It was a sunny, late afternoon. Small patches of snow lay on the grassy knolls surrounding the classical Albright Knox Art Gallery, brightly promising the 36 Buffalo winters ahead of me.

Inside, I walked carefully across the slippery marble floors into the small auditorium. This was my first public appearance in a sari. All of the Indian women in the room were wearing gorgeous saris and churidars. The handful of other American women was quite a bit older than I, and they were wearing wool winter suits and gloves. I knew the easy glide and flow of the 6 yards of Kancheepuram silk suited my frame, and the red/green color complimented my coloring, but I still felt self-conscious. My friend Indira Kartha had done a good job teaching me to wear the sari, and seeing her beaming at me from her seat across the room was comforting.

My handsome husband seemed to stand even more proudly than usual, talking with friends and new acquaintances. He settled me on a comfortable chair near a small stage, and excused himself to enjoy a cigarette in the back of the room with a colleague. I pulled the palu of the sari around my shoulders, feeling queasy with the secret knowledge of our first child deep inside of me.

Proud of his scientific and mathematical training, my husband warned me that he was known as "Arundghazeeb," referring to an ancient Indian king who did not appreciate music and the arts. We were attending a three day program of Indian classical music, and every Indian person in town was in rapt attendance. Yesterday's virtuoso was Ali Akbhar Khan. Today's master would be Ravi Shankar. Although my husband wasn't a music lover, he knew the value of their exceptional artistry. "In India," he said, "I probably couldn't afford a ticket to see these great musicians." We were seeing them for around $15 apiece thanks to the local association of Indians in Buffalo.

Eventually, the room was stuffed with more than one hundred people. I found it strange that so many small children were in attendance, sitting on the floor with their parents. Forty-one years ago, before immigration was opened for physicians and other professionals from south Asia, there were few Indians in the U.S. Most of them were graduate students, or scientists who taught at universities or worked for chemical companies. Over the years, we would become a large immigrant family.

Ravi Shankar started late, like Anouska would 41 years later in Miami. Strong and proud, handsome and self-confident, Shankar and his music became a metaphor for all that I found attractive about all things Indian. For the next four hours, I sat immersed in the music, not more than 20 feet from his sitar. I'd never heard musicians go on for more than an hour playing a take on a raga. The sitar stirred my soul, and the accompanying tabla bound it to my body.

When we left the musical masters's presence, I secretly felt that I'd had an epiphany. If Buffalo could provide such insight to India's finest classical traditions, it was a good place to raise our new family.

2007:

Like her father, Anouska Shankar doesn't need another musical review. But last night, I inveigled my husband and daughter to accompany me to Anouska's performance at the beautiful new Carnival Center for the Performing Arts in Miami.

I was looking forward to her fusion of classical Indian artistry and Western stylism. She didn't disappoint me, or most of the rest of her audience.

Before we left home, I'd warned my "Arundgazeeb" that she wasn't going to play classical Indian sitar music, but he was still disappointed. I think the tapes and cd's of her father's music that he'd listened to in his car over the years had eventually ground themselves into his nervous system. Anouska's classical riffs, and the tabla player's familiar beats cried out for completion in the classical forms.

But I was deeply touched by Anouska and her superb band of musicians. We sat way up in the balcony, but the acoustics were perfect in the Knight Hall. The lighting was not necessary, but nicely complimented the music.

We climbed up the steep stairs and I carefully held my purple silk sari. Over the last 40 years, I have worn hundreds of gorgeous saris, and nothing compares to the luxurious delight of listening to great music while wrapped in a fine silk palu. Sitting between my lovely older daughter and my still handsome husband, I completely enjoyed Anouska's ravishing mélange of east and west.

Forty years ago, Ravi Shankar's music inspired me to raise a family with Indian and Western values in Buffalo, N.Y. Now, we have done the job. I find it a joy to celebrate his family's great music in our new Miami home.

Tanmoy Bose, a fabulous tabla player from Kolkota, is a favorite of both Ravi Shankar and Anoushka and has accompanied them for many years. His stage presence and extraordinary talent has charmed countless audiences.

Ravichandra Kulur gave his first solo recital at age twelve. From then on, he has emerged as one of the most sought after flutists from India, traveling all over the world for his solo concerts as well as experimental music. Ravichandra has also mastered the art of playing kanjira (tambourine).

Leo Dombecki is a multi-instrumentalist from Detroit, Michigan. He has a wide variety of experience in jazz, blues, and rock music - notably with Ike Turner and The Kings Of Rhythm, the remix project Mr. DSP, and the group Jazmin, comprised of students of Pandit Ravi Shankar, who named the group and invited them to India in 2005 to study and perform. Leo has worked with Anoushka on previous occasions and is honoured and thrilled to again have the opportunity to join Anoushka on stage for the "Rise" tour.