Ustad sits, legs crossed, on a blanketed dais in a softly lit basement. With lightness and speed, his left hand moves up and down the sitar's wide neck. His eyes are closed. Across from him sits a student, Anujah, her black hair falling around the sitar cradled in her arms: Her young Indian eyes are lost in the same dream as the Ustad's, the master's. Their two instruments, the single-string melodies resonating through an echoing forest of more strings, harmonize as only times past and times present can... More >>>