I have been incredibly fortunate to perform in so many lovely destinations &mdash some of them scenic, some of them full of culture, some of them exotic&hellip I once had the chance to sing at the Santiago de Compostela, a thousand-year-old cathedral in Galicia at the tip of northwest Spain, where I was asked to perform a very traditional repertoire so I sang only Thyagaraja&rsquos kritis &mdash the organizer was a Tunisian Muslim, and it was Good Friday. I was deeply moved and I feel convinced that music has no language. But if you ask me what&rsquos closest to my heart, I would have to say Nidle, a tiny village nestled in the mountains of the South Kanara district near Mangalore. I have a very close musician friend, Vitthal Ramamurthy &mdash we both learnt together from our guru Sri Lalgudi &mdash and Nidle is his native village. He grew up there, and his mother would send him over flooded bridges in the monsoon to learn whatever music he could &mdash it rains for four months in coastal Karnataka and those were days of no phones. It&rsquos still a very small village. So that other children would have better access to music than he did, Vitthal organized a summer camp called Shibira at his home. I travelled there two years ago with fifteen of my students, the youngest of whom was six years old, and we stayed along with children from the village in Vitthal&rsquos old home, which had seven or eight rooms, some of them with no roofs. All the children would wake up at 3-3.30 in the morning, have open-air baths in water drawn from wells. There was pranayam at 6.30am and breakfast at 8.30, and singing and note-taking all day long. Some of the children knew other forms of arts &mdash Kannada poetry, dance, the multi-disciplinary Yakshagana &mdash and there were concerts every evening.