Sukanya Banerjee moves through the crowd in her living room with ease — part host, part friend, part stage manager, she greets her guests warmly while juggling introductions and her two curious pups. Somehow, everyone knows her. Meanwhile, her husband Tejas Jaishankar is in the kitchen, brewing tea. He enthusiastically offers it to those who have gathered.
One by one, people enter the living room, and choose their spot on the floor. The pups weave in between the guests like they belong — because they do. Soon, the rhythms of a sarangi ripple softly through the space, accompanied by tabla beats. As the last guests trickle in, the lights dim and conversations hush — for the next few hours, Delhi’s loud, rushed mood disappears. This isn’t a concert hall. It’s ‘Upstairs with Us’, an intimate, at-home concert series in the couple’s Vasant Kunj apartment, where Indian classical music has found its home. In Hindi, baithak means “a sit-down gathering”. It traditionally refers to informal performances in homes or courtyards, but the couple say they do it differently.
“Usually, baithaks are for people separated from you by, at the most, three degrees. But we’ve opened ours to strangers and fellow music lovers across the city,” says Banerjee, inviting them to listen to how music is always meant to be—up close, unhurried, and shared.
Just listen
The couple started the initiative, then called ‘Evening Raag’, in 2018, to create a paying audience that values classical musicians—emotionally and financially. “Our goal is to create an audience that’s there to listen—not necessarily musicians themselves,” says Jaishankar. After a pandemic pause, the home concerts returned as ‘Upstairs with Us’.
Jaishankar points to long-standing issues in classical music: “There’s an assumption that anyone attending must be an artiste or student—there’s no true listening audience.” The culture of free classical music concerts in Delhi also often leaves artists unpaid and undervalued. “There’s no ticketing system and no way to get money,” he says. Thus the concerts at ‘Upstairs with Us’’ are ticketed at `2,000 per head, with the majority of the proceeds going directly to the artistes. “Most concerts don’t appear on platforms like BookMyShow or Zomato. From the outside, it feels like nothing’s happening—when actually, something happens every week,” adds Jaishankar.
Banerjee grew up steeped in classical music—her family full of performers and music teachers. For her, ‘Upstairs with Us’ is both inheritance and intention. Unlike her, Jaishankar didn’t come from a classical background but had studied Western classical and jazz guitar. He represents the kind of listener Banerjee hopes to welcome: curious but previously excluded. “For me, it’s not about nostalgia or revival,” she says. “It is about access.”
She found classical spaces rigid and coded with expectations—how to dress, what to say, how to behave. “We wanted to change that and offer cultural richness without judgment, where people could ask questions without feeling judged,” she says. ‘Upstairs with Us’ reimagines those spaces—keeping the beauty of classical music but shedding the elitism. “It’s wishful thinking turned real,” she says, “a more liberal version of something I once longed for.”
Heartbeat of classical music
Their concerts focus on Indian classical music, mainly Hindustani, which Banerjee admits is a bias she’s working to fix. “I come from that tradition, and it’s easier to reach those artistes. But I was recently on a call with a Carnatic vocalist who may perform soon.” She’s also pragmatic: “Inclusion often involves excluding. To give a meaningful platform to emerging classical performers, I focus on Indian classical. Not because I don’t enjoy other genres, but if I include everyone, I won’t be doing justice to anyone.”
The couple also intend to strike a balance between artiste-first and audience-first priorities. “The purpose is better exposure and fair pay for artistes,” says Banerjee. “We are artistes-first because I’ll fight for artistes’ fair pay.” But she adds, “No audience, no performing art. It’s in the artiste’s best interest to cultivate a well-meaning audience.”
That care extends to post-concert rituals. Every show ends with an elaborate home-cooked meal. “By the end of the concert, people think about where to eat, what to eat, and what’s tomorrow. In those last 15 minutes, you’re not engaged anymore.” So they decided: “Forget it. We’ll throw in dinner. Sit tight, dinner’s on us. Don’t think about anything else, just give us your attention.”
Where music meets heart
Held within the intimate four walls of their living room, these ticketed concerts host just 35 guests, offering a rare closeness between audience and artiste. You might spot someone tapping a foot, catching rhythm — a connection quite rare in concert halls. “In Indian classical, so much is improvisational—you don’t walk in with a fixed setlist,” says Banerjee. She recalls a sitarist surprising the audience by playing Mozart on sitar and “that spontaneity happens only when artistes feel safe and encouraged”.
This closeness also transforms the audience. Usha Bhatia, a Noida-based emotional well-being coach, who is in the audience at the recent concert featuring sarangi artiste Tanish Dholpuri, at the end of it, describes the experience as “lovely”. She adds: “In a private, smaller setting like this, I could really sink into the music.” She recalls feeling deeply moved when Dholpuri played a Jhoola—it stirred memories of her childhood, evoking images of her mother and siblings.
Another guest, Naiyya Singh, a publicist at HarperCollins India, shares how the intimate setting transformed her experience of classical music. “I stumbled upon it on Instagram and honestly didn’t know what to expect,” she says. “It feels like gatherings like this are quietly fuelling a resurgence of classical music, drawing in more people and making it feel accessible, especially for younger audiences.”
Banerjee also observes a cultural shift in the post-pandemic world of craving for connection, with people seeking out community-led experiences after long periods of isolation, boredom, and loneliness. “Before COVID-19, tickets were `499 and never sold out. Now, at `2,000, concerts sell out in minutes.” She sees that demand as proof of a growing appetite for meaningful, offline engagement.
Magic of hyperlocal gigs
Despite living in an era of digital access, viral clips, and music festivals, she believes in the irreplaceable power of hyperlocal experiences. “It’s amazing that music is so accessible now,” she says. “But what you get at a home gig isn’t just music. It’s about being in the moment, not just watching it.”
As the home concerts grow in popularity, ‘Upstairs With Us’ is inspiring similar initiatives across cities. “It’s very exciting when other people are inspired enough to take up the mantle,” says Banerjee. “I wouldn’t say every ticketed, intimate concert came from what we did, but I’d love to see ‘Upstairs’ grow into a movement — more home concerts, more curatorial visions and more artistes getting paid enough to support themselves,” adds Banerjee, in the hope of extending her vision far beyond their living room.