The smell of incense wafting across from the choir stalls of St Ann's Church helped to put the listener in a suitable frame of mind for experiencing Indian classical music. The skill of the performers was beyond question, but the music only occasionally sounds like Western music, so listening demands more than usual concentration.

Every note, whether plucked on the sitar or struck on the tabla, has a life of its own, only momentarily remaining at a predetermined pitch before veering up or down; every note can stretch in pitch before veering up or down; every note can stretch in pitch and time till it seems to be a short tune in itself. The melodic complexities of Chowdhury's sitar playing were rivalled by Chatterji's percussive, rhythmic inventions, and, together with the drone of the tanpura, they formed a texture which seemed orchestral in its richness. The total effect was hypnotic and even if one is ignorant of the rules that guide the improvisers of this music, unacquainted with the body of ceremony and custom that created and nourishes the Ragas or modes that are the backbone of this classical art, one cannot but yield to its spell.

The tabla playing shows up the poverty of Western percussion and the sitar's melodic possibilities have an amplitude barely dreamt of in the West. Why, even the process of tuning the instruments makes music, a sort of mini-introduction to the slow and pensive prelude which explores the chosen Raga before the music gets carried away by its own excitement.