Zenareeta
An exclusive conversation with Zenareeta on “SumuHood,” her mother’s unfinished musical journey, and the spiritual philosophy shaping her music
For most artists, inspiration arrives through a process of writing, experimenting, recording, and rewriting. For Mumbai-based singer-songwriter, composer, and author Zenareeta, however, the creative process begins somewhere much quieter—having spent 12 years in seclusion, including three years during which she meditated for up to eight hours a day, Zenareeta has developed an artistic world shaped by Advaita Vedanta, meditation, philosophy, science, space, consciousness, and the inner architecture of the mind. Her music reflects an unusually introspective approach to songwriting: rather than deliberately sitting down to write, she describes herself as a “vessel,” “medium,” and “scribe,” allowing songs to emerge from meditation, often arriving almost completely formed in her mind. Her latest single, “SumuHood,” is perhaps the clearest expression yet of that process. The uplifting pop track tells the deeply personal story of her mother, a former radio and television singer who stepped away from her own musical career to raise her daughter. The song arrived spontaneously during a late-night meditation session, with Zenareeta hearing the melody, lyrics, vocals, and even production in her mind before immediately recording the idea on her phone.
In this exclusive interview with Indie Sound, Zenareeta takes us inside the extraordinary circumstances behind “SumuHood,” opening up about her mother’s sacrifice, the spiritual and philosophical ideas that have shaped her life and music, and the 12 years she spent deliberately disconnected from the noise of the outside world. She discusses why she has chosen to remain fiercely independent despite interest from record labels, how meditation continues to influence her creative life, her fascination with consciousness, science, space, and epistemology, and why she sees herself less as someone who “writes” songs than as a medium through which they emerge. At the heart of the conversation is “SumuHood”—a song about motherhood, artistic inheritance, sacrifice, and the possibility that one generation’s unfinished musical journey can continue through the next.
Can you introduce yourself to listeners who may be discovering your music for the first time?
Hey everyone! I’m a singer-songwriter, composer, and author featured across national and international media. I create music that stems from having spent 12 years in seclusion, including meditating for up to eight hours a day for three whole years. My pop music revolves around Advaita Vedanta philosophy and the inner architecture of the mind, including themes of Buddhism, space, science, and inner contemplation.
“SumuHood” is described as your most personal release yet. Can you take us back to the moment this song arrived during your meditation session? What was that experience like?
Indeed. I was meditating, and it had been around two hours. It was around 1 a.m. when the melody first knocked on the door of my mind. The lyrics came too. The chorus came before the verses. It was a fully finished song that had suddenly been conceived in my mind. By “fully finished song,” I mean that I heard my own vocals and a fully produced song in my mind! It sounded great, so I knew I had to immediately record the melody on my phone and quickly write down the lyrics in my journal. Verse one and verse two came too, along with the outro at the end.
In the past, I’ve experimented heavily with my songs and edited them to create 20 different versions, only to realise that the first draft was the best. So this time, even though I gave myself sufficient time to sit with the song in case I wanted to make any changes to it, I knew from the beginning that the first draft was the final one, and it turned out to be true.
I cried and became really emotional after writing it. The lyrics actually sounded like my mother’s words. I was excited to have my mom listen to it the next morning, and we both cried.
You mentioned hearing the song almost fully formed in your mind at 1 a.m. during meditation. Do you feel some songs arrive differently from others, and how do you recognise when a creative idea feels complete?
This is how I’ve written almost all of my songs. “They” usually arrive between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m. on nights when I keep meditating and don’t feel like stopping, usually around new moons. I don’t know the “why,” but this is my pattern.
The creative ideas always arrive as completed ones. In the past, with many of my songs, I would often meddle and try to edit them, only to later realise that my original draft was better. Sometimes I haven’t been able to understand the depth and meaning of certain lines in a song initially when it was conceived, but six years later, when I eventually decided to release it, I understood the lyrics and what they meant and thanked myself for not having changed them all those years. This has been especially true of my previous single, “Doll of Salt.”
So I see myself as merely a vessel, a medium, a scribe. My songs are born in the void, in meditation, from the deep recesses of the subconscious mind, or the great void—whatever you want to call it. I’ve never sat down to write a song.
The title “SumuHood” is intriguing. What does the title mean, and how does it connect to the emotional core of the song?
Sumu is my mother’s family-given nickname. “SumuHood,” the title, instantly came to me because it encapsulates the idea of “being Sumu.” The lyrics are sung from my mom’s point of view and describe how she doesn’t see her sacrifice as a sacrifice at all. On the contrary, she’s happy to “throw away” her career, as she always told me, just to raise me. This feeling is captured in the line, “cast the pearls away for a diamond.”
The track blends an uplifting pop sound with a deeply emotional story. How did you balance the joy of the production with the vulnerability of the subject matter?
I tried to remain as faithful as I could to the original finished song I first heard in my mind. The uplifting sound makes sense with the lyrics from my mother’s point of view.
