From Ravi Shankar to Electric Sitars, Rikhiram Musicals in Delhi Have Made Instruments for Every Era

In the bustling Anarkali Bazaar of Lahore in 1920, Pandit Rikhi Ram began making instruments that carried a distinctive voice: resonant, handcrafted, and deeply Indian. Partition in 1947 tore families and trades apart, yet the Sharma family carried their craft across the new border, restarting in Delhi. From a modest shop in Paharganj, they eventually anchored themselves at Marina Arcade, Connaught Place, where Rikhiram Musicals still stands.

That resilience defines the brand. Its sitars, tanpuras and tablas were not only bought by Hindustani greats but also found their way into global soundscapes. In July 1966, the Beatles dropped in while changing planes in Delhi — a brush with pop culture immortality stitched forever into the shop’s lore.

For Ajay Rikhiram, who took over after his father’s passing in 2007, the business is as much a spiritual responsibility as commerce. “Since my father left this world in 2007, it has become my duty to take this legacy forward. I always pray to God to give me strength to carry on this journey,” he says.

Craft as Discipline, Patience and Faith

Unlike factory lines, Rikhiram Musicals thrives on slow mastery. Ajay is clear: good instruments start with musical knowledge, not just woodworking. “The first and most important factor is the knowledge of music. You must understand scaling, frequency and proportions before even touching the wood.”

Wood itself becomes a timekeeper. “Wood has to be seasoned six to seven years, sometimes longer. I put the dates on the wood when we buy it, so I know when it is ready.” Each batch of timber is logged, stored, and left to age quietly until its grains have stabilised. Only then can it become a sitar’s resonant body or a tanpura’s hollow chamber.

Ethics and regulations have reshaped materials over the decades. Ivory bridges, once standard, disappeared with conservation bans; stag horn followed. Bone provided good sound but wore out too quickly. Ajay and his team keep searching for sustainable materials that do justice to tone while meeting modern norms.

For him, shortcuts mean compromise. “Factory-made instruments are just counting numbers,” he says with calm finality. “We focus on creating instruments with tone, stability and effortless play, so musicians can perform for long hours without struggle.”

Reinvention with Every Era

As global stages changed, so did Rikhiram Musicals' instruments. In the 1960s and 70s, when Indian classical music travelled westward with Ravi Shankar and others, larger instruments once needed for projection gave way to smaller builds suited to sensitive microphones and powerful amplifiers.

Ajay remembers that moment of pivot clearly. “We made the travel sitar, and then we converted it into an electric format. The acoustic sitar was not enough to play with louder instruments, so we developed electric versions and kept enhancing the quality of sound.”

“It all started with my father, with the translucent instruments. Then came the nikshi veena, the chitra veena, and later the electric sitar, which my father and I built together.”

Today, Rikhiram balances its Connaught Place showroom with a strong online presence, shipping instruments worldwide. From Ravi Shankar to Vilayat Khan, Shivkumar Sharma to Hariprasad Chaurasia, and even Mick Taylor of the Rolling Stones, their instruments have found homes in the hands of legends.

Ajay knows survival means constant reinvention. “You have to be on your toes all the time. If you don’t keep up with the times, you’re left far behind,” he says.

Spirit in Wood, Sound in Soul

For Ajay, making classical instruments is more than a trade; it is devotion. “It has to be very scientific, also very artistic, and most important is that you have to be spiritually very strong to put a soul into non-living materials and produce sound energy.”

This outlook shapes the way the shop operates even today. Common instruments like sitars, harmoniums and tablas are made in small, steady lots, while rarer ones — sarangis, dilrubas, vichitraveenas — are crafted sparingly, waiting for musicians who still seek them.

It is not scale that defines Rikhiram Musicals, but memory and meaning. Every piece carries a century of knowledge passed down through hands and ears: proportion, grain, joinery, and above all, a sound that remains stable across climates and decades.

That, Ajay insists, is the measure of a true legacy business. Not just survival, but the ability to hold tradition and innovation in balance, to create something that is at once timeless and alive.

“Time keeps changing. It was analogue before, now it is totally digital. But with every change, you must hold on to the soul of the instrument. That is what keeps us going.”