Pandit Hariprasadji's flute notes are ruffling my hair, easing out a smile from my lips and then transporting me. I am, now, at the edge of a hilltop. Hair flowing in the cool, sweet breeze.My eyes are honey-coloured, intense, reflecting the canvas they are fixated on - that luscious kanha, the sky. I look at his caressing fingers, his intent lips - the flute isn't his instrument, she's his lover. His fingers, his lips and the flute, in synergy, they create my world. A world that pulls out my outer skin, letting the shy and suppressed woman leap out. A world that holds me by waist, making me dance, that thrusts a dotara into my hands, compelling me to play the strings, turning me into Meera.
I am out of me now. I am in sync with the sky, kanha, the flute, the dotara, happiness, love. I am riding the highest octaves of sea waves.
I am ecstatic.
I am beautiful.
(Oh, how I forget this. Thank you Panditji.)
- Chandni
