Parenting put music in the right place for me. Touring was

Anoushka Shankar, child of music and heir to a great tradition, once revealed with tender clarity: “Parenting put music in the right place for me. Touring was always the first priority before, but it isn’t any more. And, paradoxically, that has made my ability to make music much easier.” In these words lies the profound wisdom of balance, the discovery that when life is reordered by love, even the highest ambitions find their true harmony. For she confesses that once she lived for the stage, yet in the birth of her children, she found a higher truth—that devotion to family does not stifle the artist’s fire, but refines and strengthens it.

The origin of her thought arises from the crossroads of her life as both musician and mother. Before, her art demanded constant travel, endless touring, the sacrifice of all else upon the altar of career. Yet motherhood shifted her center. In her children, she discovered that music was not the whole of life but a part of it. Far from diminishing her artistry, this shift freed her. By placing parenting before performance, she discovered that the music she created flowed more naturally, unburdened by the weight of ambition and anchored instead in love and clarity.

This paradox has echoed throughout history. Consider Johann Sebastian Bach, who fathered twenty children, many of whom became musicians themselves. Though burdened with responsibility, his music did not suffer—it flourished. The demands of family deepened his art, grounding his compositions not merely in the pursuit of glory, but in the rhythms of life itself. His Goldberg Variations and Mass in B Minor carry not only genius but also the depth of a man who knew love, loss, and the daily labors of home. Like Shankar, he found that greatness in art is magnified, not diminished, by the grounding of family life.

Shankar’s words are also a rebuke to the myth that true creativity requires abandoning all else. Too often, the world praises the artist who sacrifices family, health, and peace in pursuit of greatness. But she testifies that the opposite is possible: that parenting does not drain the artist, but renews them. Love provides perspective. Responsibility brings discipline. The heart enlarged by children becomes a vessel capable of holding deeper truths, and from that vessel flows art more honest, more human, and more enduring.

The wisdom here is both gentle and heroic. True greatness does not come from burning oneself upon the altar of ambition, but from ordering life rightly. To place love first is not to forsake one’s calling, but to sanctify it. When Shankar says her music became “much easier,” she speaks not of diminished effort but of a soul at peace. For the artist at peace can create without desperation, can play not for survival but for joy, and can pour into their work the richness of a life fully lived.

The lesson for us is clear: do not fear that love, family, or responsibility will take away from your passion. Rather, embrace them as the foundation that steadies you. Whether you are an artist, a worker, or a dreamer, know that the heart rooted in love produces fruit more lasting than the heart driven only by ambition. Let your children, your family, your beloved ones give you the perspective that sharpens your vision and deepens your work.

Therefore, let Anoushka Shankar’s words be carried as wisdom for all generations: “Parenting put music in the right place for me.” Whatever your craft, whatever your dream, know that balance is not your enemy—it is your ally. For life is not measured by how much you sacrifice, but by how wisely you order what is sacred. And in the harmony between love and labor, family and craft, there is born not only better art, but a better soul.