In a softly lit room in New Delhi, 19-year-old Suyash Bengani rises at 5 am and begins his riyaaz, the daily ritual that lies at the heart of Indian classical music. A student at Gandharva Mahavidyalaya, he sits with his tanpura, seeking the meditative resonance that vocalists have pursued for centuries. His phone, resting nearby, plays a digital tabla to accompany him when no one else is available.
“I try to practise four to five hours a day,” says Bengani, who is currently pursuing his Alankar in Hindustani vocal music alongside his undergraduate studies. “The physical tanpura has a soul. It surrounds you completely. But at home, when I don’t have a tabla player, the digital version suffices.”
Like many of his generation, Bengani lives in two musical worlds. One belongs to the ancient, defined by oral transmission, reverence for the guru, and the tactile presence of handcrafted wooden instruments. The other is unmistakably digital: efficient, portable, and algorithmically precise, built on apps, AI plugins, and real-time feedback systems. Riyaaz, a word once associated with monastic discipline, is now aided by chord libraries and push notifications.
From Instagram Reels to iTabla Pro, from GuitarTuna to SwarShala, a quiet revolution is reshaping how Indian classical music is practised and performed. Musicians across generations are finding ways to bend tradition to meet modern needs, without breaking its spine.
App accompaniment
In music classrooms across India, tanpuras are still tuned by hand, and students continue to mark taal by tapping their thighs or using hand gestures. But digital tools have gradually entered the frame, not as replacements, but as scaffolding.
“Manual tanpura is very fragile,” says Khushal Sharma, a disciple of Pandit Madhup Mudgal and a Hindustani classical vocal teacher at Gandharva Mahavidyalaya for nearly a decade. “Even slight changes in weather can affect its tuning. That’s why I use the tanpura app when I’m on stage.” Still, Sharma draws a clear boundary. “When I teach, I ask my students to use the manual tanpura or harmonium. Sometimes I use iTabla Pro while practising, but I don’t recommend it to students until they’ve reached a certain level. You must first develop your own laya and sense of rhythm. Technology can’t do that for you.”
His student, Bengani, echoes this sentiment. While he values the physical over the digital, he doesn’t dismiss tech entirely. “There’s nothing wrong with practising with an electronic tanpura,” he says. “But the true sound comes from the original one.”
For those without direct access to a guru or live accompanists, apps function as musical oxygen.
For young learners, particularly in the diaspora or in areas where instrumental support is inaccessible, tools like iShala by SwarShala, NaadSadhana, Rhythm with Tabla and Tanpura, and GuitarTuna are vital practice companions.
Mariano Etchepareborda, creator of SwarShala, began designing his software in 1999, well before mobile apps existed. “I was learning tabla and needed a way to store rhythmic patterns. When I couldn’t find anything, I started coding one myself,” he recalls. That personal need eventually evolved into one of the most widely used Indian classical practice apps, serving users across India and around the world.
“These tools make riyaaz more effective and enjoyable,” he says. His wife, who learns Hindustani classical vocal music in Switzerland from a guru based in Pune, uses iShala to practise tanpura, tabla and swarmandal between lessons.
Mariano is clear that while AI may shape future iterations, such as giving feedback on pitch or rhythm, the core of the art remains human. “Even now, most of our features are built using traditional programming logic,” he says. “To emulate real-life musicians, you still need human insight. AI can simulate, but it can’t intuit bhaav.”
While SwarShala represents a decades-long evolution, NaadSadhana is a more audacious arrival. It boldly ventures into the realm of what its creator, singer and technologist Sandeep Ranade calls “artistic intelligence”. His journey began with a student’s unexpected struggle.
“She had trained for eight or nine years,” he recalls, “but couldn’t identify basic notes. It made me question how music was being taught today.” In the Gurukul system, the guru’s presence helped correct errors before they became ingrained. “Now most students get one hour with the guru and practise the rest alone,” he says. “Unchecked mistakes can calcify.”
To bridge that gap, Ranade, disciple of the late Pandit Jasraj, created NaadSadhana, an iOS app that acts as a real-time tuner, ensemble, and recording studio. But he resists framing it as just another AI product. “NaadSadhana doesn’t use generative AI or large datasets. I call it artistic intelligence, human-trained, music-specific models that don’t just accompany but collaborate in real time.”
Every instrument in the app, from tabla and piano to swarmandal and string quartet, listens and responds to the user’s voice or playing. It decides when to play, how to phrase, and when to remain silent. Even the tanpura isn’t a static loop. “Each string is physically modelled in real time. It breathes like a real instrument,” Ranade explains.
Beyond accompaniment, the app includes guided workouts for pitch correction, tanpura tuning, and ear training. “The student improved from 5% accuracy to 80% in two weeks,” Ranade says. “That’s the power of precise feedback.”
Perhaps the app’s most radical feature is its built-in multi-track recording studio with auto-mixing, enabling musicians to create professional-quality videos using a single device. “What took me two hours and multiple devices in 2020 to record a song now takes minutes,” he says.
In 2021, NaadSadhana won the Apple Design Award, only the second Indian app ever to receive the honour. Still, Ranade is careful not to oversell. “Technology should never dull awareness. It must sharpen it. Passive loops create bad habits. We designed NaadSadhana to avoid that, with tuners you can switch off, beats that highlight only sam or khaali, and instruments that never repeat themselves.”
