Guruji says, pronouncing every word clearly, ‘Pandit Raghuvir Sharma was overheard telling someone that Sharadatai is the only star amongst my disciples. The rest is darkness.’ Poison has gathered on Guruji's lips. The glint in his eyes suggests that the poison has a sweet taste and a tender touch. Pandit Sharma's name has this effect on him. Guruji's concerts attract a few true connoisseurs. Pandit Sharma's concerts attract the world. In Guruji's opinion the reason is this: ‘He is handsome. I am ugly.’ On occasion he has added a gloss to this statement. ‘In our country fair skin is worshipped. We submitted to the British. We made Pandit Nehru our prime minister. If we had chosen Vallabhbhai Patel, the future of our country would have been different. But Vallabhbhai was dark. His nose was large.’

Madhavrao's eyes are fixed on Guruji. What should he think? Is Sharadatai the only star or is she not? How should he shake his head? Guruji returns his look with curiosity and a sweet smile. Sharada feels suffocated. She is not sure she will be able to resist the urge to get up and leave if Guruji doesn’t vent his bile soon. If she leaves, there will be no way back. She will have lost a great guru and taken upon her head the sin of hubris. Guruji says thoughtfully, ‘I am told that Sharadatai did not sing full-throatedly as we do. She modulated her voice. What is your opinion about the present trend of voice modulation?’

‘My . . . my . . . opinion?’ Madhavrao is reduced to stuttering. Even assuming he has opinions, Guruji has never sought them before. Even now, is he really expected to give his opinion or will Guruji answer his own question as he often does? Guruji speaks.

‘There is, isn’t there, a fundamental difference between popular songs and classical music? We are not expected to tickle the listener's feelings as the pop singer does. The listener is your fellow-traveller, or at least he is expected to be. When you sing, your arduous practice, your honed skills, your faith, your tradition—you are gifting him the product of these invaluable things that he doesn’t get from his daily routine. Your attempt is to elevate his mind—something that the materiality of the here and now does not do. It is not an easy thing to do. That is why you put in years of practice. Only those who wish to escape hard work do sensational things. Like singing their own songs, composing their own raags or singing raags outside their time frame to create a sensation.’