Remembering sandesh, its creamy / grainy texture, my mouth and nose flooded with the taste and smell of rosewater.
Surrounded by recorded music of the sarangi, I remembered how the instrument looked, lying on my carpet in Lahore, more like a sculpture than an instrument, knobs protruding at odd (to me) angles, too many strings. The scratch of bow on strings was so concrete.
Jasmine flowers. Darkness and sound and scent. Too much wine.
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