Before anything else: I'm not a music school. I'm one of the founders of a small tech studio called solcraftdevs (solcraftdevs.com) by day, and a hobbyist guitarist by night. Part time, I teach a very small handful of people who come to me curious about training their ear and arranging songs on the guitar themselves.

I'm not great with formal music theory. If you want a classical examiner, I'm not your person, and I'd say so before charging you a rupee. What I do believe — with all the certainty I can muster — is this:

if you've spent enough time on the fretboard, you can attempt to play almost anything by listening to it. Just listening.

That's the whole thesis. Everything I teach is in service of getting your ears and your fingers into one conversation — and trusting that conversation to take you the rest of the way.

A note on style.Exploration over instruction.

I don't have a curriculum. I have a fretboard, a guitar in your hands, and a willingness to sit with you while you find things out. I'll point at trees in the forest. I won't pretend the forest has a map.

Most lessons aren't lessons. They're conversations with the instrument — me asking questions, you answering with your fingers, both of us listening to what comes out and slowly noticing patterns. That's it. That's the secret.

The path.I teach in two stages.

Honesty.You won't sound like me overnight.

I have to say this clearly because I think people don't say it enough: you cannot play like me instantly. I have been at this a long, long time. Years of evenings. Years of getting it wrong before getting it right. A beginner shouldn't expect to be a master in months.

And honestly, you don't want to be. The interesting part of the guitar is the slow part. It's the slow part that changes you.

But here's the quiet magic: once you understand how things work, logically, on the fretboard — something opens. Your perspective shifts. The guitar starts looking less like a puzzle and more like a place. Your guitar reality changes. I've watched this happen to people. I felt it happen to me. It's worth waiting for.

A trick.Practicing without the guitar.

I learnt this one indirectly from Steve Vai, and it sounded ridiculous when I first heard it. Then I tried it. Then it changed everything.

You can practice without the guitar in your hands. On a bus, in a queue, before sleep. Close your eyes and see yourself playing — the fret positions, the right-hand fingers, the sound that should come out. Hear it as if it's already happening.

Your brain, gently, makes the connections. When you pick the guitar up next, your hands have already rehearsed what your mind described. It is so, so much truer than it has any right to be.

A second trick.Audiation.

Pick a player who moves you. For me, it's Buckethead some weeks and Tim Henson on others. Listen to one of their pieces over and over and over — not analytically. Just listen. Walk around with it on.

Then take the earphones off and try to hear the whole thing in your head. Every beat. Every accent. The decay of a note, the breath before the next one. That skill — being able to play a song back inside your head without the speakers on — is called audiation. It is the most underrated guitar skill on earth.

If you can audiate a piece, you are already 70% of the way to playing it. Your hands just need to catch up to your ears.

A third trick.Move your body.

Exercise daily. I mean it. Not because guitar is athletic — but because your brain runs the creative process on energy you give it. When you exercise, you're quietly funding the subconscious factory where ideas get assembled while you're not looking.

The best riffs I've ever come up with arrived during walks, not during practice. That isn't a coincidence.

A warning.You will never be satisfied.

This is the most important thing on this page, so I'll say it plainly:

you will never feel like you're good enough. because the better you get, the higher your standards climb. that is the deal.

So you have to stop measuring yourself against the wrong thing. The question isn't am I as good as Sungha Jung, or Buckethead, or Steve Vai, or Tim Henson. You won't be. Neither will I. That's fine. That has nothing to do with whether your guitar life is worth living.

The only question that matters is this:

is your spiritual connection with yourself and your guitar enjoyable?

If the answer is yes — a big, honest, late-night-room, no-one's-watching yes — you're on the right track. Stop the comparison game. Focus on what's actually in your hands. That's where the joy lives. That's the only place it ever lived.

My belief.The guitar is a small doorway.

I'll say something here I usually only say out loud — the guitar, learnt for the right reasons, is a doorway to higher dimensions of yourself. Through this instrument you can hear, faintly at first, your heart's own calling. You can feel parts of you that don't speak in any other language.

I genuinely believe the world would be a kinder place if more people quietly spent their evenings exploring the fretboard — instead of arguing with strangers on a screen. Six strings teach patience. They teach humility. They teach the difference between trying to look good and actually being honest. I don't know many other rooms in life where you get all three lessons for the price of one instrument.

If you'd like to learn.Here's how it actually works.

I take very few students. Not because I'm precious about it — but because the way I teach demands the right kind of student, and getting that wrong wastes both our time. So before anything else, we get on a Google Meet and just talk for a while.

That first call isn't a sales pitch. It's me figuring out whether you're teachable by me. There are plenty of brilliant guitar teachers in the world. I'm only the right one for a particular kind of person — and the call is how I find out if you're that person.

my process is unconventional. you should know that going in.

Here's the unfiltered version. From day one, I will push you to experiment — without any safety net of music theory, without any system to lean on. Just you, the fretboard, your ear, and a small problem I've set you. You'll get things wrong. You'll wander down dead ends. You'll feel a little stupid.

That part is the point. The struggle is the lesson. It's the only thing that builds the mental muscle you'll need for real creativity later. If I hand you the answer in week one, I've stolen the most important year of your guitar life from you.

But — if after a fair shot you still genuinely can't find your way through the experiments, I won't leave you stranded. I'll switch gears and bring in a structured approach. Scales, intervals, the shape of chords, the familiar scaffolding. Whatever you need to get traction. We don't pretend the first approach worked when it didn't.

And then — even with structure in place — every once in a while I'll deliberately throw the structure out for a session. No rules. No plan. Just exploration. That's the deviation that lets your subconscious wander the fretboard freely and pick up things your conscious mind would never have noticed. The structured weeks build the muscle. The unstructured weeks teach the muscle how to dance.

That's the whole method. It's not a system you'll find in a textbook because it was never written for one. It was built one student at a time, honestly, around kitchen tables and on video calls — and it only works if you walk in genuinely curious about the instrument, not about the certificate.

If that still sounds like a thing your life has room for, send me a message. We'll set up a call. No commitments — just a conversation, the same way I'd want to be approached if I were you.

— happy practicing