What does it mean to listen to time?
In Seasons of Life, Sanoli Chowdhury does not attempt to answer the question directly; instead, she allows it to unfold naturally. Drawing from the Indian concept of six seasons rather than the familiar four, the album feels more like a reflective walk through the process of change than simply a collection of tracks. It encourages us to embrace transition, not only in terms of weather but also in our emotions, memories, and the subtle internal shifts that often go unnamed.
Sanoli’s work has always lived at the intersection of tradition and experimentation, but Seasons of Life marks a deeper inward turn. The album is ambient-forward, texture-driven, and intentionally spacious. Rather than leaning heavily on lyrical storytelling, it trusts atmosphere to do the work, inviting the listener to inhabit the music rather than decode it. In doing so, it raises an intriguing question: are seasons defined more by emotion than by temperature?
Vasanta (Spring) opens the album with a sense of emergence, reflecting new beginnings and emotional renewal. It captures how spring arrives gradually, revealing itself through small signs of life. Sonically, the track unfolds with light ambient layers and gentle tonal shifts, suggesting the growth that occurs beneath the surface. Set in a minor key and featuring a crunchy bassline, the music feels less like a celebration and more like an awakening; the moment when something within starts to stir, even before it fully understands why.
Grishma (Summer) carries the slow-burning intensity of peak summer, the kind of heat that does not arrive suddenly but builds and settles into the body. Rooted in lo-fi textures that feel almost meditative, the track has the quiet focus of music you might study or think to, even as something more restless simmers beneath the surface. Syncopated tabla patterns form the spine of the piece, gradually growing more intricate as the track unfolds. Each rhythmic layer adds momentum, mirroring how summer deepens over time as days lengthen, temperatures rise, and stillness becomes charged rather than calm. Floating above this rhythmic foundation, the synths trace their own melodic paths. They do not dominate the space; instead, they shimmer and recur, creating a sense of internal movement against the steady percussive build. Grishma does not rush toward a climax; it accumulates, warming the listener slowly, much like summer itself, until intensity becomes a state of being rather than a moment.
Sharad (Autumn) opens like a season of endings arriving at its most beautiful moment, unfolding into a climax so gentle and complete that it makes you wish it would never fade. The flute leads the way, carrying a softness that immediately brings to mind the image of Lord Krishna playing the flute during the Raas Leela on Sharad Purnima, under a sky heavy with moonlight. There is a quiet intimacy to its tone, devotional but never dramatic, as if the music is meant to be overheard rather than performed. As the piece unfolds, the flute begins to echo and layer over itself, creating a sense of space and depth, like sound drifting across an open courtyard. Each repetition feels slightly removed, almost like a memory folding into the present. The surrounding textures stay light and unhurried, letting the melody breathe.
Varsha drops you right into the middle of the monsoon, with soft rain sounds setting the mood almost instantly. A gentle piano ballad sits at the heart of the track, giving it a warmth that feels both familiar and emotionally grounding. The production here is noticeably heavier than on other songs in the album, with more layers coming together to create a sound that feels full and immersive. What’s really lovely about Varsha is how it avoids the usual somberness we expect from monsoon music. Instead, it feels optimistic, nostalgic, and deeply cozy. It brings to mind those slow rainy evenings when you are indoors with a cup of hot chai, maybe some onion pakoras, and nowhere else to be. The track captures the monsoon as comfort rather than gloom, turning rain into something you want to sit with and savour.
Hemanta (Pre-winter) feels like standing at the edge of a seasonal shift, when the air still holds a bit of warmth, but winter is clearly on its way. The track begins with a violin line that carries strong Carnatic influences, rich and expressive, immediately drawing the ear in. As muffled beats slowly make their way in, the track gently settles back into its lo-fi world. A catchy bassline anchors the piece, adding a steady pulse beneath the surface, while the violin continues to lead with the main melody. This balance between classical phrasing and lo-fi textures gives Hemanta its character.
The beginning of Shishira (Winter) brings to mind the comfort of sitting close to a bonfire on a chilly evening, wrapped in warmth while sipping hot chocolate. The sounds feel soft and reassuring, creating a sense of shelter from the outside world. As the track unfolds, it shifts into something unexpected. A saxophone enters with smooth, jazzy phrases, introducing a subtle, almost sultry mood. On paper, these two worlds feel far apart, but in Shishira, they blend naturally. The cozy warmth of the opening and the late-night jazz textures that follow come together seamlessly, capturing winter as a season of quiet indulgence, where stillness and intimacy comfortably coexist.
What Seasons of Life ultimately ventures into is a broader inquiry: how do we listen to ourselves while we are changing? Sanoli Chowdhury’s album doesn’t offer answers; it offers conditions. Conditions for stillness, for attention, for emotional honesty without exposition. By privileging ambience over explanation, the album trusts the listener to meet it halfway.
In a cultural moment driven by speed and instant clarity, Seasons of Life chooses to slow down. It reminds us that growth moves in cycles and that understanding is something we arrive at gently, not all at once. The album encourages lingering rather than rushing, listening rather than deciphering, and trusting the subtle emotional shifts that happen when we give ourselves the time to sit with sound, memory, and change.
