Meet Aradhika Raturi | Artist

We had the good fortune of connecting with Aradhika Raturi and we’ve shared our conversation below.

Hi Aradhika, we’d love to hear what makes you happy.
Meaningful connection with other people. Growing up, I believed my music “made me happy”, and I placed utmost importance on music because I couldn’t see the value of human connection. Music is still an intrinsic part of my life, and I love it, passionately, but if I could turn back time and re-live my teenage years, I’d spend more time with my family and less time trying to fill the void in me with music, when what I lacked was the simple experience of human love. Meditation and prayer are the second-most important factors in my happiness. Through some very painful but necessary lessons, I learned that I did need a consistent connection with God, and ultimately, with myself. Of course there are other sources of happiness in my life― beautiful music, poetry, languages, and chocolate, to name a few―but meaningful connection and meditation are what have given me the most consistent and profound happiness that I’ve experienced so far.

Can you open up a bit about your work and career? We’re big fans and we’d love for our community to learn more about your work.

I started piano and sitar at the age of 7, but music has been part of my life since birth. I studied classical technique and theory on both instruments, in the Western and Eastern Classical traditions, with numerous teachers, but my passion was always composition. I did little apart from playing piano and sitar, had few friends, and yet was perfectly content in my own world of music and literature. Starting at the age of 8, I had various piano performances throughout the year wherein I would present a combination of original music and the few pieces of Mozart or Bach that I’d reluctantly learned. Despite my deep love for piano, my relationship with the sitar has always been different. There are many reasons that I could enumerate, but the most significant reason is that for me personally, the Western Classical Music I was exposed to didn’t make me feel anything deeply. It taught me invaluable lessons in technique and disciplined me, but it didn’t stir my soul as Indian Classical Music did. I’ve always desired to feel and enjoy things deeply― whether it be music, someone’s company, well-prepared food, or an impactful verse―and since Western Classical Music didn’t fulfill this in me, I grew further away from it and pursued composition and Indian Classical Music more. Perhaps this speaks to my natural impulse to passionately throw myself into a project (or romance) simply because when I feel something beautiful, I am so overcome by the feeling that I want to lose myself in it.

 As one can expect, I’ve enjoyed the benefits and suffered the consequences of this tendency; however, I still believe that, within reason, suffering is worth the pain if beautiful art can be born from it.

Throughout my childhood and teenage years, I continued my study of both piano and sitar, dedicating myself to music, without much thought of anything else, apart from writing― my other creative love. Since I was homeschooled, I had ample time to reflect, in solitude, on life, on myself, and often chose to be alone rather than participate in activities that involved any sort of socializing―perhaps an unhealthy choice―but one that allowed me to dive so deeply into both music and writing that I became completely absorbed by them.

As someone who both craves and yet fears change, music and writing, apart from being my most beloved forms of expression, were constants in my life―forces that held me when I felt displaced and confused. When I lost temporary use of my left hand in a boating accident, I went through nothing short of an existential crisis. I was completely lost. I’d always identified myself with music, and when I suddenly couldn’t play, I had no idea who I was or how I should exist. And so, I found refuge in movement, diving into dance and martial arts, specifically Capoeira (a Brazilian Martial Art) and Samba.

These art forms led me on a journey back to my own Cuban roots, to rediscovering my Latin-ness, and connecting with my culture through language and dance, in the absence of music. For the first time in too long, I felt alive, physically, and realized how I’d neglected this part of myself in a blind pursuit of musical glory. My wrist is still not fully healed, and it is something I’ve reconciled with and regard as a living lesson, to remind me that, no matter how deep my love for music runs, there is much more to life. And today, l’m only grateful for my injury because it taught me how to be human.

My cultural background is an important part of who I am, and the experience of being biracial and learning how to navigate that and what it means has closely informed my art. Growing up with a Cuban mother and Indian father, I was exposed to a depth of cultural richness that gave me an appreciation for beauty, quality, and authenticity. My father introduced me to Indian Classical music, Eastern spirituality, the flavorful world of Indian cuisine (in which he is an expert), and meditation. Even though I do not speak Hindi- Urdu fluently yet, I studied the poetry―namely Ghalib (regarded by scholars as the Shakespeare of the East)―and taught myself how to read and translate Urdu. It is a goal of mine to speak Hindi-Urdu fluently, primarily so that I can connect with my father in his native language, and maintain an unfractured linguistic bond with my Indian heritage.

