Rishabh Rikhiram Sharma On Legacy, Loss And The Instrument That Helped Him Reconnect With Life

The first thing you notice about a musician is their hands on ability to summon centuries of sound from an instrument’s strings. His, in particular, already tell a story upon arrival—swirled in henna, anointed with meaning. “It started off as just an aesthetic ritual,” Rishabh Rikhiram Sharma tells me. “But now, it’s a vessel for energy. The drawings are often related to Shiva. I feel like I’m borrowing something from above—channelling it through my hands.”

If the name sounds familiar, it should. Sharma is a fourth-generation sitarist from the iconic Rikhi Ram family of legacy instrument makers, the great-grandson of Pandit Rikhi Ram Sharma, and the youngest and final disciple of the legendary Pandit Ravi Shankar. He’s performed solo at the White House, composed soundscapes that blend hip-hop with ancient ragas, and now tours the world not just as a musician but as an advocate for mental health. 

“You’re the last student I’m going to have. Take everything from me." 

- Rishabh Rikhiram Sharma quoting his teacher Pandit Ravi Shankar.

Tracing the beginnings of his training, Sharma says, “The sitar was just waiting to choose me.” But the real turning point came under the wing of his guru, Ravi Shankar. “Guruji used to tell me, ‘You’re the last student I’m probably going to have. I won’t live very long. Take whatever you can from me—just take it,’” he recalls. “He would get angry when I couldn’t absorb everything. But I understood his frustration. This knowledge had to go back into the universe. It had to live.”

Sharma doesn’t try to replicate that legacy. “I’ll never be one percent of what he was,” he says. “The best thing I can be is Rishabh Sharma. But everything I play—every note you hear—is shaped by what he gave me.” However, even sacred lineages can’t shield you from being human. During the pandemic, Sharma left the sitar for a while. “I wasn’t in a good place,” he admits. “After going through therapy and reintroducing the instrument into my life, I could cope with external stimuli better.” That reconnection became the foundation for Sitar for Mental Health, an ongoing global series of concerts and conversations around wellness, vulnerability, and sound as therapy. “I openly talk about my struggles. I say, ‘This instrument is helping me be okay.’ That openness makes space for others to do the same.”  

The initiative was sparked by something deeply personal. Sharma’s grandfather was hospitalised during COVID-19. “My uncle would FaceTime me from the hospital and keep the phone next to him,” he shares. “More than conversation, I played for him. He loved old Bollywood songs and ragas, such as ‘Bhairav’ and ‘Yaman Kalyan’. That was the only time I saw him smile during those weeks.” That moment anchored something within Sharma. “If I can make one person smile through music, it’s worth everything.”

His recent projects reflect this duality of sacred and new. There’s ‘Chanakya’ (2021), the hypnotic track he spent four years fine-tuning. There’s ‘Temple Burn’, an unreleased piece inspired by Banaras and Burning Man. And then there’s ‘Vadya’, a new venture Sharma revealed exclusively to ELLE. “‘Vadya’ is my baby,” he says. “We’re making miniature sitars as collectables and designing instruments that elevate consciousness. Not just musically—but spiritually.” 

Before every performance, Sharma and his band meditate together. “It’s more for me than anyone else,” he laughs. “My heart’s always racing. But once we breathe together, everyone’s on the same frequency. That’s when you open your heart and let the music in.” And what about legacy—will it ever weigh him down? “I just want to make beautiful music now,” he says. “And if, in doing so, I open a path for others to walk on, that’s enough.”

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