Is it a supplement or a reimagination of the guru-shishya tradition? “It’s a companion,” he says. “The guru remains central. But NaadSadhana tries to bring some of that vigilant guidance into solo practice. And in doing so, it keeps the spirit of the Gurukul alive in a digital world.”
Strings & smart tuners
GuitarTuna, the world’s most downloaded guitar tuner app, is widely used by Indian learners to fine-tune acoustic, electric, and classical guitars. With its intuitive interface, built-in metronome, chord library, and finger exercises, the app is especially useful for those without access to formal instruction.
I asked my friend, Aparna Banerjea, who picked up the guitar after a bout of chickenpox, if she still uses the app or not. “Yes, I’ve been using GuitarTuna since I started almost over a decade ago,” she says. “I don’t use it to tune unless something feels really off. But I still use the metronome and chord features on the standard app. I haven’t upgraded to premium.”
These tools have made learning more accessible, particularly in smaller cities or for students juggling full-time work or academics. For many, they offer not just practice aids, but also a structure and sense of companionship once only possible through institutional training.
Ragas for the feed
If practice apps are influencing how musicians train, social media is shifting what they learn and why. On Instagram, dreamy reels of young vocalists singing Raga Yaman frequently go viral. On YouTube, a 10-minute lesson on how to sing Arijit Singh’s Laal Ishq in Raga Bihag has racked up millions of views. The sitar has seen a surge in interest thanks to Rishabh Rikhiram’s mental health-focused videos. On Facebook and WhatsApp, amateur musicians share covers and receive immediate feedback. Teachers, some gharana-trained, others self-taught build followings through bite-sized lessons and monetise via Patreon or Zoom classes.
The result? Riyaaz is no longer a solitary act, but a shared process, one of likes, comments, and hashtags.
“Platforms like Instagram and YouTube have made music more democratic,” says sitar maestro Purbayan Chatterjee. “But it’s up to us to ensure the substance doesn’t get lost in the scroll.”
He distinguishes visibility from dilution. “Some ragas like Yaman, Bhairavi, or Desh are more ‘viral-friendly’. But I don’t chase virality. I look for a bridge, how can I make Marwa or Shree resonate emotionally for a first-time listener while staying true to their depth?”
Purbayan’s own practice blends heritage and innovation. “I still spend a significant part of my day in pure, traditional riyaaz,” he says. “But I also record and analyse my sessions using tempo-mapping tools and pitch visualisers. The essence remains, discipline and introspection, but the tools have changed.”
He regularly collaborates with global artistes through virtual sessions. “AI isn’t replacing creativity, but it’s becoming a collaborator, offering new ideas, rhythms, textures. The idea is not to replace human sangat, but to augment it.”
Beyond stage
For eighth-generation violinist Nandini Shankar, apps such as iTabla Pro are immensely helpful. “They are a great substitute to live accompaniment,” she says.
Though rooted in tradition, she began her musical journey at age three and practises 2.5 to 3 hours daily, Nandini embraces the reach of online teaching and performance videos. “I started posting music content online in 2011. Those videos did well and my audience engaged with them mindfully.”
Posting online also allows her to perform ragas she might not present on stage. “A raga like Bhimpalasi, an afternoon raga, wouldn’t be ideal for evening concerts, where we perform evening ragas like Yaman or Desh,” she explains. “Some ragas, like Puriya Dhanashree or Marwa, are very deep for first-time listeners of classical music. Those are best performed for serious audiences who’ve heard them over time.”
For new musicians, she advises a slow and steady path. “At least around 10-15 years for violinists,” she says. She stresses patience, maturity, and a focus on the journey, not instant gratification. “Tech tools are great to learn since every musician now needs them. But having said that, young musicians should be careful of social media. Instead of seeking uploads or likes, they can document their journey privately and post publicly once they’re professionally ready.”
The next octave
As AI and apps grow more sophisticated, a hybrid model of learning may well become the new norm. Mariano envisions a future where gurus record bandish and send them via app, with pitch and rhythm detection built in. These could track student progress while preserving the nuances of personalised instruction.
His company has already implemented “cross-sample portamento” for realistic meend and gamakas, where pitch bends are executed naturally through layered samples. “We’ve come a long way from drone apps,” he says. “Now, you can have dynamic pitch shifts and real-time accompaniment that sounds almost human.”
Still, financial barriers persist. Many Indian users hesitate to pay for music software. “We face massive piracy,” Mariano admits. “But we’ve kept pricing reasonable and offer lifetime access. Many who used pirated versions eventually became legitimate users.”
And for some, the tools offer not just convenience but dignity. Mariano recalls feedback after adding accessibility features to iShala. “Visually impaired users told us how grateful they were. That kind of feedback makes it all worth it.”
In the end, riyaaz remains a pursuit of beauty, not just accuracy. No app, algorithm, or AI can replace patience, introspection, or surrender. As Suyash Bengani says, “Digital tools help me practise better. But they can’t teach me how to sing. Only my guru can do that.”
Khushal Sharma agrees with his student: “Technology can help. But without emotional depth, it’s just sound.” Even Chatterjee, a frequent user of tech plugins, draws a clear line. “A tabla player doesn’t just keep rhythm, they provoke, respond, uplift. AI might simulate, but it doesn’t yet intuit.”
That’s perhaps the paradox of this moment in Indian classical music. For all its openness to innovation, the music still returns to its core: practice, presence, parampara. The tanpura may now be an app, the tabla a waveform, but the swar, the note, still must be found within. And that, no algorithm can do for you.