Vennu ganam

The crackle of silk sarees , grey hair dyed jet black and the fragrance of the queen of the night,jasmine,adorning short and long tresses filled the auditorium. There was a sprinkling of youngsters and Westerners in ethnic wear.

I have heard this young flautist, several times on my tape recorder. His music , one of my antidotes.Extricating myself from the web of the barrage of heated debates between and amongst verbose and loquacious politicians and anchors on T.V, I willed myself to attend at least one concert of this famous Marghazhi music festival and therefore here I was.

This young flautist is skillful, uses his intelligence to innovate on the usual battered patterns of decades and never let the audience's attention flay.

There is something spiritual in the notes of a flute. It unlocked the happier visions of my lost one as well as the actual debate that has been submerged in my wilful distraction through TV, dailies, magazines,literature,blogging,travelling, etc.

The accompaniments viz mridhangam and ghattam fell silent in a rendition and the notes from the flute flowed over me smoothly in creamy waves of sliced yellow butter. I could see the calves and cows lifting their heads and gazing with their large black eyes in wonder and the swaying grass, flowers , plants and trees stop still, to listen to the divine music breathed into the bamboo reed by the cowherd Govinda in the enchanting meadows of Brindavan.