My mother, one of the most beautiful and strong women I know, gave me a love for dance, the ability to feel and interpret rhythm with my body, a deep connection to nature, to plants, to the earth, and to my own emotions. She is the main reason why learning Spanish was so important to me― I wanted to connect with her in her native language, and honor my Cuban heritage, by doing the work to preserve my roots linguistically. Today, I feel such pride that I can communicate with both her and my grandmother entirely in Spanish.

Language and music are the two most important ways that I have reclaimed both my cultures, despite the feeling of not belonging completely to either group. There was a point in my life when I wished I was either entirely Cuban or Indian, only because I felt so displaced. But over the years, I’ve made peace with my mixed-ness. I love that I can mix Spanish, Hindi-Urdu, and English in the same sentence. That both flamenco and Hindustani music evoke such emotion in me. That I know how to cook frijoles negros, plátanos, chicken makhani, and samosas. That I can mix salsa, bachata, and Bollywood dance, and that both Jab Tak Hai Jaan and Como Agua Para Chocolate are my favorite movies.

Instead of feeling like I have too many cultures, I perceive it now as an opportunity to embody this abundance of beauty and richness that runs in my blood, and am very proud to represent both my cultures.

The things that I am currently most excited about are: a collection of upcoming singles (the first music I will ever have officially recorded and released) that I am working on with multiple producers, in the pop, reggaeton, and house genres, as well as my first book of poetry―Novias que Esperan―a work of translations from Spanish to English, in which I’ve translated the poetic works of my Cuban great-grandfather. Novias que Esperan is the first of several poetry books that I plan to publish. I see the untranslated poems that remain of my great-grandfather’s work (of which there are many) as a golden opportunity to honor my Cuban heritage, and feel incredibly honored to be the great-granddaughter of such a remarkable poet.

If you had a friend visiting you, what are some of the local spots you’d want to take them around to?
I would take them to Coconut Grove, one of my favorite places in Miami. Le Pain Quotidien would be the first stop, for delectable matcha lattes and mushroom-cheese omelette. The Barnacle Historic Park would be our second stop; there is an enchanting solitude that I have yet to find elsewhere at the Barnacle. Lastly, I would take my friend to the Coconut Grove Farmers Market on Saturday, to get keto ice-cream (to mix with our matcha lattes) and just the right amount of socializing. The Farmer’s Market has a dynamic combination of organic, vegan food, artisan clothing and jewelry, local artists and business-owners. It’s one of my weekend rituals, and if you haven’t gone yet, I highly recommend it.

The Shoutout series is all about recognizing that our success and where we are in life is at least somewhat thanks to the efforts, support, mentorship, love and encouragement of others. So is there someone that you want to dedicate your shoutout to?

My parents have so lovingly supported me, providing both incredible teachers and opportunities for me so that I could express all of my passions and creativity. I’m so grateful for the love, advice, and space they’ve given me to grow, and when needed, learn lessons that I had to learn alone. They have always and continue to be there for me, at any moment, to tell me they love me, to hold me, and to remind me of who I am.

I’m also very grateful to everyone I have connected with here in Miami― to my godmother who has supported me as I’ve grown into this new chapter of life, to my producers who have seen in me what I couldn’t see in myself, and helped me discover new parts of my musical self that continue to bloom. To every person who has, either by praise or criticism, encouraged me to try harder, I am grateful. And to every person who has changed, irrevocably and in different ways, my ideas about music and what it takes to not only create good music, but present it in a way that captures authenticity. I’ve learned that talent is only a piece of what one needs to make music on the level that I aspire to, and that consistency, discipline, and self-awareness are absolutely vital to any form of success.

And finally, I am grateful to God for blessing me with the environment and opportunities that are bringing my dreams to fruition.

Instagram: aradhika_eclectica

Image Credits
Teo Montoya, Diego Leon, and Gerardo Lopez