Dipankar was sitting on his bed, keeping his violin beside him. The room was not as big as used to be. He got up and sat on a chair by the window. The door was opened but he could feel the breeze coming through the window. It was evening time and the electric light was dimming on the front wall. He was trying to light a cigarette, but due to the blowing wind, it didn't get light at once. After wasting a few matches stick cigarette finally got the fire. Leaning on the chair he was smoking and thinking - why don't my music get appreciation? My music is not good?

To be honest, his music was really good and heart-touching. Though he didn't care about it. But grief could be seen on his...