Aplastic

Aplastic

Midway through the taan, a string snaps. A metallic crack splits the air. The percussionist stops. A polite groan from the dark auditorium replaces the steady drone on the stage.

The elderly sarodist smiles apologetically and puts on his reading glasses to mend the string. Soon fresh music begins. The same musicians … the same notes … but not quite the same music. A broken bridge.

I recall
the rainy eve with you
under one umbrella …
the taste of your perfume
lingers through autumn

First published in haikukATHA, Issue 58 August 2026

© Dipankar Dasgupta