the Almighty works — He shows up when least expected and weaves magic in the most unexpected ways.

Here’s what happened.

One day (mid June), my husband’s friend, Prashantji — a poet, rapper, stage performer, actor (and also an IT professional, because why not!) — called. He wanted my husband Amol to be part of a song he’d written. A devotional one. An abhanga.
Worth mentioning — Prashantji was recently recognised at the Vishva Marathi Sammelan 2025 in Pune for his contribution to Marathi literature. So when he calls, you listen.

He shared the lyrics and mentioned needing musicians to bring it to life. Amol, always up for a collaboration, got in touch with artists he’d worked with before. The response was warm and enthusiastic. Selvendrrah Krishnan — a well-known Malaysian percussionist — even brought along a harmonium player. Plans were made to meet at our place over the weekend.

When the day arrived, Prashantji showed up along with Dheeraj — a young tabla player with real passion. While they started rehearsing, I was occupied with an online session for Goshtee (IG: @our.goshtee), and only joined them midway. I remember sliding into the room and tentatively joining in during the chorus — between stanzas and at the end of the abhanga.

And then — the two most awaited guests walked in: Selvendrrah and Deevesh.

Selvendrrah immediately took charge of the room (no surprises there). With his percussion experience, he knew exactly how to steer everyone. But the real surprise was Deevesh. When I first saw him, I wouldn’t have guessed he played the harmonium — he looked like someone who’d break into hip-hop choreography any second! But the moment he touched the keys, he transformed. He picked up the tune almost instantly, and played & sang along as though the melody had lived inside him all along. 

As everyone practiced together, the abhanga began to take shape. The grounding chords of the harmonium (Deevesh), the energetic beats of the dholak (Selvendrrah), the graceful rhythms of the tabla (Dheeraj), and the synchronised vocals of Amol and Prashantji — it all came together in harmony.

And me? I was right there. Watching it unfold. Living my dream. The dream of witnessing a song being born.

And not just any song — an abhanga for Vithuraya Himself.

My heart was full — gratitude, disbelief, joy — all rolled into one. And the cherry on top? Our song wasn’t just a local collaboration. It became a global offering.

It was recorded and mixed at a Malay-owned studio, featured videography by a Malaysian Chinese guy, and included original footage of the Waari from India. Different religions. Different nationalities. One heartfelt offering.

The finishing touch? Deevesh’s alaap at the beginning and end of the song. It added depth, sparkle, and that final brush of beauty to our humble creation.

And here it is — our abhanga (Gaathaa Paanyaavar Tarali | गाथा पाण्यावर तरली) for Lord Pandharpur Vithuraya:
🎧 Click here to listen

Crafted with love, sung in surrender, and created with modest means by people who simply showed up with their faith and talent.

I’m yet to hear from Prashantji about what sparked the words — what led him to pen this abhanga. And maybe that mystery deserves its own space. Because that’s where the magic began…

And so, what began as a whisper of a wish — to be that fly on the wall — ended with me singing the chorus in a song created for Vithuraya Himself. What more could I have asked for?