At the Thyagaraja Aradhana, the crowd kept filing in, filling row after row of blankets and mats, knee to knee.

Yadav snuck his violin at the very end, near the rope that divided instrumentalists from singers.

Malar was late, and so brought her kanjira to the other side of the rope, with the women.

All throughout the pancharatna kritis, their elbows brushed, and they blushed, making the same mistakes on the same sangatis.

They returned to Thiruvayyaru every year, making the mistakes again, but now they sat side by side.

Music is Forever | Next Story

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