on a balmy night we tucked in with the mosquitoes into firefly's ashram, cow's paradise off kanakpura road. nothing overly dramatic happened. (the last time around at the jhatre a scorpion made an appearance and a lot of brouhaha ensued). memorable all the same. look forward to another year now.
this man is bonafide legend. only, i'm a little bad with horn blowers' names as a rule. could barely stand, see and i suspect hear also. but blew the sax like a dream. sax only.
the israelis are everywhere. a far flung friend recently walked up to a bunch and asked them to return to their promised land. you can empathize with the chap. this particular specimen now twiddles at a bass guitar with esperanto. or has he been there forever?
i think it's called a kamuk. not certain at all. two strings pulled taut in a drum. and the baul goes at it with a strange leaf shaped plastic plectrum.
they seated themselves, two mute assistants, smelly feet, funny gadgets et al. and it was 'bombs away' as they let loose every overkilled qawwali piece on the planet.