While my sitar gently weeps

ravi_berman.jpg

I never did get to hear Sarmishtha play her sitar.

The instrument she had in the corner of her childhood room was dusty, unused, with half its strings broken. Nor did Deba-dada ever bust out his tabla drums. But at least I snagged the photo-op. Man, I miss my guitar…

Written By
More from Joshua

The Writer’s Life and a Singha Sunset

We find our quiet spot, an unassuming curve of coastline called Bailan...
Read More

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *