small, dingy room. bedsheets and forgotten coffee cups strewn around. unnamed tapes and Cds that you want to steal. among them is a bearded giant who owns rhythm. he talks of tunes and the impossibility of their death. listen, he says, and tunes his mridangam. dhong-dhong. thuk-thuk. dheem. TA! dheem.
i yawn. he doesn't care. he plays.
eyes tightly closed. little gleaming beads of sweat taking flight as the head moves violently. a mental world of dancing shiva, wild hair and ashen face. whether i believe in that form of divinity or not, the sound i hear is absorbing.
he smiles at the end of it all. anoor anantha krishna sharma.
shivu, the giant calls himself. close.
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