According to my mother, the happiest day of her life was not when she had breakthroughs in her music career, but simply the day I was born. She’s never seen her “giving up” her music career as a sacrifice. It is as if she got me, a “diamond,” and gave up the “pearls.”
My mother has always been detached from her own fame, reputation, and career because she’s always chosen me above everything else, out of sheer joy and happiness. And my life would have looked very different if my mother had continued pursuing her music career in a different city, miles away, because my dad was always travelling for work and often came home only five days a month.
I would have missed out on the spiritual education and musical training I received from my mother from my early childhood.
“SumuHood” reflects on your mother stepping away from her own singing career to raise you. When did you first begin to understand the depth of that sacrifice?
I’ve always been aware of it, particularly from the age of ten, when Mom first told me how she had left many career-defining opportunities after becoming pregnant with me following many miscarriages, and how she never looked back after I was born.
Whenever I think about a famous musician, I go, “That could have been my mom.” I’ve never not mourned for the career my mom could have had.
When did you first realise that music was something you wanted to pursue seriously?
Since the age of four, I’ve always known that meditation, music, and poetry were “the one” for me. I’ve always known it. I’ve never had a Plan B. Even if I enjoyed studying biology, history, and languages at school, I’ve always known my path.
What was your mother’s reaction when you first played her the song, and what did that moment mean for both of you?
We both cried. Mom said that the lyrics definitely sounded like her—rather too accurately—and that I’m the first artist she’s heard of who has written an autobiographical song about her mother.
Did creating “SumuHood” change the way you see your mother’s journey as an artist and as a parent?
Whether the song ever arrived or not doesn’t change how I see my mother’s journey. I continue to mourn for the career that could have been, just as much as I did before the song existed.
I’m now just happy that I’ve been able to tell this story to the world before I die. It is no longer my secret to keep.
Many artists inherit influences from their families, but your connection feels almost like a continuation of a musical conversation. Do you feel like you and your mother are sharing one artistic journey across generations?
Certainly. And it’s not just the music; it is also the independent-label, free-music career. Our voices sound very similar. Her detachment and her deep spiritual journey are things that continue through me as well.
Mom never asked me to take an interest in music. Ironically, she didn’t even want me to be a musician because she didn’t want me to endure the hardships and struggles of being a musician. Nor did she want me to explore meditation. She feared that I might become disinterested in all material pursuits and seek to lead a solitary, monk-like life—and her fears came true!
She also never asked me to share her spiritual views, but I’ve organically come to them after years of philosophical exploration, seclusion, and complete atheism toward spiritual matters.
So it is true to say that if Mom had continued her music career, and if she were to make music independently, her music would look almost exactly like mine.
Your music is strongly influenced by meditation, Advaita Vedanta philosophy, and the inner workings of the mind. How do these ideas shape your songwriting process?
Advaita, meditation, and reflections on my mind aren’t just practices for one or two hours of my day. The Advaita practice and meditation continue all day in the form of inner chanting and keeping my mind fixed at the heart chakra all day, even as I eat, shower, read, sing, walk, etc.
It is the most important part of my life, even more important than music, and takes up my entire day. As my sole focus, year after year, since early childhood, it is naturally bound to be the dominating theme of my songs, given how they are conceived in my case—knocking on my door when I’m indulged in the complete quiet of my late-night meditations.
Even during my daily practice, I sometimes get into a meditative ecstasy. This is what has given my life meaning. I feel like the lucky owner of a rare gem, and how could I not revolve my music around it? That’s impossible!
If meditation and Advaita are my sun, I’m the Earth. And I could not have found them if my mom had not been part of my childhood, if she had pursued her music career. So this song and all my songs had to be the way they are.
You spent twelve years in seclusion, including periods of intense meditation. How did that experience transform the way you approach creativity and self-expression?
The twelve years of seclusion helped me cut through all the noise, staying concentrated on my efforts in meditation and honing my skills. I knew I would someday lead a “normal life” again once I was ready.
During those twelve years, I had zero distractions: no social media, no scrolling, no texting, no socialising, no music, no Netflix, no podcasts, no streaming apps, and no exposure to popular ideas or pop culture. I was completely disconnected from the world. Just honing my skills, reading my books, and immersing myself in the practice.
It gave birth to the immense clarity I have today. It made me realise what I need to do differently in my own life and what truly fulfils me. It made me realise that I’ve never worked for the applause. I’ve never written songs to appease an audience.
I’ve explored, and still am exploring, the depths of my own inner being—the demons and the light within—and that is how it became possible for all these songs to be birthed through me in the deep silence of meditation, when the mind doesn’t meddle, chatter, or interfere with “the process.”
Do you see songwriting as a form of meditation or spiritual practice?
I don’t try to see it as anything. A song knocks on my door, is born through me, and I’m the scribe, bringing these songs out into the world faithfully as the artist.
I feel no need to give it a name or call it a spiritual practice. I love creating these songs just as I love eating cheesecake, for the sheer joy alone and nothing more!
Your work often explores themes of science, space, consciousness, and spirituality. What draws you to these intersections?
