When I am passionate about something, I am obsessed with it. The last two nights I spent my lines working through Urdu poems, listening to how my fingers invite music to dance. Orange finger-tips define better for my eyes, how this music moves me. Sometimes I sit cross-legged, restrict my limbs, and free my fingers to dance. These digits expose more subtle aspects of a music; the way the violin slices the soul, or notes dribble from passionate mouths, screams and saliva spattering, or how the harmonium abbreviate chords; compress the fragile heart, guitar-plucks tug at heart-strings, harmonica with its replicated notes and forced resonance, how not to surrender?

I listened to a 30s violin piece and I cried. I was so moved.

Listen to 2mins on this video.