A Love Note to the Blues

Yesterday carried the shade of blue — not the kind that fades quietly into the sky, but the kind that lingers deep in your chest, echoing stories untold. I had been yearning to watch Sinners (BookMyShow Link) ever since it graced the theatres. There was a part of me that always longed to drive across the endless miles of cotton fields in the South, the very soil where enslaved Black hands once toiled under the weight of silence — sowing, picking, bleeding — until they disappeared into the earth, becoming one with the land that would bloom again, again, again… with cotton for another generation.

But that journey never happened.

Instead, yesterday, I watched it unfold on the big screen. Director Ryan Coogler — yes, the genius behind Black Panther — chose horror, of all genres, to breathe life into the haunting legacy of the blues. And what a masterwork he has crafted. It’s more than a film — it’s a soul-trip through time.

Blues was born not in music halls or stages, but in the mud and sweat of the Delta. For those unfamiliar, the Delta is that lush, fertile expanse along the Mississippi River in the American South. Once filled with cotton plantations, it became the birthplace of a music forged in sorrow and resilience. Enslaved Africans arrived with nothing but their voices. Many even forgot their own names — those once whispered lovingly by parents. But they remembered the songs. They remembered the rhythm. And those songs became lifelines — woven through generations, keeping spirits alive when hope was scarce.

Without revealing too much, Sinners is set within just 24 hours, but within that window, it unravels a history stretching centuries. The film trails the footsteps of two brothers — Smoke and Stack — and their cousin, Sammy (Preacher Boy), as they laugh, joke, play guitar, and walk dreamily through the cotton fields. And then… everything shifts. Coogler doesn’t just tell a story — he embeds it with symbols, metaphors, and shadows that speak louder than words. The horror he wields isn’t just for fear — it's a lens through which we see the anguish, the trauma, and the music that never left their side.

If there is one thing I could ask of you — just one small, heartfelt plea — it is this: please, go watch this film while it still runs in theatres (a show or two a day). Let yourself be immersed in its brilliance, in its sorrow, in its stunning tribute to the roots of the blues.

Later that night, I found myself at Windmills, swaying to the electrifying performance of the Arinjoy Trio. I’d shared a snippet, but last night… was something else. My brother’s best friend plays the drums in the band, and oh, what a soul-stirring set it was. They mostly played their originals, but reverently paid homage to the greats — B.B. King, Kirk Fletcher, Freddie King.

Maybe my love for the blues was born from a quiet ache within me. Maybe that's why it speaks — no, sings — to me. It moves me. It heals me. It dances with my shadows and still brings light.

So, here it is — my love letter to the blues.

May the blues bring you the color you were always meant to become.