Since childhood, I’ve been fascinated with space, cosmology, and the limits of epistemology. I was fascinated by the Buddha, the Bhagavad Gita, the problem of evil, justice, philosophy, and asking the essential questions.
I’m drawn to truth, depth, and wisdom. My goal has always been to know the truth unbound by time, to gain wisdom, and to see reality as it is, without coloured glasses and without the conditioning and prejudices of the era we live in.
Has your understanding of silence changed after spending so much time in meditation, and does silence influence the music you create?
My understanding has deepened. Absolutely. My music revolves around it.
You chose to remain independent despite interest from record labels. What inspired you to build your career on your own terms?
As I was approached by labels, the more I researched, the more I realised that being independent is the only way I can faithfully bring out my songs and lyrics the way they were intended to be—to keep them as pristine and pure as possible and prevent them from being diluted or meddled with by someone else.
I’ve always wanted complete ownership of my music and complete creative control. I do not create music for an audience. I’m simply a medium through which all these songs come out. They have honoured me by being birthed through me, and I see my songs as my living children.
The songs are far too sacred to be given away to any label. So no amount of money or fame can change my decision not to join a label. I’ve always been prepared to live with the consequences of my choice, and I’m aware that, in the long run, this aligns with both my long-term and short-term goals: authenticity and faithfulness to my craft.
What have been the biggest challenges and rewards of being an independent artist?
My independence, creative control, and ownership of my masters are my priceless rewards.
Having complete control of my music comes with the “challenge” that music takes up most of my time. I’m the stylist, I’m the social media manager, I write my own screenplays, self-direct my music videos, write my song descriptions, and decide what to say in my interviews! I have to do everything.
But isn’t that great?! My challenge is also my reward!
Your music has received support from platforms like Red FM and Big FM. What does it mean to see an audience connect with music that was created from such a personal place?
It has been a pleasant surprise to me to find out that the audience is, in fact, interested in exploring my music! I’ve never had any expectations when releasing any of my songs.
So I’m very happy about the fact that the audience has responded to me with enthusiasm.
How do you maintain creative freedom while also navigating the practical side of being an independent musician?
The financial support from my parents has certainly helped me take care of the practical side of being a musician without having to worry about finances. I release my music simply as art, and not as entertainment from which I have to make a living.
That is what has made it possible for me to remain faithful to my craft, never try to manufacture songs merely to go viral, and avoid the pressure to join a label, gain quick visibility, go viral, become a content creator, or become an influencer.
I’m able to prioritise my long-term goals over short-term rewards by not diluting my artist identity and authenticity. I prefer my quiet approach in a world where often being loud and noisy is rewarded with more visibility, though that’s also not always true! That is debatable!
Once I’ve spent sufficient years putting out my music and my yet-to-be-published philosophy books, I plan to launch my own skincare brand when I’m ready!
What advice would you give to emerging artists who want to protect their artistic identity while building a career?
I have no advice to give. They’re smart; they’ll all figure out their own paths!
We are all aware of the pros and cons of choosing either to protect our artistic identity or to dilute it to whatever degree it might be. Sometimes we are rewarded for protecting our artistic identities, and sometimes we are not.
Often, the road to recognition becomes delayed and more uncertain when we continue to protect our artistic identity, like walking on a broken bridge. The question is: are we then ready to face that consequence? Are we ready to choose our long-term goals over our short-term rewards?
That is what will define us. That choice makes all the difference.
Who were the artists, genres, or sounds that shaped your creative identity growing up?
My mom, and mainly my explorations of history, philosophy, meditation, epistemology, and literature, have shaped my creative identity.
I enjoyed listening to Celine Dion growing up. I’ve explored across genres, but I’ve always returned to listening to devotional Indian classical music, church choirs, opera, Hans Zimmer movie scores, and some select EDM.
Were there particular moments or symbols in the video that you wanted viewers to pay attention to?
The conch shell and the Bhagavad Gita, my mother’s favourite book, symbolise the spiritual education I received in my childhood from my mother.
The conch shell, in particular, carries several layers of meaning. It is the same conch shell my mother blows every day during her morning prayer. The conch shell also symbolises Lord Krishna blowing the conch shell at the commencement of the great war of the Mahabharata, symbolising the predestined victory of dharma.
How important is visual storytelling to your music, and do you see your videos as extensions of your songs rather than separate projects?
It is as important as my song lyrics. It is literally my lyrics speaking visually, poetically, and metaphorically—the song extended into its visual dimension.
Your songs often explore large themes like consciousness, the universe, and existence. How do you translate those big ideas into something emotionally relatable?
I don’t try to make my music emotionally relatable. The song is meant to express my own deep inner thoughts when I contemplate, and I keep it that way.
I do not believe that these large themes are separate from my everyday human emotions or the way I experience life itself, nor can they be separated from my art. And I believe art is meant to be felt and experienced anyway.
For example, I remember the first time I came across Robert Miles’ “Children (Dream Version).” I had no idea about his background or the story behind the particular piece of music, but I was immediately overtaken and consumed by it. It was arresting. It was felt. I felt something deep within when I heard it for the first time.
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