My mother wanted me to work hard at school and become a doctor or an engineer. To that end, she kept the tabla well hidden from me at home. But when she was busy with her household chores, I would steal pots and pans so that I had something to bang on. I would look forward to my father coming home from concerts late at night because that was the only time I could be with him. While he had his dinner, we would talk about his music and how I should learn and practise. Most of my music lessons with him began at the dinner table.

But later on, when the time came for me to do riyaaz, I dreaded the afternoons when I was expected to practise. I would invariably run away to play cricket. However, I’d keep a careful eye on my father’s movements, making sure that I was home before he arrived. I loved to play the tabla with him. These sessions were more like performing at a concert. If I did not get a particular nuance right, he would merely move on to the next one, leaving me to figure it out for myself later on.

I loved the summer holidays when my brothers, sisters and I were sent to Matheran. I would ride horses and practise the tabla through the day. By the time I was a little older, I had become very crafty. I was the only one who knew English at home. Letters would regularly come with requests for my father to perform. When he was away, I would answer the letters in broken English pretending to be his secretary and saying that although he was unavailable his son was free to play at the concert. Some organisers would not bother to respond but some others would insist that I performed. I would intercept the advance they sent by money order, book my tickets without my mother’s knowledge, reach the venue and send home a telegram saying that I was safe. This way I managed to fool my mother a couple of times. I didn’t have much money and so I would travel third class, keeping the tabla on the compartment floor or hold it close to my chest till someone was kind enough to offer me a seat