The man in the silk shirt raises his outstretched hand towards the younger of the two sitarists seated before the small audience, and says ‘Wah!’ The musician pauses momentarily to acknowledge the compliment by touching his forehead, before repeating the admired phrase. This time it's extended with a new twist, and continues seemingly unstoppable, rising, falling and unexpectedly rising again to reach new heights before eventually subsiding towards the tonic note. Foreseeing this conclusion, the audience bursts out with a chorus of ‘Wah! Wah! Shabash! [very good] Kya bat! [wonderful]’ which almost drowns the final notes.

The tabla accompanist, waiting his turn to play during the free-tempo introduction, shakes his head in approval. The elder sitarist says nothing, but his eyes gleam with pleasure at his son's improvisation, which his own fingers soundlessly follow on own fret-board. Now he throws the young man a new challenge: a phrase that, instead of starting low, rising to a peak, and falling to its starting point, does the opposite. In reply, his son repeats his father's rising conclusion, but brings it to a low ending.

The audience is again delighted. The man in the silk shirt, without whose presence in the front row no house concert in this part of town is considered complete, turns to his neighbour and mutters: ‘Such mastery! And he is so young!’