Soundscape: Manoj Dias
Soft power
Music can be a way into someone's inner world. We invited Manoj Dias, the co-founder of meditation and wellness platform Open, to share how the idea of soft power finds expression in his life through music..
Like any good wellness founder, Manoj Dias starts his day with a morning meditation, prayer and a series of breathing exercises. He is attuned to the sounds of his world, of the bustle and furore of the city juddering to life outside his home in Brooklyn. “I grew up hearing the sounds of the Buddhist temple near my house and the constant chanting,” he tells The Everywoman. “Then I grew up on Michael Jackson and wanted to be a dancer. I’ve found listening to sound and certain music to be a spiritual experience, one that can create an immediate state shift or give you a new perspective.” Presence, as his serene, grounding voice will tell you during the meditation exercises he narrates on Open , the platform he co-founded, is the foundation for understanding what it means to be alive.
Dias was born in Sri Lanka, and grew up mostly in Melbourne, Australia. In 2015, Dias co-founded A—Space, Australia’s first multidisciplinary drop-in meditation studio, targeted to democratising access to wellness for people of colour and young people. In 2020, Open emerged into being: it brings together meditation, breathwork, movement and somatic exercises onto one intuitive app, with music scored by James Blake. Manoj’s own practice coalesces Eastern teachings and neuroscience and channels through his work as a teacher, writer and advisor, both on the Open platform and beyond. At every stage, sound is crucial. Of music, he says, there is a particular alchemy to what makes a song beautiful and how it leaves its impression on you, the listener. “[T]he right notes, the right structure and the right moment in time can collide and leave an unforgettable memory.”
The Everywoman invited Manoj to share a selection of songs that speak to him about quiet, soft power. Here are his picks, from D’Angelo, to Sade, to Arooj Aftab.
D’Angelo – I Found My Smile Again
This song once pulled me out of one of the lowest periods in my life. It didn’t try to fix anything. It just met me where I was and reminded me that there are so many things to smile about.
The lyric, “I wanna thank you for helping me find my smile again,” is simple. But when D’Angelo sings it, something shifts. His voice seems to carry permission: to feel. To remember joy. To believe that healing is possible.
This song seemed to rewire something in me. Not just emotionally, but somatically. It settled my nervous system, cracked open my heart, and reminded me that music can be medicine. It’s almost always the song that reminds me of my daughter, Tay. This song has become part of my story.
Brian Eno – By This River
This song was shared with me by an old love, but it stayed with me long after the moment I first heard it. That relationship didn’t last long but the song has endured gathering new meaning with each listen.
There are no big build-ups or crescendos. It waits and invites you to sit with what is, without needing to fix or name it. The simplicity is unnerving if you’re not ready for that kind of confrontation.
I kinda feel like some songs speak to you. This one just happens to listen. In the stillness, it reminds me that some things are meant to be felt. This song is one of them.
Hypnotic Brass Ensemble – Graze of Days feat. Sharon Van Etten
The first 45 seconds of what sounds like gentle cello plucking are enough to send you to a distant memory. Then there’s something about Sharon Van Etten’s voice on this reimagined Sapphie track that feels like a caress to my nervous system.
This entire album, This is not a Mindfulness Drill, lives at that fine line between mindfulness and mindlessness, where you’re single-handedly present for the painstaking beauty of its creation but also caught in remembering and longing that ripples back in a way that reminds you of your aliveness.
Sade – Kiss of Life
What more can be said of our Queen of Quiet Power? There’s never an urgency in her delivery ever, just depth and grace. The groove to this track is smooth, unhurried, like it knows it doesn’t need to prove anything. How very Sade, eh?
The track doesn’t rise and fall dramatically; it just holds space. Sade’s voice moves with warmth and ease letting the emotion live between the notes. She never gives the impression that her music is performative. In a world that demands we constantly perform, that kind of authenticity feels like a superpower.
Arooj Aftab – Mohabbat
I heard this song, embarrassingly late, at Aftab’s Coachella set. The sun was hot, the crowd was boisterous, and even then “Mohabbat” moved me in a way I can’t fully explain. She sings in Urdu, a language I don’t speak, don’t understand, and yet, I feel every note like a memory. It’s crazy and beautiful how music can bypass the mind entirely and go straight to the body, to the heart.
Maybe it’s because I don’t understand the words that I feel them more. There’s no analysis, no mental grasping, just the emotion itself, raw and unfiltered. There’s a longing, dignity, and depth in her voice that reminds me of the women in my family.
“Mohabbat” means love, but this song is more about something that aches after it. It reminds me that sometimes not knowing the words somehow makes the truth of what’s experienced even clearer.
Annahstasia – Saturday
My dear friend Annahstasia’s song is a masterclass in restraint. The song is built almost entirely around a sparse, looping acoustic guitar which sounds delicate and unassuming. But it’s really her voice that holds the weight. There’s a raw, grounded strength in the way she sings, like she’s revealing something personal unapologetically.
Her vocals rise just enough to carry emotion but never force it. The line “I wanna be the one you call in the afternoon” lands with impact because it’s just honest. Who doesn’t want to call their lover and just chat and laze around on a Saturday afternoon?
