In the first look, he could pass off as a traveler of some kind. He wore blue jeans and a long printed red kurta with a khaki waist jacket bearing more pockets than I could see. Carrying a camera bag on his shoulder with a black bag on his back, his French beard went well with his salt and pepper hair which he tied a pony tail. He looked strong despite the wrinkles on his dark complexion. With a sweaty forehead and a pair of wide eyes that shone bright, he had an unquestionable identity about himself.
His fingers moved swiftly over the line of eight openings and what he produced was next to being magical. That evening, he turned into Lord Krishna as the music dispersed into the moist air, making its way into the ears first and finally lifting the soul to the pleasure of nirvana. This was just the starting of the splintering fire that was getting ready to engulf everybody.
Perspiring bodies swayed lightly to the rhythm of the djembes slowly accentuating as the flutist led this exalted harmony. Palms and fingers ran with incredible speed over the drumhead as the drummers sat encircling the varied dancers were bustling with energy. The flutist continued to play his instrument, made out of bamboo, with great poise.
Once surrounded by countless worries in the mind, now the music had relieved me acting as a stimulant and soothing the nerves. Reverberating with melody, the notes seemed to enliven even the leaves of the trees. Music had become one with nature. It was an evening full of energy and vibrancy where sounds turned into music and music turned into an unforgettable experience. Extremely intimate with his flute, the flutist had become like The Pied Piper of Hamelin. The only difference was that here the souls drowned not in water, but got submerged in the overflow of inviting notes.