Editorial

The thrill of getting your first instrument is incomparable. After  playing around on a harmonium for a while trying to learn Bangla music,  one day when I was at my grandmother's house, my dad called to say our  new instrument was here. It was an upright piano and all I could ask on  the phone was what colour it was.

Over the next many years, my piano was my refuge. It was many years of  trying to recreate my favourite movie and musical scores, playing each  bar of a piece as my teacher punctiliously tapped her foot in the  background going "one, two, three" in her Russian accent. It was also  many years of rummaging her sheet music closet to grab the best pieces  before the other students did to perform at the recital.

 At night when I'd play my piano while everyone else slept, it was  peaceful. Because the kind of dedication your instrument inspired is  unlike anything else. It's not just learning which pedals to use when,  but knowing which keys were slightly damaged and needed that extra push  when playing, and diligently wiping your instrument clean when dust  gathered on it.