A king is de-throned. And he doesn’t mind to be so. He is among people who appreciate him, half heartedly. Still he keeps playing guitar, asking them for songs; new or old. He keeps testimonising the old legends and new stars for himself. He tries to find a hint of smile onto his listener’s lips. They are busy eating. His eyes sparkle if he gets one. Again, he goes lost in his own world of dreamy kinghood. He smiles and bows just as a part of his job. He is a performer. He is a king in his own right. His guitar is his armour. His music is his sole strength. He makes every conscious effort to send his music to people’s heart; they are busy munching away their food.
He comes, interrupts, politely asks, sings, asks for more, goes to next table probably. Same story rewinds and continues there. A lot of pain is felt when a talent is misplaced and thus unrecognisable… The pain is seen through in his eyes and visibly smiling lips.
दिवा महाराष्ट्राचा या रेस्टोबारमधे गिटार वाजवणार्या त्या अनामिक वादकास समर्पित…